Arranged Mafia Marriage

Karma

The domed ceiling far above the bed has an ornate pattern. How old is this building? From the outside, it had a baroque architecture… The kind I’ve seen in magazines. It was beautiful. Does he own it? He must. Just like he owns the private jet we’d flown in that had landed on the private airstrip on the other side of the island.Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

He’d stalked off the flight and driven off in a car. His men had directed us to the second car. There had been two more following us as our little procession had made its way here.

Is this the only building on the island? Where is this island, anyway? Somewhere in Italy, given the language his men had been speaking. Michael himself, though, spoke with an odd accent, something between American and Italian.

Michael, huh? As if knowing his name means I know anything about him? He is, clearly, Mafia… If he hadn’t given himself away when I had mentioned my father…the proceedings after that had given away his identity. I stand up and stretch.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles. I glance around the room, but there’s no one. A shiver runs down my spine. I wrap my arms around my waist, take stock of my surroundings. There’s a closet in the corner, an old-fashioned dressing table pushed up against one wall. Beyond that, a door. I walk to it, push it, and step inside a bathroom that’s spacious enough to have a clawed bathtub in the center. Beyond that, a large window allows light inside. On the other side is a sink. I walk over, catch my reflection and flinch.

Dirt streaks my face and my hair has bits of… I pull at it-dried leaves? There are towels on a chair nearby. I strip out of my clothes, ignore the bath and walk over to the shower stall at the far corner. The shampoo and the shower gel smell of moonflowers. Whoa! How did he know that this is my preferred scent? I step under the water, which is hot… Thank god.

I let it flow over me, sink into my tired muscles, allow my muscles to unwind. When the hot water runs out. I step out, dry myself, survey my clothes. My sports bra has flecks of blood… his blood. Hmm. I wrap the towel around my torso, cinching it in under my arms. I step out of the bathroom and my breath leaves me.

“What are you doing here?”

Michael turns from the window. The light haloes him, and for a second, the shadows mask the lower part of his face. His blue gaze burns into mine. I flinch. He peruses me from head to toe and his eyes gleam. Then he lowers his eyelashes, jerks his chin toward the bed. A new change of clothes is folded on the bed. “You’re welcome.” He smirks.

Fuck you, very much. I snarl low in my throat. “How did you…?” I frown, then turn on him. “You were watching me?”

He tilts his head.

“You…you creep.”

“You really do need to get more inventive with your insults, Beauty.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Stop trying to resist every step of the way, it’s…annoying.”

“What’s annoying is you haunting me, turning up at every corner, insinuating yourself into my life, making it a living hell, taking me away from everything and everyone that-”

“Made you unhappy.”

I still. “What are you talking about?”

“You hated your life.”

Yes.

“You know nothing about me.”

“On the contrary.” He drums his fingers on his thigh. “Karma West. Birth name: Karma Rhodes. Born twenty years ago to Charlotte and Adam Rhodes. Mother died when you were a young, leaving you in the care of your father. Who promptly threw himself into his work, then fell into debt. He then abandoned you and your sister to the foster care system, and left the UK to escape the wrath of the Mafia. Your sister made it out of the foster care system when she came of age, then took you on as your legal guardian. Just a few weeks ago, she married Sinclair Sterling, one of the richest men in the UK. You attended their sham wedding… Then drank the night away with your two friends at the pub two streets down from their residence in Primrose Hill. Wanted to go home with a man…but didn’t. Along the way, you also dropped out of a graduate course in fine arts at Goldsmiths, where you had received a full scholarship, instead preferring to spend the days at your pop-up shop in Camden Market where you hawk your wares.”

“I don’t hawk. I share my designs,” I snap.

“You mean the clothes you sew?”

“They are dress creations that I fashion,” I sniff, “and sell under my independent clothing brand.”

“What-fucking-ever.” He smirks. “That’s…when you are not haunting your local pub or dancing to electronica with fellow goths who pretend to understand you. But really, no one does.”

“And you do?”

“You have to admit, I know far more about you than anyone else.” He rubs his knuckles across his thigh, and I shiver.

No, he doesn’t. He has no idea that I have a heart problem or that I’d been seeing a specialist about it before he took me captive… Or that… in a way, I am glad that he took me away from my life because, while my sister Summer means well, she is stifling me with all of that attention. In a way, he set me free. Does he know that? Now, all I have to do is take back the ability to make my own choices. I tilt up my chin, “You’ve barely scratched the surface of who I am.”

“Hmm.” He draws his gaze down my features, over my chest, “And what a thing of beauty that is, too.”

My nipples grow erect. “Get out.”

His smile widens.

“I need to change.”

“Go right ahead.”

Bastard. Of course, he’d taunt me about that. I march up to the clothes folded on the bed. There’s a pale yellow dress, and next to it, underwear-a matching bra and panties set. My cheeks flush. Did he choose my underwear? Nah, he probably had it ordered or something for me, not that I am going to ask him. That will simply reveal just how nervous I am. I take in the comfortable ballet pumps next to the bed on the floor. Not my style, but at least they look comfortable.

His gaze bores into mine and the skin around his eyes tightens. A strange nervousness seems to roll off of him as he flexes his shoulders. He can’t be nervous. Can he? Nah, it’s my imagination. Alphahole here isn’t be afraid of anything…or anyone. All of this is just a ruse to get me naked. If he thinks I am going to shrink away from it…he’s…mistaken. I tip up my chin, drop the towel.

His entire body stiffens. A breeze blows in from the window and I shiver. Look at the clothes. Reach for them. Put them on. Do it. Cover yourself. I grip my fingers at my side, try to glance away from his perusal, but I can’t. He walks over, until he’s right in front of me. So big, so tall. I have to tilt my head back, and then further back, to meet his gaze. Blue eyes deepened to an azure steel reflect back every single one of my emotions. Uncertainty. Lust. Desire. His gaze rests on my features, down to my lips. A moan wells up my throat. Down to my nipples which instantly pebble, across my trembling belly, to the slippery core between my thighs.

“Open your legs.”

No.

No.

“Yes.” He jerks his chin. I shuffle my feet apart. Draw in a breath. Another. Dense clouds of heat spool off of his massive body, and slam into my chest. I pant. His gaze rolls down my thighs to my feet. My toes curl. Then back to my pussy. Liquid heat thrums low in my belly. Blood engorges my nub. Hell. Is it my own audacity that’s turning me on as much as the fact that he can’t seem to take his gaze off my cunt?

“Che cazzo,” he exclaims, “is that what I think it is?”

“What do you think it is?”

“When did you get your clit pierced?”

“None of your bloody business.” I’d have had my nipples pierced too, but that would have been too obvious, and if my sister had picked up on it? Gah, Summer would have had a cow about it.

Maybe, once I escape this asshole, and I’ve told Summer that I am safe, I’ll figure out a way to be independent and stand on my own two feet without having to be dependent on anyone else… Then I can pierce any bloody part of my body and I won’t have to explain it to anyone.

His lips twist, “You’re wrong, Beauty. Everything about you is my business. You’re my property now, you understand?”

“I’m a woman, a person, you bastard. I am not a possession.”

“Wrong.” He yawns. “When you left your life behind, you gave up all rights. Now you’ll do everything I tell you to, when I tell you to, how I…” he leans forward on his heels, “tell you to.”

“I didn’t leave my life behind. You took me,” I object.

“Tomayto, tomahto; potayto, potahto.”

“Let’s call the whole thing off,” I retort.

He raises his eyebrow. “As I was saying, you’re mine now, and you’ll do as I say…”

“No.”

“Yes.” He nods, “Starting with that.” He jerks his chin toward my core.

“What the hell do you mean?” I scowl.

“You need to shave.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll send someone to help you clean up the hair.” He pivots, then begins to walk toward the door. “I prefer it completely bare.”

Anger explodes in my chest. My gaze narrows. All of my senses seem to pop. A low cry spills from my lips. I close the distance between us and throw myself at him.