I married her in the vineyards.
As she bound herself to me for eternity, the rows of plants, my family’s legacy, stretched out to honor us. Francesca was barefoot, wearing the Celestina cream gown I’d chosen for her back when we thought she would marry my son. It was tight in the chest, thanks to her pregnancy, but still fit otherwise. A simple bouquet of white roses and lilies rested in her hands, while a delicate crown made from lilies of the valley and grape leaves sat atop her head, blonde hair long and loose down her back.
She’d never looked more beautiful.
We repeated our vows in front of the small group gathered to witness the ceremony. My family and her sisters were here, along with Emilia and Vincenzo. Tommaso was invited, and he brought Lamborghini.
Days ago, when I gave her my mother’s ring, I started the marriage paperwork with the government. So though today seemed like a surprise to my bride, I’d been planning it for a while. After the ceremony we would be wed in the eyes of man and God, until one of us left this earth.
The mayor of Siderno, Antonio Volpe, presided over our service. It was the least he could do, as I’d handed him the election three years ago. “Vi dichiaro marito e moglie!” the mayor announced at the end of the ceremony.
I exhaled in relief and turned to my bride, happiness sending my heart flying. I put one hand on her hip and another at her nape, then bent to kiss her. The cheers barely registered as I took my wife’s mouth, uncaring of who saw how much I wanted her. Her lips were soft and pliant, and she gave me command of the kiss, even when it turned hungry.
“Dai, andiamo!” Giulio finally called. “Break the glass, Papà, and let’s go eat.”
I eased off my wife’s mouth, pressing a few additional small kisses just to prolong this moment. I hadn’t felt a fraction of this joy, this intense satisfaction in my bride at my first wedding. I never wanted to forget this.
By the time I straightened, Francesca was clinging to me, her lips swollen and wet. Madre di Dio, she was beautiful. Marco handed me the red wine glass and left the small wooden dais, along with everyone else. “What are we doing?” she asked.
“Haven’t you been to an Italian wedding before?”
“No. Are we drinking wine together?”
I often forgot how young she was, how sheltered she’d been. I pushed a strand of hair behind her ears. “No, mia bella moglie. We break it. The number of shards represents the number of years we will be happily married.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks grew an adorable shade of pink. “Fun. I’m ready.”
We both held the delicate wine glass. “Uno, due, tre,” I said, then we dropped the glass.
It bounced but didn’t break. The stem broke off, but otherwise the glass remained intact, rolling sideways until it came to a stop. Francesca gasped, while Zia quickly made mano cornuto, the sign of the horns, toward the glass to ward off any evil spirits.
“Fausto!” Horror laced Francesca’s voice. “It’s supposed to break.”
I put my arm around her waist and spoke quietly in her ear. “It means nothing, a stupid tradition from the past.”
“No, no.” She clutched my tie. “This is bad. Like very, very, very bad.” Wild eyes stared at the glass as if it was some harbinger of doom, while it was just nonsense.
I had to reassure her. “Francesca, the glass broke into hundreds of pieces at my first wedding, but Lucia and I were never happily married, nor did our marriage last long. Do not put faith into silly wives’ tales.”
Her fist tightened around my tie, crushing the silk, as she tugged me closer. “You had a healthy son together and you’ve lived this long. The ’ndrina is prosperous. To spit on your good luck is wrong.”
“You are spending too much time with Zia,” I muttered.
She shoved my stomach. “I am serious. Let’s do it again. We’ll really throw it this time.”
The guests were waiting, talking amongst themselves, eager for this to be over, but I knew my bride would not let this go. I didn’t want Francesca thinking about this all during the wedding dinner or—more importantly—the wedding night.
Walking over to the glass, I lifted my foot, brought it down, and smashed the bowl beneath my leather shoe. Shards of glass went everywhere, tiny pieces that glittered in the late afternoon sun.
“There.” I announced to the crowd, “Let’s go eat.”
Francesca didn’t move, her mouth open. “I can’t believe you did that. That’s worse, Fausto!”
Shaking my head, I scooped her up in my arms so she didn’t cut her bare feet on the glass. Once on the ground I was reluctant to let her go. I kept walking and she nestled her face into my throat. “We’re married,” she breathed, as if she’d just realized it.
“We are married, Francesca Ravazzani.”
“Oh, shit,” she whispered. “Why is that so hot?”
I chuckled. If she liked that, she was going to love what I had planned for later.
I carried her toward the winery. When she realized where we were going, she lifted her head. “Wait, we aren’t eating in the castello?”
“No.” I continued over the threshold and set her on her feet, then kissed her mouth. “I wish there had been time to give you a big wedding and party. It’s what you deserve. But I hope you like what I arranged for tonight instead.”
“I don’t need a big wedding and a fancy party. Just you.”
My chest expanded, the words falling easily from my mouth. “Ti amo, cuore mio.”
She leaned up on her toes and pressed her lips to mine. “Ti amo, paparino.”
I smiled, feeling lighter than I had in years. “Come. Your paparino wants to feed you.” I took her hand and led her into the tasting room, which had been transformed for the wedding dinner.
Sheer fabric and tiny lights criss-crossed the ceiling, while candles burned all around the room, their soft glow bouncing off the wine casks and exposed brick walls. Tables had been pushed together to form a hollow square, chairs on the outside, with candles and flower arrangements every few place settings. Boxwood trees and more flower arrangements dotted the edges, giving the tasting room a romantic, intimate feel. I hoped she liked it. Giulio and Vincenzo had worked hard on this together today, knowing how much my wife loved the grapes and the process of making wine.
“Oh, my God. Fausto,” she said with a sigh as she took it all in. “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe it. How . . . ?”
“Giulio and Vincenzo oversaw this. For you.”
“It’s perfect.”
Everyone filed in and began taking their seats. Francesca and I sat at the head of the table together, where a basket of wrapped bomboniere waited. She leaned over. “What is this?”
“Those are wedding favors. You give them out to the guests.”
“What’s inside each little box?”
“Confetti. Five sugared almonds.”
“Is this another luck thing?”
“Sì, they symbolize health, wealth, happiness, fertility, and longevity for the newlyweds.”
She gestured to her belly. “I think you have the fertility one covered, baby daddy.”
I leaned in and kissed her. “We still have three more of those to come.”
She rolled her eyes, though I was not fooled. I could see the way her eyes sparkled at the idea.
Ready to get this dinner over with, I stood up to welcome our guests. I very much wished to get my wife alone.
Francesca
I was a married woman.
Even though I was wearing a wedding dress, it seemed surreal. Married. To Fausto Ravazzani.
Holy shit.
I was a mafia wife, a role I’d sworn to avoid. As I snuck a glance at my handsome husband, I couldn’t regret it. I would spend the rest of my life at his side, in his bed, hearing that sexy growl and playing our dirty games together. Yes, please.
As I passed out the favors to the small number of dinner guests, they all kept shoving money at me. I knew it was an Italian custom, but I wasn’t prepared for this much. The mayor gave me ten thousand Euros, for fuck’s sake. Giulio said more money and gifts would arrive in the coming weeks, once news of Fausto’s marriage spread around the globe.
I guess that’s what happened when one married a badass international criminal.
When I finished with the favors I walked back to my chair, which was now occupied by Marco. Instead of being deterred, I slipped onto my husband’s lap and draped my arms around his neck. He smelled so good and felt even better. Fausto stroked my thigh and held me close, while he and Marco spoke quietly to one another. I was in no hurry to move.
I’d spent the entire day and most of the evening with my sisters. Though I was happy to have them here, their visit was bittersweet and way too short. Emma and Gia were sad, as well, but they had to get back to their lives in Toronto.
I would miss them, there was no doubt about that. I thought back to when I wanted nothing more than to leave Italy and return home, but I didn’t feel that way anymore. I was Team Ravazzani now. My loyalties were with Fausto and his ’ndrina. His family and our children. Someday, I’d see my sisters again. We would find a way to reconnect.
“He’s weak but still holding out on us. We should track the money,” Marco was saying. “That thirty million went somewhere.”
Were they talking about Enzo?
“His men will be too smart to spend it now,” Fausto said. “Besides, when he signs everything over to me, it will no longer matter.”
Wait, they were discussing Enzo. Holy shit, did this mean he stole thirty million dollars from Fausto?
What was it Mariella had said? Besides, Fausto will soon lose everything. My Enzo is very clever with computers and he has eyes and ears everywhere.
Why hadn’t I remembered that before?
I straightened, angling so I could see both of their faces, though I kept my voice low. “When I was with Mariella, she told me you would soon lose everything and that her man has eyes and ears everywhere.”
My husband’s fingers tightened on my body as he exchanged a dark glance with Marco. “Anything else you can remember?” he asked. “Any mention of who might be helping him?”
I searched my memories. So much of that time had been spent in a panic, with a dash of morning sickness to boot. Staying alive and keeping my shit together had taken most of my energy.
This is why you are the perfect distraction.
Yes, it made sense. I hadn’t understood Enzo’s words at the time, but he’d obviously taken me to distract Fausto. When I repeated the words to my husband, he scowled.
“A misdirection,” Marco said, rubbing his eyes. “Cristo.”
“That brutto figlio di puttana bastardo,” Fausto swore, then returned his attention to his cousin. “Tomorrow morning, I want you and Giulio in my office first thing. We need to strategize.”
“Can I come, too?” I nuzzled into his throat. “Seeing as how I was so helpful tonight?”
“No. I want you sleeping and resting.”
“But—”
“That’s enough.” He patted my hip. “Go and say goodbye to your sisters. They depart now for the airport.”
My heart sank as he helped me to my feet. “Okay.”
I started to leave, but his warm fingers wrapped around my wrist, stopping me. He brought my wrist to his mouth and kissed the inside of it, sending goosebumps up my arm. “After you finish, I get you all to myself.”
“Okay,” I repeated, but breathier this time. I don’t know how he managed to turn me on with the simplest touch.
He let me go and I went toward the twins, who stood near the wine barrels, drinking. True to form, Gia flirted with every seemingly unattached male tonight, while Emma watched from arm’s length.
“Is it time?” Emma asked quietly when she saw me approach.
I nodded. “I’m going to miss you both so much.”
Surprisingly, Gia hugged me first. She wasn’t usually the demonstrative one. “Bye, sis. I’m going to miss you, too.”
“Stay out of trouble, Gigi, and keep up with your birth control shots,” I said with a laugh, even though tears had started leaking from my eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. I hope this isn’t the last time we see you.”
My chest felt hollow and more tears slipped free from my lids. “Of course it won’t be. We’ll figure it out.”
Finally, I let her go and turned to my other sister. “Sweet Emma,” I said and wrapped my arms around her. She held on tight, already crying, as well. “I love you. And you should definitely stay out of trouble, too.”
“I will,” she whispered.
I pulled back and held onto their hands. “Remember what I said about Papà and college. He might say you can go for four years but he could be lying. So, make the most of that first semester away at school.”
Benito came over to hover behind us, his face conveying his unhappiness in being tasked with this errand.
My sisters and I fell into a big group hug with more tears and whispers of keeping in touch. I made them promise to text me the minute they landed in Toronto. Then Benito cleared his throat and we were forced to let go. A sob tore at my throat as they turned away.
Watching Emma and Gia walk out of the winery was one of the worst moments of my life. It felt like a part of me was going with them, like maybe the old Frankie, the version of me who’d hoped for a normal life filled with college, drinking and random boys. None of that would happen now. I was about to start a new chapter as a wife and mother. A mafia queen.
Arms wrapped around my waist and I felt Fausto’s strong presence behind me, easing some of the rawness in my heart. He kissed the crown of my head. I sighed and leaned into him, wiping away tears. I’m sure I looked like a mess.
“They will be fine,” he said softly. “Te lo prometto.”
Turning, I slid my arms around his neck and held on. My makeup was probably running and ruining his shirt, but that was too bad. I was allowed to cry right now.
When I quieted he tilted my chin up. His eyes were gentle and adoring, the kind of look he saved just for me. “Are you ready for your surprise, mia bella moglie?”
My toes curled inside the shoes I’d put on for the dinner reception, and I accepted the handkerchief he handed me. Real cotton, because my man was fancy. “I can’t wait.” I wiped my face and tried to clean up as best I could.
“Va bene. Come.” He turned to the guests and spoke in Italian too quickly for me to translate. Whatever he said made everyone laugh and break out into applause. “Auguri!” everyone shouted, offering their best wishes, as he led me to the door.
“What did you say?”
“I said the time has come for me to claim my bride, and the only blood on the sheets would be my own if I did not satisfy you properly.”
“Jesus, Fausto.”
He chuckled and kissed my hand. “Tell me I am wrong.”
“If you don’t satisfy me, I will just take care of myself.”
He hummed deep in his chest. “I still watch the video of you trying on lingerie in the dressing room from Rome. It gets me so hard.”
We stepped out into the darkness. I expected him to turn right but he went left, as if we were going to the vineyards. “Wait, shouldn’t we head toward the castello?”
“This is a surprise, amore. That means you do not ask questions.”
“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”
“You will like this. Trust me.”
The night was perfect. Not too brisk and a clear sky for a bright three-quarter moon. There wasn’t a sound anywhere around us except for our feet on the gravel path. It felt like we were completely alone out here, the only two people in the entire world.
“We’re going into the vineyards?”
He didn’t answer, just led me down the rows of vines. The look on his face was predatory, dark . . . the same man who’d watched me deep throat him in the stables and ride him in a red bodysuit. It was the face of a man obsessed, who would have me at all costs. And I had given up everything for him, had followed him down the path of darkness where he made the rules and no one dared question him.
But I knew the power I held, the way he’d suffered without me. He would bend at my request, as he had with Paulo and Enzo. The thought of this great man willing to change his mind for me, his wife, made me hot and reckless, like I wanted to do anything he asked, no matter how depraved. It made me giddy and light, a supplicant ready to worship at his feet.
It made me want to play.
I kicked off my flats and took off running.
I didn’t need to look back to see if he was chasing me—I knew he was there, right behind me. I could feel his breath, his lust as I lifted my heavy skirts and flew across the bare ground. The cool dirt cushioned my toes and the wind caused my hair to stream behind me like a banner. I was free and outside, with the one person I loved beyond reason. The hunger for him was like these grape leaves—steady and strong and lasting.
He caught me, his big hands finding my waist and pulling me to a stop, and he caged me against his chest with his arms. I gave a pitiful struggle, which caused his muscles to strain as he held me tighter. “Where do you think you are going, piccola monella?”
Oh, shit. I heard it in his voice. That rough domination, the kind he got when he wanted to conquer me.
And I desperately wanted to be conquered.
“You don’t have to do this, signore,” I panted. “I’ll be good for you, I promise.”
His body jerked slightly, then he spun me around. His glittering gaze searched my face, as if to check what was happening, so I added in a plea, “Please, just let me go.”
I heard his quick intake of breath, watched his nostrils flare. His fingers dug into my ribs, the strength he normally kept in check flaring to life. Mmmm, yes. I wanted to feel that strength, to drown in it tonight. To wake up tomorrow with his fingerprints and bite marks all over me.
We’d played these games before, though not quite this particular one, but still he knew his part. He knew what I wanted from him, because no one had more insight into my mind than Fausto.
His hand wrapped around the front of my throat, not cutting off air but squeezing my flesh enough to send my pulse racing. “You belong to me now, little girl, and I will never let you go.”
“No, please—”
I lost the ability to speak when he bent and tossed me over his shoulder. He marched through the vines, ignoring my half-hearted struggles and protests until he found the row he wanted. The plants surrounded us, parallel lines of brown and green, and it was a world away from soldiers and guns. A simpler place where men claimed their women in the dirt and open sky.
He set me on my feet but didn’t release me. Instead his hand came under my jaw to hold me still. “You are going to be very good for me, capisce? You will do exactly what I say, won’t you?”
I rolled my lips, more turned on than I could stand. “But I’ve never done this before. I’m afraid you’re going to hurt me.”
His grip gentled and his accent became more pronounced, his voice dark with desire. “I will not hurt you, sweet girl. I will get you ready, stretch your tight pussy wide to take my cock.” His palm swept over my breast, and my nipple pebbled at his touch. “You will try for me. You want to make me happy, no?”
God, yes. My knees were like jelly as I nodded. “Sì, Signore Ravazzani. I will try.”
