Bound To The Ruthless Mafia Heir; Claimed By His Brother

Belinda “You’re getting married, figlia.” I sit in the middle of a room, surrounded by three men. Men I’ve known all my life. Papa. Nicholas. Adrian. Three men I’d naively thought, before today, would protect me with their very lives. After all, I was there, when they gathered my mother’s dying bed, holding her hand as she made them promise. “Take care of your sister…for me.” A bitter chuckle escapes under my breath. I stare at my father, my top lip quivering. “You say it like you’re negotiating a deal, Papa. Marriage. I just turned twenty-two a month ago.” His mouth flattens into a frown. “This isn’t easy for me. You know that. But we have a duty to protect our family. Your brothers—” he sweeps his hand out towards them, “—are working hard to maintain our alliance in Rome. It’s only fair that you pull your weight, too.” Fair. Duty. The words taste dirty on my tongue, even though I haven’t said them out loud. I know all about duty. I spent years, sitting in the secret room in Papa’s office, listening in on top-level meetings. He called me smart. Briscola. His trump card. I could remember word-for-word everything I heard. I had the gift of reading between the lines too. Once, I saved him from getting screwed over by a mafia don who was secretly working with the Russians. Papa put a bullet through his head in front of me. And I got an all-expense paid trip around Europe with his new jet and a penthouse apartment in Paris. This is different. I heard them whispering, conversations dying out when I walked into the room. They’d kept me in the blind, knowingly. “Tell me the truth,” I say quietly. “I can handle it.” I hear a derisive snicker. “Who says you can ask—” “Stai zitto.” Papa cut in sharply, hushing Adrian. My immediate older brother. He turns to me and I see his eyes soften, like it did when I was very little. When he’d tuck me in bed, because mama couldn’t get out of hers. “Tesoro mio,” he sighs. “He’s a good man. You have nothing to worry about. I wouldn’t send you that far from my sight, if I didn’t think you’d be safe.” My throat tightens as I nod slowly. I want to believe him. I really do. But I can’t shake off the fear that clings to me. “When?” I whisper. “Today. It’s a small ceremony—a blessing by the priest. We don’t want to risk drawing…” he pauses, his tone hesitant. “Unwanted attention.” “I see,” I say. I rise to my feet, keeping my head down to hide the tears that sting my eyes. “Am I allowed to pack some things, at least?” “I’ve instructed Maria to take care of it,” he tells me. “She’ll be going with you. She will take care of you, Tesoro mio. There’s nothing to fear.” I walk out of the room, pulling the brass knuckle on the heavy mahogany door. I catch the hushed murmurs from my brother as the door swings close, but I don’t stay around to eavesdrop. It wouldn’t change anything, anyway. *** There’s an open suitcase and a strewn of clothes on my bed as I walk into my room. Maria, the housekeeper and my nanny, is in my closet. I plop down at the edge, running my fingers through my hair. Marriage. A week ago, I was considering applying for my Masters degree in business administration. I was going to join the family business—officially. Now, I’m getting married. To a man I don’t know. My eyes sting harder and I swipe with my hands furiously, refusing to let them fall. Not now. Not ever. Crying is a sign of weakness and the Rossi family has no place for weaklings. I learned that much from Papa at least. Maria walks into the bedroom, her steps faltering when she sees me. There’s a huge pile of clothes hanging from her arms and shoulders. “Miss Rossi,” she says softly. “I was hoping to be done with putting your things together before you came in.” I stare at the clothes on the bed. The ones in her hands. “Do I need that much? I haven’t worn a lot of them in a long while. It seems like—” I fidget with my fingertips, unable to sit still. “You’re getting married to an important man, Miss Rossi,” she says warmly, offering me a reassuring smile. “I’m sure there’s a closet big enough to accommodate everything.” Important. I’m not sure how that helps me with his identity, but I nod all the same. “Alright.” “You don’t look happy,” she says, her eyes narrowing slightly in concern. She dumps the clothes away and walks over, perching beside me. “Is something wrong, Miss?” Something? Everything’s wrong. I’m getting married to a man I don’t know in mere hours. “Nothing,” I say briskly. Maria might’ve been working for our family since I was born, but she’s still an employee. My father wouldn’t listen to her. I clear my throat as I stand, slapping on a smile. “I need to take a walk. I’ll be back.” She nods. I escape through the back exit and into the garden. It was my mother’s garden…with the most beautiful color of roses. When she died, I tried to keep them alive, but Papa thought it was a waste of time. There were more important things I could do—like fly around the country, attend meetings, and have dinners with potential political allies who were either a little too grabby or thought they could be the Rossi family’s only son-in-law. It should’ve been a warning. I lower myself on a bench close to a row of dying lilies. “Mama,” I whisper. “I—I—I,” I give up when the words don’t come. Taking a deep breath, I turn and walk back into the house. To face my fate.