His to Own (Mafia Kingpins Book 1)

I’ve never been so nervous in all of my twenty-four years. Pacing across the room again, I feel like a record on repeat, unable to stop, spinning aimlessly. At this point, I know I must be wearing a trail in the carpet, and I finally pause and wring my hands. My older sister Gia—older by two years—doesn’t look even a fraction as anxious as me.

A quick glance at the clock reveals it’s only a couple of minutes until eleven.

“How can you be so calm?” I ask in complete exasperation. I feel like I’m on the verge of imploding and she looks so serene and poised. “I’m about to pass out or poo my pants. And you look like you’re about to take tea on the lido deck, for God’s sake.”

She snorts back a laugh. “Because, sis, there’s no point in getting worked up. Our fate has already been decided.” Gia flips her long, dark hair over a shoulder and sends me a perfect smile. And it is flawless. Everything about Gia is—from her slender figure to her high cheekbones to her polished and refined manners. She should’ve been a model. Or, the queen of some faraway country. I swear, sometimes I wonder if she sweats or burps or ever feels like she’s going to poo her pants like me? She’s a classic beauty and always appears so in control. Even when she’s not.

Me, on the other hand? I’m a hot mess. I worry, I stress and I obsess. That, of course, leads to the sugar cravings that I can’t seem to control. Grabbing another piece of candy from the small bowl on my nightstand, I unwrap the watermelon deliciousness and pop it into my mouth, sucking until my cheeks cave.

“But we’re about to meet the men we’re going to marry,” I say with a frown. “Men we’ve never met. Doesn’t that…I don’t know! Bother you?”

Gia sighs in that worldly way of hers. “What do you need to know? They’re both extremely handsome and powerful. An alliance between our family and both of theirs will secure the DeLuca name and increase our importance in this city.”

Something I care very little about, but I don’t say that. My father, Aldo DeLuca, is an important figure in New York City’s Italian mafia. Although, he’s not quite as powerful as The Rossi or Bianche family. That’s why he’s planning on marrying me off to Rocco Bianche and Gia to Miceli Rossi.

My stomach turns when I think about the stranger I’m about to go downstairs and meet. A man I’m just supposed to say “hello” to and then “I do” without any time or hope of getting to know him.

He’s a stranger! I want to scream. This is so old-fashioned and ridiculous. Or, am I the one who’s overreacting? Gia is quite content to marry Miceli and she’s never laid eyes on the man. But, she’s already had a serious boyfriend and been intimate with someone before. Maybe that’s why this isn’t as big of a deal for her as it is for me. I’ve never been in love much less had a relationship and sex or explored any of that. God, I feel like such a baby. A naive little girl. Because the truth is it’s more than just sex I’ve been missing out on. The truth is, I’ve never even been properly kissed by a man. I mean, sure, there were a few quick pecks here or there when I was in school over in Italy. But those were with boys who I met in town and saw a movie with. Now, I’m dealing with an experienced man who’s going to have expectations and desires. How in the world am I ever going to please him?

Biting my lip, my frown deepens. This is awful.

“Stop scowling like that,” Gia comments. “Or you’re going to make your wrinkles look deeper.”

My head snaps up. “I have wrinkles?” I march over to the mirror and examine my face with a critical eye. Well, of course, I have frown lines between my brows. Doesn’t everyone?

“Yes, Lessi, and the way you’re always worrying, you’re going to look like an old lady in a few years if you keep it up.” She stands and stretches. “That’s why I don’t let anything bother me and use so many face creams.”

Smoothing my index finger over the deep groove between my eyebrows, I try to flatten the lines. I certainly don’t want to look older than my twenty-four years. Maybe I’m going to need to snag one of my sister’s many lotions or potions. She’s in the know about all of the latest when it comes to looking younger and having gorgeous skin. And hers absolutely glows.

“Well, I suppose it’s time to meet my fiancé,” she says without a trace of emotion.

My heart rate kicks up and I start wringing my hands again.

Gia walks over and squeezes my arm. “You look like you’re about to puke, Lessi. Relax. Why are you so worried, anyway? Just go downstairs and talk to the good-looking man for a little bit. Be agreeable, smile and laugh at his jokes. Easy, right?”

Easy for her maybe, but not for me. “Yeah, okay,” I mumble. Watching Gia whirl away without a care in the world makes me green with envy. I wish I could be more like my sister. But we’re pretty much opposites in every way. While she’s tall and slender, I’m short and curvy. She’s calm and easygoing, I’m anxious and high strung. And, she’s a social butterfly. The boys at school all loved and chased her everywhere, while I preferred to stay in my dorm and spend a quiet evening reading or studying.

Well, Gia used to be a social butterfly. Now, she seems so lost and melancholy all of the time. I guess that’s what happens after a man breaks your heart. Guess I really wouldn’t know.

Maybe I’m just wound too tight and being with Rocco Bianche will help loosen me up and help me learn to enjoy life more. But, for whatever reason, something about him doesn’t feel right. Clasping a hand over my stomach, I wonder if I’m going to be sick. Stop being so dramatic, I scold myself. Get it together and go down and meet your fiancé.

Grabbing another piece of candy, I unwrap it and pop it into my mouth. I don’t know why sucking on sweets calms me down—at least a little—but I pause and grab a handful of the candy, tucking them into my pocket. Better to be safe than sorry. Because I have a feeling I’m going to need every single one of them when I go face my husband-to-be…a complete and total stranger, as of this very moment.

Oh, God, help me.

Walking out of the safety and comfort of my bedroom, I head over to the back staircase which will take me down to the library where Rocco is waiting. As I walk down the steps, I wonder if I should’ve dressed up more or put some extra makeup on? Gia looks like she just stepped off a runway and I look…well, like I always do. I didn’t put any extra effort into my appearance and I wonder if that’s because a part of me doesn’t want Rocco to find me attractive? Because, secretly, I want him to tell my father he isn’t interested in marrying me.

Hmm. A devious, little plan begins to form in my brain. Maybe I should purposely try to turn him off. Do something unlady-like or be quiet and mousy, refusing to make polite conversation. Or…maybe I could tell him I’m in love with someone else. Make up a boyfriend and pretend I can’t get married because I love someone else and I’ll die without him.

No, that won’t work. He would probably just get annoyed and then go ask my father about this mysterious stranger, and my clueless dad would quickly deny the existence of my fictional man.

Standing right outside the library now, I hesitate, needing a moment to get myself together. Pushing my nerves down, I force myself to unclasp my hands and let them hang at my sides. I give them a quick shake, hoping to eliminate some of these godawful nerves. Then, I pull in a deep, steadying breath and walk through the doorway.

A very tall man stands in front of the windows, his back to me, and he’s looking out over Central Park. His very broad back with wide, muscular shoulders visible through his suit jacket tenses the moment he hears my soft footsteps on the carpet. The first thing I notice is the sharp cut of his lightly-stubbled jawline as turns and, when he’s fully facing me, my heart thumps harder. Holy hell, the man is insanely good-looking. I didn’t expect to be face to face with a Greek adonis and I suck in a sharp breath.

With a naturally tanned complexion and thick, dark brown, slightly wavy hair slicked back off his gorgeous face, he makes me grab onto a nearby chair for support. Eyes darker than the deepest espresso focus on me and, maybe I’m imagining it, but I think I see approval flash within their depths. And maybe a wave of relief, too.

The other thing I immediately notice about him is he exudes power. It simply ripples of of his firm body in waves. And it has nothing to do with his perfectly-tailored black suit. It’s the way he carries himself and the purposeful way he walks toward me. His vibe screams “I’m in charge” and you better listen to every word that comes out of my mouth.

Which, by the way, is a beautiful mouth. His lips look soft, very kissable, and the dark stubble gives him a dangerous look. It also makes me want to reach out and lay a hand against his cheek so I can feel its rough texture. The boys I’ve known were exactly that—boys with clean-shaven faces. This is a man in every sense of the word and when he extends a large hand, I glance down at it, suddenly at a loss and forgetting basic manners. I’m too fascinated by the groove that appears on his left cheek when he gives me a small smile. A freaking dimple that makes my stomach flip because it’s the only thing about him that looks slightly boyish.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, voice so deep I can feel it rumble through my chest and roll all the way down, down, down to my toes.

“You, too,” I force out as his huge hand encompasses mine like a softball mitt. Our gazes lock and I stare into eyes that are so dark brown they’re almost black. Our hands hold for a moment too long and his intense gaze makes me uneasy. Uneasy and utterly mesmerized.

When he finally releases my hand, I let out a shaky breath.

“Shall we sit?” he asks, nodding over to the sette.

I nod and follow him over to the small couch. Keeping my distance, I carefully sit down a couple of feet away and instantly clasp my hands in my lap.

“You’re not what I expected,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost to himself.

I can feel him studying me and I shift under his thoroughly penetrating gaze. “Oh? And what did you expect?” I ask, daring to look over and up.

He leans closer, eyes narrowing slightly. “Not you.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, I can’t help but burst out laughing. Maybe it’s my nerves making me be inappropriate or maybe I’m starting to feel a tiny bit more comfortable in his powerful presence. Which is the oddest thing. How can I be feeling less anxiety when I should be feeling more? But something about him is almost…I don’t know. Familiar? We’ve never met, so I know that it makes no sense.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.

“I have to admit, I didn’t expect this at all, either.”

His mouth edges up and my attention zeroes in on that lone, beautiful dimple. “Really?”

I nod, unable to stop smiling. Maybe this situation isn’t as bad as I originally thought it would be. Marrying a stranger still scares the bejesus out of me, but if he’s a calm, kind, gorgeous man who can put me at ease and take his time, be patient with me, then perhaps I’d be willing to try.

“I know this whole situation is awkward,” he says, as though reading my mind. “And our families are being…pushy. But, I want you to know, I’d never force a woman into marriage. If you’re truly not interested in getting to know me better, I’ll walk away.”

“You would?” Of course, I lean forward and this makes me like him a little bit more.

“Before you make a final decision, you should know a few things first,” he says, eyes bright and a little mischievous. “Some women consider me quite the catch.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I say teasingly and chuckle. Oh, my God, I’m flirting with him. And he’s sitting here trying to sell himself. A man this amazing and attractive certainly doesn’t need to convince a woman to be with him, but here he is being all adorable and a little unsure. And, I like that. Confidence is nice, but arrogance is a huge turn off to me. I’m glad that he’s wondering and maybe not quite as self-assured as he might normally be.

“That’s right. They like the fact that I’m wealthy, powerful and, modesty aside, fairly attractive. That is, if you like the old cliche.” The way he says it makes me grin. Almost like he’s making fun of himself.

“Cliche?”

“Tall, dark and handsome.” He sends me a devastating smile.

Oh, I do! I scream internally. More so than I ever even realized. But, I play it cool and send him a smirk. “Oh, I don’t know. Normally, I prefer short, fair and homely.” He knows I’m joking and his eyes crinkle in the corners in the most adorable way.

“Really?” He huffs out a laugh.

I shrug a shoulder. “But, perhaps, I could be persuaded to expand my horizons.”

He slides closer and my heart threatens to burst from my chest when his powerful thigh brushes mine. I’m holding my breath as he reaches for my hand, lifts it to his lips and brushes a kiss along my knuckles. “Then I’ll do my best to change your mind,” he says in a low voice.

Swallowing hard, I bite down on my lower lip and a zap of awareness shoots through my body. The brief touch of his lips on my skin has me squeezing my thighs together and I can’t seem to look away from his eyes. They’re like a powerful, dark, swirling black hole, sucking me in deeper with every passing second.

The attraction between us is palpable and I smile. He’s still holding my hand when he says, “So, Gia, tell me about yourself.”

Gia? What is he talking about? Oh, God. My heart sinks as it belatedly occurs to my befuddled brain that I’m sitting here swooning over Miceli Rossi.

My sister’s fiancé.

Oh, for God’s sake. Then where the hell is the man I’m supposed to be marrying? And how am I ever expected to want him after meeting this amazing man?

“Um, I think there’s been a mixup,” I murmur, reaching for a piece of candy, and his dark eyes narrow.