Blood Always

Chapter 1 Maria “You’re not as tall as I expected.” The words flowed from my lips without a filter. Some would say I was blunt. Others would call me tactless. I didn’t care what any of them thought. I wasn’t in the habit of blabbing unnecessarily, but when the mood struck, I gave my unadulterated opinion. It seemed particularly appropriate when speaking to the man who was soon-to-be my husband. Honesty and loyalty and all that garbage. I had promised my father I wouldn’t rush to judgment, which had included refraining from studying Matteo De Luca prior to our meeting. I normally never went into a situation uninformed. It went against every fiber of my being—as did playing nice with the enemy. There was nothing I hated more than the Gallo family. As underboss and the face of the organization, De Luca was the perfect target for my ire. Just seeing him had my crimson manicured nails jabbing into my tender palms until I could swear, I’d broken skin. To ease the building pressure, I envisioned, in graphic detail, all the ways I could kill him before he had a chance to lift a finger in defense. It was cathartic. My happy place, if you would. I would have liked nothing more than to act out those bloody fantasies; however, there were several large boulders blocking my path on that yellow brick road. Aside from the retaliation that would be enacted against my family for killing a rival, I had made my father a promise to give De Luca a chance. To set aside the preconceived notions I’d already formed about anyone associated with the Gallo name. The contempt that had evolved over the years between the Lucciano and Gallo families meant I’d never met my fiancé. We kept apprised of our rivals, but I’d never bothered to examine De Luca from the perspective of a possible marriage. While I didn’t study his past in preparation for our meeting, I did allow myself to glance at a few photographs to ensure I wasn’t tying myself to The Elephant Man. The pictures made him look taller. Maybe it was the angles. Or maybe it was his presence—he had an unquestionably assertive way of carrying himself. He wasn’t short, but at about six feet tall, he was a mere six inches taller than me. “Is that a problem?” he asked, without a hint of genuine concern. Good. I didn’t want a v****a for a husband. I would have preferred no husband at all, but if I had to have one, I certainly didn’t want him getting bent out of shape every time I opened my mouth. I wasn’t the standard Notebook-watching, girls’ night out type of woman. I didn’t do emotions or touchy-feely crap. “No, just an observation.” He clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head with what appeared to be amusement. “Any other observations you’d like to share?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about his reaction to me. Usually, people were either annoyed with me or dismissed me altogether. I didn’t tend to amuse. His reaction set me slightly off-kilter—the unsavory taste of unease on my tongue. Sizing him up, my eyes traveled from his short, dark curls to the swirls of inked skin peeking out from beneath his collar—not altogether unusual for a man born into the mafia. He had a neatly trimmed beard spotted with silver. While he was older than me by a decade, the salt-and-pepper beard gave him an even more mature look that many men would have avoided. Curious. Did he not care? Or was the silverback display strategic in his posturing as an underboss? As for his clothes, he wore an immaculately tailored suit with pristine black dress shoes. I’d noted a platinum Rolex on his left wrist when I first arrived but that was the only accessory he sported, if you didn’t count the tattoos dotting the backs of his hands. I hated to admit it, but he was striking … in a purely clinical sense. He was a dichotomy. An enigma. Ruthless gangster swathed in the skin of a genteel businessman. Many of the men I dealt with were little more than thugs, regardless of the image they tried to project. De Luca was the real deal—vicious claws sheathed in refinement and class. He held interest. Did I have any other observations? “No,” I replied. None that I cared to share. There it was again—amusement. Was I imagining it? No. There was a glint in his calculating green eyes. I didn’t want him to find me entertaining. This was a business arrangement, not an episode of The Bachelor. “In that case, why don’t we have a seat. There’s a number of matters we’ll need to discuss.” He motioned toward a set of modern armchairs in his upscale Manhattan apartment. “Can I get you a drink?” “No, thank you.” I’d intentionally set our meeting for 9 a.m. to discourage possible preconceptions that this was any sort of a date. There were to be no drinks or swapping of bodily fluids, and certainly, no professions of feelings. “I’m not sure what your motivations are, but I assure you, as far as I’m concerned, this arrangement is purely business.” He eased himself into the chair across from me with the grace of a panther sizing up its next meal. “Then it sounds like we’re on the same page. Our families would benefit greatly from uniting, and our marriage is the most thorough, yet succinct way of bringing that about.” “Agreed.” “However,” he continued more slowly. “The people around us are not idiots. A sham marriage won’t convince the masses to befriend one another. I hope you understand there is a role you will need to play, and you will need to do so convincingly. There is no point to the charade if the world can see behind our masks.” Just when the tension in my shoulders had eased at our mutual understanding, the muscles clamped back down. What exactly was he trying to say? “I can do what’s necessary in public, but that’s as far as this ruse will go. I’m not going to live a lie in my own home. If I don’t want to talk to you, then I won’t. And if I f**k you, it’s because I feel like it, and not out of any sense of … duty.” “What’s necessary will be public displays of affection. Nothing overt, but you aren’t exactly the pliant type. Will you be able to not only tolerate my touch but actually appear to enjoy it?” He was throwing down the gauntlet with the lift of one angular brow. I never was one to back down from a challenge.