Page 42 of Marrying the Mobster
“No, but it gives us something to build on,” I argue, releasing one of her wrists to swipe the tears from her face. “This marriage doesn’t have to make us miserable,gatita. You can have your life back, as much of it as I can give you. You’ll have protection, money, security. I can give you things no other man can. I can fulfill your every desire.”
Elena’s face twists into a sneer. “Everything except for a husband I can like and respect.”
“I don’t require either of those things,” I tell her with a shrug. “Not at first.”
“But you’ll require obedience.”
“Absolutely.”
She snorts. “You’re an arrogant asshole, you know that?”
“Yes. But once we’re married, I’ll beyourarrogant asshole. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t give you, and there isn’t a soul who could touch you without going through me. If you want your freedom back, this is the only way you can have it. Marry me and you can haveBelleza, and whatever kind of life you want.”
“As long as I let you keep me here and shadow my every move … oh, and fuck you whenever you want. Did I get that right?”
“Not entirely, but it will do for now.”
This time when she jerks against my grip, I let her go. She sniffles and uses the sleeve of her cover-up to dry the last of her tears.
“I won’t do it. You can drag me down that aisle kicking and screaming, but I won’t say the vows and I won’t sign anything. I will embarrass you in front of all the people you’re trying to fool into thinking this is real. Is that what you want?”
Now that the pistol has been removed from the situation, I feel better—steadier. I smirk and chuck her beneath her chin. “That’s never going to happen. When the day comes, youwillgo through with the ceremony.”
“That’s what you think,” she says with a scoff.
She goes to take a step away from me, but stumbles with a sharp inhale. The glass embedded in her foot has finally made its presence known, and Elena glances down at the bloody stains she left on the rug in clear shock. She wobbles on her feet, and I sweep her off them before she falls.
“Put me down,” she grumbles, pushing against my chest as I carry her to the bathroom. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can,gatita. But I’m going to take care of you for just a few minutes.”
Either she realizes there’s nothing to gain by continuing our fight, or she’s exhausted after a long day. Regardless, she goes limp against me and stops arguing. There’s still a hell of a lot of animosity coming off her. It radiates from her eyes while I sit her on the counter and go to my knees to inspect her foot. The glass didn’t embed too deep, but it might have injured her worse if she kept trying to walk on it.
Going into the cabinet beneath the sink, I retrieve one of several supply boxes filled with first-aid items. After the first time I took a bullet, I started keeping the necessities on hand.
Elena watches me with suspicion as I use a pair of tweezers to ease the glass from her foot. She winces but doesn’t pull away when I start cleaning the cut.
“What are you, a part-time doctor?” she grumbles.
I can’t help a small smile over her breaking the silence first. I was content to let her pout, but this is much better. “Not really. But one of the first things a young mafia soldier learns is how to patch up injuries until the real doctor arrives. Knowing how to stop bleeding or tie a proper tourniquet can mean the difference between life or death.”
Elena wrinkles her brow, looking less angry now and more curious. “You say that like you’re an old man. You can’t be any older than thirty-five.”
“I’m thirty-two, but men in my line of work age fast. It’s the stress and the danger of the lives we live. I’ve experienced more than normal men who live into their eighties.”
She lets out a squeak when I use clean gauze to apply pressure to the cut, and I pat her thigh in reassurance. She doesn’t pull away.
“If it’s so hard, then why do it?” she asks. “You have a choice, you know.”
I shake my head. “It’s adorably innocent of you to think that. No,gatita, I don’t have a choice. I was born into this, molded for it. I can never be anything else.”
We go silent again, and this time it’s strained. My skin itches at the idea of spilling my guts to her, and I can feel the urge to dig deeper coming from Elena. Convincing her to marry me without a fight might be easier if I let her know things about me that few others do. But I can’t do it; not yet. There are some wounds that are still too tender to rip open.
Elena doesn’t speak again until I’m finished wrapping her foot. When I stand to wash my hands, she turns to look at me, her expression solemn.
“And here I thought all this time that I was the prisoner.”
“Gatita, you have no idea.”
