Owned by the Italian Mafia Don: A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Possessive Mafia Kings Book 2)

I pace the bedroom, my thoughts drifting to the window and the urge to try to escape this hellhole may or may not have crossed my mind.

It’s all I’m thinking about. Maybe if I take the sheets off the bed, make a rope, toss it over the balcony, and try to make a run for it.

“That’s stupid,” I say to myself, but at this point, I don’t care.

I slip the stone out from my pocket and hold it up to the light, the insides glistening like glitter. It’s gorgeous.

My time to make a run for it has passed, even with this stupid rock. If I left, Milazzo would find me and bring me back.

I’m trapped.

I shove my face into the mattress and scream, punching it with my fists until I have no more air left in my lungs.

I tuck the stone under the mattress, then flop on my back, staring up at the ceiling. I’m trying to catch my breath and my face is hot from shouting my rage into the pillowtop, but what else am I supposed to do? The emotions waging war on me right now are too hard to deal with, too hard to decipher, and too difficult to understand.

I’m pissed and yet I’m thankful.

Thankful. That’s so ridiculous, but I am. He gave me options no one else would. I’m safe. My family is safe. Even if it means I had to sign away my soul. It doesn’t mean I can’t be angry, and it doesn’t mean I have to like him. I don’t. I hate him. I despise him. A part of me wishes I would have killed him when I had the chance. I wouldn’t be in this position.

If I would have killed him, there would have been no witnesses, but that doesn’t fix the issue of my brother. My captor is right. Eventually, we would have been found, if not me, then my brother. I can’t imagine anything happening to him.

Like always when I cry, I press the heel of my hands against my eyes to try and stop myself from crying. I’m feeling so overwhelmed. I want to see Caplan and it hurts knowing I can’t. It would put him at risk. I don’t care about my safety so much as I do his.

A knock on the door sounds and I punch the bed again. Can’t he leave me alone? The doorknob jiggles and it’s locked.

“Rosie,” his voice drifts through the thick wood. “Open the door.”

“Not a chance. I need space from you,” I shout just as the door opens. I prop up on my forearms and scowl at him as he enters the room. “Can’t you give me any privacy?”

“Sure,” he nods, leaning against the doorframe. “But this is my room, so technically, you’re invading my space.”

“That makes sense. This room is boring and masculine.” I stroll to the door and as I brush by him, my entire body awakens. I hold in a gasp. “Just point me in the direction my room is in.”

“Did you not read the entire contract, Tesoro?” he tugs me into the room and closes the door, untying his tie.

“What do you think you’re doing? I’m not having sex with you right now. Contract or not. I’ve only known you a few hours.”

“It’s my room. My bathroom. I’m taking a shower.” He begins to unbutton his shirt and I hurry to him, grasping his hands to stop him from undressing.

“Right, let’s go back to that. You said this was my room.”

He lifts a perfectly groomed brow, all thick and full with a shape most women would kill for. “No,” he says slowly. “I told you the doors at the end of the hall. Which is my room.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Do I even have a room?”

“You’re standing in it.”

The twisted, conniving smirk on his full lips pisses me off just as much as it turns me on.

“You knew what you were doing. You son of a—”

He quirks that damn brow again and a part of me wants to shave it off, so it isn’t a distraction.

I zip my lips, remembering our deal about cursing at one another. “You planned this.”

“Married couples sleep in the same room, Tesoro. They share a bed. That’s what we will be doing.”

“It isn’t enough I signed your contract, but now you’re going to make me play the part? I thought this was a business transaction? I will go to a different room, live a separate life from you, get pregnant whenever we decide to go to the clinic, and then we can move on with our lives,” I explain, suddenly tired and a pounding behind my eyes starts.

I’m defeated.

And I don’t know why I feel like I have to fight him every step of the way. I know I shouldn’t. I understand the mess I’ve gotten myself into but now I feel lost. I don’t like feeling that I have no control over my life right now. Everything is spiraling.

I don’t know how to act around him. Does he want me to press his shirts, so they are wrinkle-free? Kiss him in the mornings before he goes and tortures a guy who does whatever men like him do for work? Does he want me to put on an apron, cook him dinner, and ask him how his day is? This is insanity. Surely, he doesn’t expect that.

“I know we have a lot to overcome,” he begins, grabbing my shoulders gently as he stands in front of me. “I know this situation isn’t easy for you.”

“Isn’t easy?” I say with an exasperated breath, stepping away from him. “It’s impossible. You want to play house. You want me to play your wife. You want me to be this person that doesn’t exist. If you wanted a wife so bad, if you wanted someone to share your bed, have your children, share your hopes and, dreams, cook you dinner, or whatever the hell you want, then that is what you should have been looking for instead of settling with me.” I’m not angry anymore.

I’ve surpassed that. I’m to the point where I’m defeated and I’m accepting this reality; I am, but I can’t just jump into this with a smile on my face. I can’t.

I won’t.

I know making the best of any situation is what we are all told to do, but I’ve never been like that. If something is bad in life, I tend to wallow in it for a few days, needing to accept a new change, and then I come around to the new reality.

I’m not perfect. I’m not happy-go-lucky. I don’t look at the glass half-full because for most of my entire life, it has always been empty.

So being positive right now is hard and if I were to look at the positives the list would consist of two things.

One, he’s so handsome. I’ve never seen anyone as gorgeous as Mr. Milazzo is.

Two, my body wants him so bad, I ache all over, even if my mind hates it.

“You’re right,” he says, going back to the task of unbuttoning his shirt.

My eyes fall to his chest, smooth olive skin appearing the more he unbuttons. I can already see the definition of his pecs. He’s gorgeous.

Hatefully, so.

“But I saw an opportunity for you and for me and like the businessman I am, I applied it. I can only hope you’ll try and get to know me and maybe this can grow into something other than a business transaction.”

I hold my breath, wondering why he’d even want that. “But you could have anyone? Why me? Why someone with so much baggage?”

“Why not?” he shrugs off his shirt and I have to stop myself from falling over because no one should be allowed to look this damn good. It’s unfair. It isn’t right.

He’s lean and muscular, but not overly so. He isn’t bulging, but has soft lines cutting into his abs. He has the perfect body type sprinkled with dark hair across his chest. The hair gets thinner as it trails down to a point under his belly button, vanishing in his pants.

“I am in this,” he says, unbuckling his belt.

He isn’t…

“And since I’m in this, I’m going to try to make the best of it.”

The words are cold water pouring down on me.

“We are married. So why not give this a real shot?” he shrugs, dropping his pants.

He isn’t wearing underwear.

My eyes lock on his cock and my clit begins to pulse, the space between my legs aches, dying to be filled the longer I stare at his nude body.

I’ve never reacted like this with anyone. I’ve never wanted anyone like this before which is why I’m a virgin. I never thought to ‘get it over with’ because if I’m going to be that intimate with someone, I want to want them.

And while Aristide Milazzo drives me mad, there is no denying I wouldn’t be upset right now if he tossed me on the bed and had his way with me.

I have to keep my wits about me though. It’s all I have going for me.

He’s semi-hard, long, and thick by the looks of it, and it rests against his thigh as if it’s weighed down by how hefty it is. There’s a dark patch of hair above his cock, trimmed and well-groomed. I bite my lip to hold in a moan.

He leans forward, grabbing the bedpost with one hand, towering over me. He peers down, his finger under my chin, a place I realize he likes to touch a lot.

“Do you like what you see, Tesoro?” His breath puffs across my cheek as he brings his lips to my ear. “It’s all yours. You can do what you like to me.”

My eyes fall on the small stab wound in his shoulder and there’s a hint of guilt for throwing my knife at him, but he seems fine.

And what does that name mean? I don’t want to know, not yet. I like how the nickname sounds, but it could mean something bad or good. I’m not sure I’m ready to know either right now.

“Maybe I’ll stab you again,” I say weakly, my words broken with attraction.

“You could try.” His lips brush over the shell of my ear and goosebumps arise across my body. “I’d just have to stop you before you did.”

“How would you do that?” I lick my lips, leaning forward to be closer, my body betraying me.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he grins, pressing a simple kiss against my cheek.

It isn’t special. It’s innocent, something friends and family do when they greet each other, but his lips shock me. They are soft, giving, and they linger for a moment, and my eyes flutter shut. The closer he remains, the more I feel his body heat, and the more I want to wrap my arms around his neck and give into the voice that’s whispering in the back of my mind.

I can’t do it. No matter how tempting, no matter how good I know he’d make me feel—because there’s no way a man like him wouldn’t be able to make me feel good—and no matter that he’s the first man to ever ignite desire inside me, we can’t happen.

A man like him can destroy a woman like me.

He’s powerful, wealthy, and elegant.

I’m tired, angry, and far from elegance in the type of woman he needs. Honestly, I don’t know if I have the energy to be that woman. I’m okay with giving him a child and being married for a year, but everything else that he wants to come with it? He wants a fantasy.

I’m smart enough to know reality always overcomes fantasy. This is the real world and I know just how harsh that world can be.

“Mr. Milazzo,” I say his name in protest—or try to—but it comes out with little force. The warmth of his chest presses against my palm and when I feel the soft skin, the firm muscle, the thud of his heart beating loudly, that’s when I notice the mistake I’ve made.

I’ve touched him.

Before I can let go, he wraps his thick fingers around my wrist, holding my hand there.

“Don’t call me that,” he says, his thumb rubbing over my knuckles. “Call me Ari. Please,” he adds, melting my reserve a little bit more.

Calling him by his name is too intimate, but maybe I can concede on this one thing.

“I need to go, Ari,” I tell him, tugging my hand to show him I want to leave.

I expect him to fight me, but he doesn’t. He gently lets go of me and steps backward, naked, gorgeous, in all his glory, and I can’t help but to look him over again.

This time, he’s hard, fully erect, showing just how thick and long he truly is.

No wonder the man has confidence that surpasses any universe. He has no reason to feel anything less than magnificent with a body like that.

“I need space from you. I need air.” Sucking in a much-needed breath, I run out of the room, but not before turning around and getting a peek of him from the back.

Just as perfect from the back as he is from the front.

The view has me stopping in my tracks. My hand is on the door, handle turned, and all I have to do is push it open and walk away.

Far away.

. Instead of leaving like I should, my treacherous feet carry me to the bathroom where the door is cracked. The shower is on, and I lick my lips as they dry, thinking about seeing him wet.

I shouldn’t. He’s a stranger, but he did blackmail me into an arranged marriage with him, so sneaking a peek can’t be too bad so I know what I’m getting myself into, right?

I push the door open, holding my breath in hopes it doesn’t make a sound.

The steam rushes against my face and I poke my head around the door, the stall of the shower open as the towel hangs between the opening wall and where it shuts. I’m able to see the faintest hint of his body through the heat.

His body is the kind you see in magazines, hard and defined in all the right places.

He groans.

I shove a hand over my mouth to stop the gasp from giving away my position. His arm is moving, and he leans his shoulder against the wall, angling himself so he is turned toward me.

I can see everything.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, stroking himself faster.

His eyes are closed, and the size of his cock has me clench my thighs together, knowing it would never fit while wondering what it would feel like inside me.

“That’s it, Tesoro. Swallow every drop.”

My clit throbs from his words, knowing he can’t be talking about me. He comes, painting the glass stall with thick ropes of come.

“Ah, yes. Tesoro. Just like that. Such a good girl.” He lazily slows his strokes and I step back, slowly closing the door until I’m standing in front of it.

I’m in a daze.

My entire body is on fire, awakened by the sight of him, but I won’t give in.

No matter how badly I want to.