Pursued By My Mafia Husband

Chapter 2

Gemma

I kick my feet and claw desperately at his hands. Terror surge through me.

I came here for safety, but now the man I thought might protect me is the reason I’m going to die.

“Boss!” someone shouts, “Put her down. Your grandfather wants to see her.”

It’s the last thing I hear before I black out.

*****

I wake with a headache, lying on a chaise. My clothes are wet from the rain, but I’m wrapped in a dry blanket. A steaming cup of tea sits on a small, expensive-looking table next to me. A fire roars and crackles in a grate.

My throat aches where Cassian grabbed me. I rub it as I sit up.

Then I see the mahogany desk and the other people in the room. I’m in some kind of study.

The man in the chair behind the desk is old enough to be my grandfather. But despite his papery skin and white hair, he still exudes an aura of power. Two of the biggest enforcers I’ve ever seen flank him.

Cassian stands in the shadows off to one side, his arms folded across his chest.

I jump to my feet, searching for an escape.

“You’re all right, girl. Don’t panic,” the old man, mafia godfather Donovan Blackwell, says.

Like I can help it. I can’t take my eyes from Cassian. I can’t get the images of blood and death out of my mind. But I nod anyway. “Y-yes, sir.”

What my father was thinking, getting into debt with this man—or any of the other men who ruled the mafia underworld—I’ll never know.

My father lived and died a fool, and now our family is nothing. Crushed by the weight of his debts and the chaos of his death.

“Tell me why you’re here,” says Donovan Blackwell.

This old man might be the only person in the world Cassian Blackwell respects. Him wanting to see me is the only reason Cassian didn’t just strangle me to death.

Haltingly, I tell the story of my dad’s death, his debts, and the lowlifes chasing me.

“When I couldn’t pay, they said they would kill me, then my mother,” I finish, my voice shaking.

Silence falls in the study except for the fire crackling. Terror fills me as I look at those two men on either side of Donovan, both big enough to snap my neck with one hand.

But it’s Cassian’s presence I can’t forget. His eyes that feel like scorching hands running all along my body.

Was it a mistake to come here?

Did I run from one death straight to another?

I am so, so out of my depth.

Donovan steeples his fingers. “So your father—and because of him, the Marino family—owes over 100 million dollars to half a dozen other mafia families?”

“Yes, sir.” I never really stopped crying, and now fresh tears leap to my eyes.

It’s so much money. It was stupid to come here. Donovan Blackwell is probably going to have me killed for insulting him with my request.

“That is a large sum,” Donovan says. His voice is shockingly kind. He pauses to think. “You’re Lucien’s legitimate daughter, correct? I’ve only ever seen the other one.”

I wince at the question, and at the thought of my treacherous b***h of a half-sister. “Yes, sir. My father is—was—partial to my half-sister’s mother, even though she was never his wife.”

I can’t keep the bitterness out of my words and they end in an angry snarl. Donovan chuckles. “You’ve got some bite in you. I like that. Don’t you, Cassian?”

Cassian doesn’t answer, only continues to pin me in place with his midnight eyes. His presence is so powerful it’s taking up all the air in the room.

I can’t tell if it’s fear I’m feeling…or arousal.

The thought shocks me. Arousal? What the hell is wrong with me?

“One hundred million,” Donovan says again. He leans back in his chair and taps his chin, considering. Then he says, “How much does that facility cost that you’ve just put your mother in? I heard about her…illness.”

I swallow. I can’t believe he knows about that.

As if he can read my mind he says, “Oh, yes. I heard. Grief can do terrible things to a person. I’m sorry for your loss, and hers.”

I want to laugh, but there’s nothing funny here.

He thinks grief over my father is the reason my mom lost her mind. But she didn’t go crazy because she missed my cheating, piece of s**t dad.

She lost her mind because my father’s mistress and her daughter—my half-sister, Reyna—poisoned her. I don’t know how, or when. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to prove it.

But I know they did.

That’s why I’m here, throwing myself on the mercy of my father’s greatest enemy. I will do whatever he wants, I don’t care. I have to save my mother.

It’s beyond desperate to come to the Blackwells, but they’re my only chance.

If they turn me away, I’ll die, and so will Mom.

“It’s three thousand dollars a month.”

I hide my clenched fists behind my back. I’m so close to being able to afford it. My career—my secret—is so close to making me more money than I can dream of.

But my business is growing too slowly. I can barely afford three thousand plus food for myself. I already lost our house. I’ve been alternating living in my car and crashing on my best friend’s couch.

Donovan snaps his fingers, and one of the men at his side jumps to obey. “Call the hospital Lisette Marino is in. Have her discharged immediately and taken to Sacred Hope.”

“Grandpa…” Cassian says, his voice rumbling with warning. Donovan ignores him.

I gasp. Sacred Hope is a top-of-the-line hospital. It has the best facilities, equipment, and doctors in the world.

And for a mental patient like my mother, it costs fifty thousand dollars a month.

I know, because I looked into it.

“Sir, wait! I can’t afford—!”

Donovan waves a hand at me. “It’s pocket change. Nothing compared to what you’re going to do for me.” He looks at Cassian. “For us.”

My gut churns. I imagine so many terrible things a mafia boss might ask from me.

What is he going to do? Force me into prostitution? Sell my virginity? Kill me and sell my organs on the black market? All of the above?

Cassian’s brows furrow, as if he doesn’t know what his grandfather is talking about, either.

“Wh-what am I going to do for you?” I ask, fear coating every word.

Donovan snaps his fingers again. The other man beside him jumps up and hands him a sheaf of papers.

It looks like a contract.

He puts it on the desk and turns it toward me, as if he knew this would happen.

As if he was waiting.

He looks from me to Cassian. His heir stands there like a statue carved of marble.

Perfect. Cold. Immovable.

Then the most powerful man in the entire criminal underworld says, “You two are going to get married.”