Silent Lies: An Age Gap Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance (Perfectly Imperfect Book 8)

Arturo DeVille’s house is situated in an upscale neighborhood. Close enough to everything important, but well away from all the craziness of a Saturday night. Or at least as much as living in New York allows. I stop my bike in front of the iron gate and push up my shield visor. Staring directly into the camera, I press the call button. A few moments later, the gate slides to the side.

I park my bike and head toward the front door where Sienna’s brother is standing, glaring at me.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks through his teeth.

“Are we going to discuss business on your porch?”

Arturo sizes me up, then turns and heads inside. I follow him across the spacious living room. Despite its size, the room feels unexpectedly cozy, like home. There’s a big bookshelf, a comfortable leather sofa, and a piano in a corner. Photographs line the walls, most of them featuring Sienna and her sister.

Arturo steps around the breakfast bar that divides the space and enters the kitchen, heading toward the stove.

“What do you want?” he asks as he adds a bit of seasoning to whatever he has on the grill.

I move to the breakfast bar and take a seat on a barstool furthest to the right, positioning myself so I have his face in my direct line of sight. The underboss has a deep voice I can hear without a problem, but I don’t take chances where business is involved.

“One of our warehouses caught fire,” I say. “I need more product.”

“How much?”

“Half a ton, minimum.”

“Six weeks,” he says as he flips the steaks.

“That doesn’t work for me. I need it here in ten days.”

Arturo uses his fork to stab a chunk of cheese off an antipasto platter and puts it into his mouth, observing me as he chews. Power games—Italians sure seem to love them.

“I can get you the drugs next weekend,” he says with a smirk, “but I have to add a 30 percent rush fee to the regular price.”

“That’s rather steep. Are all your family members getting that rate, or am I special?”

Arturo throws the fork in the sink and crosses the kitchen with a furious look on his face. “You are not my fucking family.”

“I married your sister. It counts as ‘family’ where I came from.” I tilt my head to the side, holding his gaze. “But then again, where I’m from, no one would have been able to make me give up my sister to a virtual stranger. Tell me, Arturo, do you also let your don tell you when you’re allowed to take a piss, or can you make that decision for yourself?”

I don’t see the knife until it’s halfway to my face. I block his hand, diverting the direct hit to my eye, but end up with a long slash down my cheek. Seizing Arturo’s wrist in one hand, I grip the hair at the back of his head with the other and slam his face down onto the wooden bartop between us. He roars and forces the knife toward my head again. I let go of his hair, grab his knife-wielding hand, and twist. I don’t hear the snapping sound but, based on Arturo’s howl, I broke his wrist.

A powerful hit to my chin makes my head snap to the side. I take a step back and shake my head, trying to rid myself of the ringing sound in my ears. I thought that son of a bitch was right-handed.

Arturo rounds the breakfast bar and charges at me. I avoid the left hook aimed at my face and bury my elbow into his chest, but then, I end up gasping for air when he knees me in my gut. Straightening, I grab the front of his shirt and slam him against the nearest wall. The back of his head hits one of the large picture frames, which falls and shatters into pieces.

“This discussion should have happened before the marriage certificate was signed, you know.” I spit blood to the side, then throw a punch into his stomach. “But your sister is mine now. And there is nothing you can do about it.”

“If I knew what a sick fuck you are, I never would have let Sienna marry you.”

“I’m no worse than other men in our world. Look at your don. Mailing body parts around as a warning.”

“Yeah. You just nail people to walls and carve crosses into their chests.” Arturo leans forward, his stare burning through me. “Sienna cried for weeks after her dog died. Just imagine what will happen when my sister finds out your little secret. So, I don’t have to do anything other than tell her that small detail, and she’ll run back home.”

“She can run. But I will come for her and get her back.”

“You won’t be getting her back, Drago. Ajello might be ruthless, but he would never force a woman to go back to a man she’s afraid of.”

I wrap my free hand around Arturo’s throat and squeeze. “Then I’ll have to make sure you can’t tell Sienna anything.”

Arturo’s left hand shoots up, grabbing my throat in return. “You can try.”

The bang of a door against a wall as it flies open and the thunder of running feet reverberates through the house. A pair of arms wrap around my waist, pulling me away. I try hitting the man holding me with my elbow, but another seizes my limbs. Arturo launches himself from the wall, rushing at me, but two other guys grab and hold him back.

The Cosa Nostra don walks in and comes to stand in the middle of the room. “Family squabble?” he asks, looking at me, then he shifts his gaze to his underboss.

“Yeah. We can’t agree on where we’ll spend next Christmas. At Arturo’s or my place,” I say.

“Indeed.” The don nods to his men. “Escort Mr. Popov out. They can finish their holiday planning some other time. I need to talk with Arturo.”

I shake off the men holding me and take a step toward the don. “I know about your little spying scheme. That shit stops now, Ajello, or I swear to God, things won’t end well.”

Without waiting for his reply, I turn and head toward the front door. When I reach the threshold, I look over my shoulder and meet Ajello’s eyes. “And if your underboss dares to meddle in my private life, I’ll have to kill him.”

“Sienna loves Arturo. Killing him wouldn’t be healthy for your marriage,” he says. “And Arturo won’t be meddling.”

I nod and step outside.

Sienna

Ink from a broken pen on one of my favorite shirts. Perfect. I’m hurrying across the foyer to find Keva and ask her for a stain remover when I hear the roar of a bike. I peer out the window overlooking the driveway as a black motorcycle pulls to the side. Once the engine dies, the driver dismounts and removes his helmet. It’s Drago. I had no idea my husband rides a bike.

Drago leaves the helmet on the handle and approaches the front door. A gasp leaves my lips as I stare at the left side of his face. It’s covered in blood. I rush toward the entrance and reach it just as he walks inside.

“Oh my God.” I press my hand over my mouth, staring at the long cut down his left cheek. It’s still oozing.

“Keva!” I yell and take a step forward, reaching my hand toward his chin, but he jerks his head away.

“Are you fucking five?” I snap and try again. “Let me see.”

He doesn’t move this time, and I take his chin between my fingers, turning his face to the side.

“Jesus, Drago.” I sniff, staring at his cheek. The cut is four inches long.

“What’s going . . . Oh my God!” Keva runs up behind me. “Get him to the kitchen, Sienna. Right now.”

Drago takes a step, and my hand falls from his face. I stare at his back as he walks across the foyer, then trot after him.

“Clean him up.” Keva thrusts a kitchen towel and a bowl of warm water into my hands. “I’m going to get a first aid kit.”

I look down at the bowl in my hands, then at my husband as he takes a seat on a chair at the kitchen table.

“Give me that,” he says as he unzips his jacket. The white shirt underneath is covered in blood stains.

I put the bowl on the table and dip the kitchen towel into the water. Drago reaches to take the cloth from my hand, but I pull it away.

“Stay still,” I mumble and step to stand between his legs. Gently, I begin to clean the blood off his face.

I start with his neck and then move to his chin. My hand is shaking, and the trembling only becomes worse as I get closer to the cut. The only other time I’ve seen this much blood was when Arturo cut his palm while filleting a fish a decade ago. I screamed and fainted.

Drago’s fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling my hand away from his face. “You don’t seem to be handling the sight of blood very well.”

I look into his questioning eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Your face is so pale, it’s turning green. Give me the towel.”

I grit my teeth. “No.”

His other hand comes to the small of my back, pulling me even closer until my lips are barely an inch from his. “Give me the fucking towel, Sienna.”

“No. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” I say, my lips touching his.

Keva bursts into the kitchen, carrying a box full of medical supplies. “How did you get that?” She slams the container on the table.

Drago lets go of my wrist. “Knife. Do you have a tetanus shot in there?”

“Do I look like an ER to you?” Keva snaps and leans in to look at his cheek. “That will need stitches. What happened?”

“I had a chat with my brother-in-law.”

“Arturo did that?” I gape at him in surprise. “Why?”

“A business disagreement.”

“Idiots,” Keva says as she sprays something on his cheek. “Sienna, there’s a sewing kit in there somewhere. Find it.”

“Shouldn’t he go to a hospital?” I turn and start rummaging through the supplies, acutely aware of Drago’s hand that is still at the small of my back, keeping me close.

“This one would rather die from blood loss than set foot in a hospital again.”

I pass the sewing kit to Keva, who is using gauze to clean Drago’s cut, and slant my eyes to the burn scar visible above the collar of his shirt. When I look up again, Keva is holding the sides of the gash together with two fingers while thrusting a curved needle through his skin, sewing it up right in front of my eyes. I place my shaking hand on Drago’s other cheek and hold my breath.

Keva is talking, but her words are muted as if someone has covered my ears. With a quick tug, she ties the thread and cuts it. “One more.”

There is a strange thumping sound at the back of my head. It’s as if my heart somehow moved there and is now beating at twice its normal rate.

Does it hurt? It must hurt even with the numbing spray. My brother did that? “I’m going to fucking kill him,” I whisper and brush the back of my hand down Drago’s other cheek.

The needle pierces my husband’s skin again. I want to look away but can’t lift my eyes. Keva pulls on the thread and Drago winces. It’s a minuscule movement of his jaw, but I feel the twitch under my palm. Everything before my eyes dissolves.

“Sienna?”

I hear Drago’s voice, but it’s far, far away.

“Sienna! Look at me, baby.” He’s yelling now, but his shouts have never been more distant.

All I can see is the white haze before me, but soon enough, it’s replaced with blackness.

Drago

Sienna’s eyes roll back, and I catch her as her body sags against mine.

“Sienna!” I cradle her gently in my arms, shaking her slightly to rouse. “Please, baby.”

Keva smacks my forearm. “Stop shaking the poor girl. She just fainted.”

“What! Why?” I look down at my wife’s pale face as panic brews in my chest. “I’m calling a doctor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’ll come around in a minute. Sit back down so I can put a dressing over your wound.”

“I’m taking her upstairs,” I say and head out of the kitchen. Keva hollers after me, something about infection, but I ignore her.

I carry Sienna to our bedroom, but I can’t make myself let her go. Instead of placing her on the bed, I sit down on the edge and continue holding her in my arms. Her head is resting against my chest, and some color is returning to her cheeks already. Sienna’s eyes flutter open, but her gaze remains unfocused.

“Baby?” I tighten my grip on her. Can she hear the thunderous beating of my heart?

She mutters something I can’t decipher.

“You fainted,” I say and lower my head, nearing her face. “Don’t you dare do that ever again.”

Sienna blinks, then says something else and narrows her eyes at me. I wasn’t paying attention to her lips, but I think I heard “Arturo,” so I assume she asked about her brother.

“He’s in a bit of a worse shape than me, but he’ll live,” I say and drop my eyes to her mouth.

“Who?”

Fuck. I misunderstood. “What did you just say?”

“I said you can’t order me not to faint.”

Order. Arturo. Too similar sounding. Shit. “Yes, I can. And I was talking about your brother.”

Sienna places her palm on my uninjured cheek. “What did you do to my brother, Drago?”

“I broke his wrist. And maybe a few ribs.”

“What?” She straightens so she’s sitting upright on my lap. “Because of some business crap?”

“He started it.”

She raises her eyebrows and touches my bottom lip with her finger and starts to trace the line of my mouth in a feathery caress. “Arturo would never attack anyone unless he’s provoked. Did you provoke him?”

“Maybe a little.” I draw her finger between my teeth and nip at it.

“Ouch.” She pulls her hand away. “What was that for?”

“For scaring me.” I fall back on the bed, pulling her with me. “No more fainting.”

Sienna smiles wryly as she straddles me. “I’ll try my best.”

“Good. Blouse. Off. Slowly.”

She starts unbuttoning the silky thing. Lime-green with gold stars. It’s supposed to be a piece of clothing, but it reminds me of gift wrap paper instead. I place my hands on her waist, then slide them up her ribcage to her green lace bra.

“Where do you find these things, Sienna?”

“In stores.” She throws the blouse to the floor and unclasps the bra, releasing her firm, mouthwatering breasts.

I squeeze them in my palms and watch as she sucks in a breath. “Are you wearing matching panties?”

“I’m not sure. Why don’t you check?”

I brush my palms down her chest and stomach and grab the elastic waistband of her skirt. It’s gauzy like a ballet tutu, but gold, the color matching the stars on her shirt. With as much care as my big hands allow, I pull it up and over her head.

“Green, as well.” I smile and pinch the band at the back of her panties. And then, I pull up.

Sienna arches her back, her mouth half-open in a silent moan. With my free hand, I move the lacy strip to tuck it between her folds. Keeping my thumb over the fabric so it won’t slip away, I tug on the waistband once more.

Sienna lowers her head and leans forward. Her quick breaths fan across my face as I loosen the hold on her panties, only to pull on them even harder the next moment.

“So, are we back on speaking terms?” She pants and grabs the two sides of my shirt and yanks, tearing off several buttons. “Or are we still only fucking?”

Letting go of her panties, I wrap my arm around her middle and roll us over so I’m on top. “I haven’t decided, yet.”

I take off my ruined shirt and the rest of my clothes, and Sienna’s gaze locks onto mine while she slips her hand between her legs. There isn’t a sexier sight than my wife, in nothing more than her green panties and gold heels, playing with her pussy.

I bend to grab her panties, which are blocking my view, and pull them down her legs.

“Wider,” I demand and move to the recliner by the bed, absorbed in her delicate fingers as they tease and massage her clit. “Faster, Sienna.”

“You’re just going to watch?”

“Yes.”

She bites her lip and hastens her movements. Her breaths quicken while her eyes seek my own again. She adds her other hand—circling, pinching. My already straining cock hardens to granite, but I don’t make a move to touch it as I watch her.

Have I ever been so enthralled with anything, anyone, in my life? I should know the answer to that, but every bit of rational thought has fled as I focus on my sparkling wife. I should be worried about that, but again . . . mental capacity is nonexistent. It seems that this strange little creature has royally fried every brain cell I had. Every smile, every idiotic pair of shoes and glittery dress, and every fucking time she said my name, have sealed my fate.

Sienna arches her back, her body shaking as she comes. I leave the recliner and climb over her, positioning myself between her legs. She’s still trembling as I move her hands and thrust my cock into her heat. A sound escapes her lips. It rolls over me on a wisp of her breath. A moan. I can hear it, but it’s not enough. I want to hear her scream my name. I want to soak up every resonance my wife makes as I fuck her.

Sliding my palm up, I wrap my fingers around her delicate neck and squeeze it lightly. Not hard enough to harm her, just a slight pressure so I can feel the vibration of her vocal cords.

“Say my name,” I order as I retreat and slam into her again.

“Drago,” she whispers. Most of the sound is lost to me. There are no vibrations for me to feel.

“No whispering.” I rake my other hand in her hair, tilting her head up as I pound into her. She’s wet, but so tight, that each thrust threatens to push me over the edge. “Again.”

The tendons of her neck tighten under my palm as she throws back her head and moans while her pussy spasms around my length.

“Drago.”

Not a whisper this time, and I hear it crystal clear. I crush my mouth to hers, claiming that sound. Claiming her, with my mouth and my seed as it erupts inside her. She’s mine, and anyone who dares to take her from me, her brother included, will meet a quick and painful death.