“Cristo.” He smashed his fist into the side of her head. “How many fucking times do I have to beat you tonight? After all these fucking years, you still don’t know your place. When you started doing work for friends of mine, that business became a Mafia business. Women don’t do Mafia business. Women stay home, shut the fuck up, spread their legs, and do what they’re told.”
Stunned, Mia breathed through the pain, waited until she could see clearly again, until her ears weren’t ringing and her head was no longer fuzzy. “You can’t make me,” she said. “The word ‘yes’ will never leave my lips. Beat me all you want. I’ll never marry into the mob.” She looked over at her brother. “How you could let this happen, Dante?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you do something?”
“I did.” Dante turned slowly to face her. “It was supposed to be Kat.”
“Dio mio.” Her heart sank into her stomach. Sweet, innocent, sunny Kat. “He’d destroy her.”
“But not you.” Guilt flickered across Dante’s face so fast, she wondered if she had seen it. “You’re strong. Smart. A survivor. If anyone could get through this, it’s you.”
He was right. Kat wouldn’t survive a week with Tony Crackers. She was trusting, generous, innocent—an artistic soul who wouldn’t survive the rigors of mob life.
Rev pulled up in front of Vincenzo’s, a well-known Italian restaurant and Mafia hangout at the edge of town and bordering on an industrial estate. The location gave it an air of privacy and kept the tourists away, but the food kept those in the know coming back for more.
Mia’s father turned to look at her, his face dark with warning. “You gonna get out of the limo and meet Toscani’s boy or do I send Rev and Alfio back for Kat?”
“Don’t you dare touch her,” Mia spat out as she opened the door. There had to be a way out, and she would find it, but in the meantime she would keep Kat as far away from this mess as possible. “I hate you.”
Papà snorted a laugh and joined her on the pavement. Alfio joined them and put a hand on her shoulder, a not-so-subtle warning not to run.
“After tonight that’s not gonna be my fucking problem.” Papà grabbed the neck of her dress and tore it, baring her throat and chest down to the crescents of her breasts. “That should help the situation. Tony’ll want to know there’s a woman underneath all those ridiculous clothes. You try to hide it, but we all know it’s there. You got tits, girl. Whether you want ‘em or not.”
She waited on the pavement for Dante to emerge, but when he reached for the door, Papà shook his head. “You’ve done what I asked you to do. I don’t need you tonight. Rev will take you home. Wait for me.”
Hand shaking, Mia tugged the edges of her dress together and followed her father into the restaurant. No matter what happened, she couldn’t go through with the wedding. A Mafia marriage was for life. It didn’t matter if there was cheating or beating, or if civilian law granted a divorce. Cosa Nostra would ensure that the two parties stayed together using whatever means necessary to get that message home.
And there was no way she could become a Toscani for the rest of her life.
FIVE
“Hey, sweetie. Wanna spend some time?”
“Testa di cazzo.” Nico slapped Luca’s hand off his shoulder, steering his SUV with one hand. “You’ve been fucking too many hookers. You sound just like them.”
Luca, a well-respected Toscani soldier with his own crew of associates, laughed. “That’s ’cause you won’t share what you’ve got going on in that casino. Young, drunk, available women in Vegas for the weekend all ready to party. How many do you invite up to your penthouse suite every night?”
“I’d tell you, but you can’t count that high.” Despite his tension about the operation they planned to carry out as soon as Vincenzo gave them the sign that everyone was in the restaurant, he was glad of Luca’s joking mood. Luca had withdrawn after the tragic death of his newlywed wife, losing himself in his work to the exclusion of everyone including his young son, Matteo.
Luca ran his hand through his thick blond hair, cut to stand up straight on top. With his hazel eyes, and rugged features, he looked more Nordic than Italian. “Anytime you feel like hosting another party, just let me know. I’ve decided to stick with casual hook-ups and one-night stands. No pain. No heartache. I won’t fucking care if they get whacked, and I don’t have to deal with little Matteo getting attached.” He tapped Frankie on the shoulder. “Whaddya say, Frankie? You in?”
“Nah.” Frankie shook his head, lost in thought. “I’ll keep watch.”