Page 1 of Bought By the Mafia

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The wedding was a quick affair. Some might even call it hasty. As soon as it was arranged, the date was set; the venue was picked, and I was getting married. Everything was done for me and all I had to do was show up. I didn’t even pick my wedding dress. My father chose, or rather, he hired a shopping assistant and gave her strict instructions not to buy anything ‘a whore might wear.’ His words, not mine. As for the groom, he too was a pick out of my hands. A man from one of the most powerful families in the world. Well, our world, at least. The Morelli name was not that well known to anyone on the street, but it carried weight in the criminal underground and I’ve just become one of them.

The whole arranged marriage thing wouldn’t have been so bad if I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me. But I seem to have a phobia of luck. My new husband hated me, and I hated him just as much. A match made in hell. It’s a wonder we could keep it civil throughout the wedding. Marrying a Morelli was the only good thing I had done so far in my father’s eyes, and I think that’s what’s made me go through with the ceremony. The pride in my father’s eyes was enough to dampen the disdain in my husband’s.

I looked down at the big diamond ring on my finger. Surreal did not even begin to describe how I was feeling. I’m a married woman now. A married woman driving to a new home in an unfamiliar city. I looked at the man who had put the ring. Giovanni Morelli was incredibly handsome. Time had graced him with its artistry, like Michelangelo. The boyish softness that made him appear sweet the last I met him was now hardened into chiseled features that made him both irresistible and dangerous. He was a beautiful man, but his best feature by far were his eyes. They were deep pools of black, the color only rivaled by his equally dark hair.

My cousin, a daughter of my father’s capo rushed into becoming my bridesmaid, said, “You’re so lucky.” The others had agreed. They were all enamored with him. If only they knew the truth. A father exchanging his daughter for a proximity to power could not be a good thing.

“What?”

I jumped. Did I stare too long? I scrambled to think of something. “Are we there yet?” Just as I finished saying that, the car slowed down and parked in front of an Upper East Side apartment building.

“We’re here,” Gio said. His tone was glib and abrupt. He had been like throughout the wedding. He never spoke no more than three words to me. And it wasn’t because he was reserved or anything. With other people, he was downright talkative. Just not to me.

His bodyguards, two bulky men whose names I hadn’t caught yet, got out of the front of the car and opened both our doors. Gio got out first and didn’t wait for me. I practically had to run up to him so I can keep up with his long strides and only caught up with him just as we entered the elevator. He typed in a code and we were whisked up the building. The doors opened to what I assumed was the penthouse. A palatial apartment with tasteful white, black and dark brown decor, floor-to-ceiling windows and a spiral staircase that led to a second floor. Everything in the apartment, from the vase to the artwork on the walls, was a quiet statement of wealth. The Morellis had not only gotten powerful since the last time I was within their air, they’ve gotten filthy rich as well. I looked around the foyer, living room, terrace, and kitchen. Gio noticed me gawking.

“Like what you see?” he said.

“Your place is beautiful.” My voice came out strained from being quiet during the long trip.

He smirked. It was as if I said what he expected me to say, and it was the wrong thing to say. I wanted to ask why he thought that, but I knew the truth already. Having him spell it out would only lead to pain. He marched into the apartment towards the staircase. “Let me show you to your room,” he said without sparing a glance to see if I will follow him. I did anyway and had to scurry just to keep up with his long strides. I was moving so fast I almost bumped into him when, abruptly, he stopped at a door. He opened to reveal a bedroom. He entered, and I followed. It was not just a bedroom, but a suite. There was a bed on one end and a living space with a small table and plush stools on the other end. Mirrored doors led to a large closet, and a bathroom with a tub facing the city skyline. “Yours,” he said after the quick tour. As he left the room, I peered behind him to where another bedroom with a door slightly ajar was located. If the dark gray and black decor I could see from beyond was anything to go by, “mine” was opposite his. It was in stark contrast to the delicate white, pink accents and gold in my bedroom.

“Don’t worry,” he said when he saw me glaring into his bedroom, “I won’t be accosting you in the middle of the night. Or any other time of day. Whatever passion I held for you cooled a long time ago.”

I felt a piercing in my heart. His barbs should have been blunt against my barricade and, in fact, I felt the same as he did, but they hurt still. That week we spent together should be a wisp of a memory now that five years had passed, however I would be lying to myself if I said I didn’t think about him now and then. Did that mean was still obsessed? No. So why would it bother me he had forgotten it as well? “Why did you marry me then?” I said.

He folded his arms. “I thought you knew this was an arranged marriage, whose sole purpose was for me to get your father’s alliance. Didn’t he tell you? If you thought otherwise—”

“I know that! But there are other families you could have approached. Families within this city, even.”

His gaze bore into me and for a moment I thought he wasn’t going to answer until he said, “We wanted old blood and their connections. Your family was more than sufficient.”

“We? You and your brothers?”

He shrugged.

The Morelli family was famous for being run by the four Morelli brothers after their father died. According to my father, the brothers had taken the family from being relatively small to one of the biggest Mafia families in the country and, frankly, the world. Big enough to make my usually snobbish, blood-obsessed father dance with glee at the prospect of having his daughter marry into the Morellis.

“Still doesn’t explain it. Why us and not any other old blood family?”

“Our reasoning was pure calculation, Simona. You becoming my bride is simply a coincidence. You were supposed to marry Dante, but he ended up entangled with someone else.”

The someone else must be the woman Dante was with at the wedding. They seemed wrapped in a cocoon of love no one could pierce.

“So you would have married anyone else if wasn’t me.” I raised my eyebrows.

He shrugged again.

“Liar.”

“What? Surprised to find out that you’re not that special? Sorry to break it to you, but there are other things I wanted more and you’re merely collateral.”

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

“And what is that?”

“You’re trying to break me. Put me in what you must assume is my place. But I’m not going to be bothered by your antics for as long as this marriage last.”

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