The Mafia's Obstacle

Chapter Two:The.Monster.My.Sister.Ran. From

I have never been inside my father's mansion when it was this quiet.

Not quiet like peaceful. Quiet like... funeral quiet.

The kind of quiet where even the air is scared to move.

I stood at the top of the grand staircase, wearing Chloe's dress.

It was a white, tight, ridiculous dress that cost more than my rent for six months. It was too small in the chest, too long in the legs, and it smelled like Chloe's expensive perfume — vanilla and bad decisions.

My hair was still messy. My eyes were still red from crying over Jaden. I had tried to put on lipstick in the Uber, but my hand was shaking so much I looked like a clown.

"Aria," my father whispered from the bottom of the stairs, his face pale. "Come down. Now."

Next to him stood Vanessa, my stepmother, in her perfect black suit. She looked like she wanted to kill me. Or hug me. I couldn't tell.

And on the big leather couch, with his back to me, sat a man.

Even from behind, I knew he was dangerous.

Broad shoulders. Black suit. Black hair. Still. Like a statue. Two other men in black stood behind him like shadows.

That must be him. Alessandro De Luca.

The monster Chloe ran from.

"Chloe —" Vanessa started, her voice tight.

"That's not Chloe," the man on the couch said without turning around.

His voice was low. An American accent with a little Italian edge. Calm. Cold. The kind of voice that doesn't need to shout to make you obey.

My father froze.

The man slowly turned his head. And then he stood up.

Oh.

Oh no.

He was not what I expected.

I expected an old, fat, scary mafia boss with a scar. Like in the movies.

This man was . . . thirty at most. Tall. Like really tall. 6'3 at least. His suit was perfect, his jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, his eyes were dark gray, like a storm. And he was handsome in a way that should be illegal.

He looked at me. From my messy hair to my coffee-stained socks — yes, I was still wearing my heart socks because I forgot to change — to Chloe's too-tight white dress.

His eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?"

My mouth went dry.

I was supposed to lie. Dad said, "Pretend you are Chloe. Just for five minutes."

But looking into those storm eyes, I knew I could not lie to this man. He would know. He would eat me alive.

"I'm Aria," I blurted out. "Chloe's step-sister. The . . . replacement? The spare? The backup bride? I don't know, my dad didn't really give me a script."

Vanessa gasped. "Aria!"

My father closed his eyes like he was about to have a heart attack.

But Alessandro . . . he stared at me. Then, slowly, his eyes dropped to my feet.

My socks. Pink with little red hearts.

One corner of his mouth — just one corner — twitched.

Was he . . . trying not to laugh?

"You're wearing heart socks to your engagement dinner," he said.

"It was a bad morning," I said defensively. "My boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend on our couch. I caught them. Then my dad called me and said my sister ran away from marrying a mafia monster and I needed to put on her dress and come save the family. So excuse me if I forgot to change my socks, Mr. De Luca."

Silence.

Dead silence.

You could hear the clock ticking.

My father looked like he wanted to disappear onto the floor.

One of the guards behind Alessandro choked.

Alessandro took a step forward. Then another. He walked up the stairs slowly, until he was right in front of me. He was so close I could smell him — expensive cologne, clean, dangerous.

He was so tall I had to tilt my head all the way back.

He looked down at me. Really looked at me. At my red eyes, my smeared lipstick, my shaking hands clutching Chloe's dress like my life depended on it.

"You caught your boyfriend cheating this morning," he repeated, his voice quieter now.

"Yes."

"And you still came here."

"My dad . . . he was scared."

He studied me for a long second. Then he did something no one expected.

He reached out, and with one finger, very gently, wiped the smeared lipstick from the corner of my mouth.

My whole body froze. His finger was warm.

"Your sister ran because she thinks I am a monster," he said, his eyes locked on mine.

"Are you?" I whispered. My heart was beating so loud I was sure he could hear it.

He leaned down slightly, so close his mouth was near my ear.

"Yes," he whispered back. "But not to you."

He turned around and looked down at my father.

"Richard," he said, his voice cold again, back to being the Mafia King. "The deal is changed."

My father's knees almost gave out. "Mr. De Luca, please, I can find Chloe —"

"I don't want Chloe," Alessandro interrupted. He didn't even look at my father. He was still looking at me. "Chloe is boring. She runs."

He took my hand. His hand was huge and warm and swallowed mine completely.

"I will marry her."

He said "her" like I was already his.

Vanessa screamed, "What? No! You can't! The deal was for Chloe!"

Aria's brain was buffering.

"What?" I squeaked. "No! No no no! Wait! You can't just — I'm not — I didn't agree to —"

He looked down at my heart socks again, then back at my face.

"You have already put on the dress, Aria Cole," he said softly, but with steel underneath. "You walked down those stairs. You are mine now."

And then he pulled me down the stairs, past my shocked father and stepmother, toward the door where his black cars were waiting.

I tripped.

Of course, I tripped. On Chloe's too-long dress.

I went flying forward — right into his chest, and my hands grabbed his suit jacket for balance.

And I heard it.

_Rip._

I had ripped his $10,000 suit jacket pocket.

I looked up at him, horrified, holding the little piece of fabric in my hand.

He looked down at the torn pocket, then at me, holding his torn suit like a guilty child.

And for the first time in ten years, Alessandro De Luca laughed.