The Mafia's Mute Wife

CHAPTER 4

Aria

He had taken Mario with him when he left town, and a part of me had hoped—maybe even prayed—that he wouldn't. I had imagined for a fleeting moment that it would give me the chance to talk to Mario alone, to finally begin the process of escaping with my brother. But I knew deep down it was a naive hope. My father never made things that easy for me. It was foolish to entertain the idea.

Instead, I used the two days without him hovering over my every move as a rare reprieve. It wasn’t complete freedom—Umberto was still nearby—but it was different. Without my father’s oppressive presence, I could breathe. So I spent my time how I wanted. Movies, music, daydreams of a life where I wasn’t constantly looking over my shoulder. I imagined getting on a boat with Mario, sailing away, and watching the New York skyline slowly fade into nothing.

Escaping was ideal, but two days of breathing space? That was a close second.

Of course, all good things come to an end. The reprieve was shattered when my phone buzzed with a text from my father, reminding me not to be late for dinner. I rolled my eyes as I read it. Why did he feel the need to remind me? We’d eaten together every night since my mother’s death, at precisely seven o’clock. I hadn’t been late once, so why now? Just another flex of his power.

With a heavy sigh, I tossed the phone on the bed. *You’ve got this, Em. The more obedient you are, the more he’ll trust you, and the easier it’ll be to get far away from here.*

Two hours later, I dragged myself downstairs. When I entered the dining room, I smiled at Mario, who was already seated. But as soon as my father saw me, he sprang to his feet.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he sneered. “You look like a f*****g urchin. Go put on something respectable.”

My heart dropped, and a cold dread crawled up my spine. My stomach twisted. I glanced down at the stretchy pencil skirt and oversized cotton blouse I’d chosen for dinner. It was casual, but far from sloppy. My father had never cared about what I wore to dinner. So why now?

When I lifted my gaze, I found Mario looking at me apologetically, though he didn’t say a word.

“Go check in with Umberto. Make sure he keeps a cool head tonight,” my father barked. His voice had dropped to a menacing growl as he stalked toward me.

Betrayal swirled inside me as I watched Mario walk down the hall, leaving me alone with our father.

Then, it was just him and me.

My pulse quickened. Something was terribly wrong. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but I couldn’t. I was frozen, rooted to the spot.

“There’s been an offer for your hand. An important alliance.”

*My hand?* As in… marriage? What the hell was he talking about?

My father continued to advance until I was pressed against the wall. “You will not f**k this up for me,” he hissed, his hand closing around my throat. His thumb brushed roughly over my windpipe, and I gasped for air. “You will agree to this union, but understand this: your departure from this house doesn’t mean you’re free. If you say a single word about whatever you think you know, I’ll make sure you regret it. There won’t be a rock you can hide under where I won’t find you.” His grip tightened, and the air in my throat thinned, my blood turning to ice.

I fought to stay still, my body screaming to do anything, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move.

“I’ll know it was you. You don’t have to speak to be a rat,” he growled.

My vision started to darken, the edges of my sight closing in. I reached for his wrist, desperation clawing at me.

His eyes stayed locked on mine for a moment longer before he finally let go. He didn’t move though, standing there like a shadow, his presence suffocating. “His name is Riccardo Reid. He’s Irish, and he’ll be here any minute. Now go up and put on something presentable before you embarrass me.”

I nodded, the words barely registering. I stumbled away, my mind spinning. I rushed to my bedroom and slammed the door behind me.

*Holy s**t. What just hafppened?*

My legs trembled as I leaned against the door, trying to slow my heart. My chest felt like it might explode. I had to think clearly. My father had arranged for me to marry someone—a f*****g alliance. I was going to be married.

*Holy shit.*

Riccardo Reid. The name rang in my ears, but I couldn’t place it. It was familiar, but I never cared about my father’s dealings. Still, details always floated to the surface.

*Think, Em. Think!*

Riccardo Reid. The Irish mafia. My father had arranged an alliance with them, but why me? Why not one of the other women in the family? My thoughts flashed back to the desperation in my father’s eyes.

*Of course, it’s his fault. He doesn’t care who he sells me off to, as long as it benefits him. And I—what? I’d be married into the Irish mob? This isn’t the escape I wanted, but it’s still an escape... for now. But what about Mario? And what if this man is like my father? It could be worse than I ever imagined.*

Panic set in, the cold sweat coating my palms. My heart raced as I fought to stay calm.

I had to calm down.

My father would be furious if I came to dinner looking like a wreck. I forced myself to breathe, slowly letting the tension release. I nodded to myself.

*See what you can learn while you get changed. Don’t overreact.*

I grabbed my phone and texted Pippa, my cousin and best friend. Pippa always knew everything. If anyone had answers, it was her.

*Me: Who is Riccardo Reid?*

*Pippa: Hello, random.*

*Me: Don’t have time. I need details, now!*

*Pippa: s**t, now you got me worried. I think he’s one of the Irish thugs—runs a gambling club or something. Let me check. Brb.*

I threw the phone on the bed and rifled through my closet. What the hell was I supposed to wear to meet my potential fiancé? Did I want to look attractive? Or should I try to scare him off? What would my father do if I went with the latter?

A chill ran down my spine. *Definitely don’t want to find out.*

I picked a forest green sheath dress—professional, not too revealing. I freshened up my hair and makeup, just in time for my phone to buzz again.

*Pippa: Remember that guy they found in East Harlem, burned alive?*

*Me: Yeah?*

*Pippa: Rumor has it, Reid was behind it. Thought I remembered the name. Why are you asking?*

*Oh shit.*

The murder had been one of the most grisly in years, but I hadn’t paid much attention. Now, it all clicked. Riccardo Reid was linked to it. Was this the man I was going to marry?

*Me: He may be my new fiancé.*

Pippa didn’t respond right away, but I didn’t have time to wait. The doorbell rang in the distance.

*Time to face my fate.*

I took another deep breath, holding back the nausea that churned in my stomach. My heels clicked sharply on the wood as I walked toward the door. When I rounded the corner, there they were—my father, Mario, and the man I’d seen in the coffee shop just days earlier.

My breath caught.

*So that’s why he knew who I was. Why he didn’t question my silence. Why Umberto had been so furious to see him.*

The man was a rival. A beautiful monster. My future husband.

My father began introducing us, but I could barely hear the words over the ringing in my ears. I walked to the chair next to Riccardo, and he helped me into it, sitting next to me.

I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead, afraid to meet his gaze—those hypnotic cobalt eyes that had ensnared me from the moment we’d locked eyes.

*This is the man I’m going to marry.*

The man who had beaten Umberto to a bloody pulp with just a few swift strikes. The man whose presence lingered even after he left the room. The man who had confessed he wasn’t remotely civilized.

*What a beautiful disaster.*

My life. Our impending marriage. It was too much to process.

Luckily, my mind seemed to shut down whenever he was near.

Riccardo’s voice cut through the fog in my thoughts as he spoke to my father. But it was only the low hum of his voice that I could hear. Then his hand settled on my knee, stilling my fidgeting.

Under the table, my father couldn’t see it. But Riccardo’s touch sent shockwaves through me.

His thumb started to trace slow, deliberate circles on the inside of my knee, each movement steady and measured, like he knew exactly how to ground me at the moment. The pressure wasn’t soothing, not in the way I expected. It wasn’t comforting, but it made me focus on it, on *him*, instead of the chaos swirling inside my head.

His skin was rough against mine, unsettling in its own way, but it didn’t make me flinch or pull away. Instead, it made me feel... smaller, like the space between us had shrunk, and I was stuck in a moment that could stretch on forever. There was something almost methodical about his touch—controlling, calculated—but underneath it, I could feel a dangerous undercurrent. He wasn’t just trying to calm me. He was marking me. And I could feel it, like a brand.

My heart pounded again, but this time it wasn’t fear. It was something darker, something that made my pulse spike in a way that almost felt like submission.

Just as suddenly as it had come, his hand was gone, and I was left with the cold, exposed feeling of where his touch had been. It was strange how the absence of his hand hit me harder than the pressure itself, like he'd pulled something from inside me, leaving me feeling untethered, and off-balance. The weird space between us felt more powerful than the touch ever had.

Riccardo's voice droned on, low and steady, talking business with my father—alliances, deals, things that seemed far beyond me—but all I could hear was the echo of his touch. What was it? A power move? A warning? Or was that just how he played the game—calm, controlled, everything in his hands?

I couldn’t help it—I stole a glance at him. His expression was unreadable, the same mask he’d worn when we first met. But when his eyes met mine for a split second, I saw it. The challenge. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was in control, and he wanted me to know it.

He didn’t need me to say a word. He knew I was already tangled up in whatever game he was playing. And the worst part? I wasn’t sure if I wanted out.