Not Mine to Keep (The Costa Family)

Standing in the tux my brothers had delivered from my favorite designer in Italy like a damn miracle—or in my case, this felt like a curse—I waited inside Armani’s office for him to join me.

Callie was somewhere upstairs getting dressed, and we were due at the church in thirty minutes, but it was only a five-minute drive from the egg castle, or whatever it was called.

From a quick online search performed by Izzy on our ride to the castle, she’d discovered the cathedral where we were to be wed had been built in 1197. It’d been destroyed by an earthquake in 1908 and rebuilt. Not that it mattered, but it was one of Sicily’s most famous churches. With any luck, when Armani stepped inside, someone would stab his vampire ass in the heart, and he’d turn to dust.

I grabbed my phone from my inside jacket pocket, anxious to get the terms and conditions about the wedding over with. Whatever magical concoction Mom had provided Izzy, along with a cold shower, had me feeling at 90 percent now, which was far better than I’d been earlier.

I opened up my last message to Callie and reread her texts, followed by my unanswered ones.

Callie: Tell me you’re okay.

Callie: I’m worried. I know Esposito is dead. But I also heard Rocco’s in Rome. Please, please tell me you’re okay.

I’d been unable to answer her last night, but I’d still felt like a dick for making her worry, and after my shower, I’d sent her an apology.

Me: I’m sorry about last night. (This morning?) I just woke up if you can believe that.

After no response, I’d texted again.

Me: Of course, why would you believe me? You don’t really know me.

Me: I’ll be over soon.

Ten minutes later and two calls straight to voicemail, my nerves had gotten the best of me.

Me: Still no answer from you. I’m concerned. I’m reaching out to Gabriel to see if you’re pissed and ignoring me or something else is up.

I’d phoned Gabriel for answers after that. Apparently, Marcello the dick had made a comeback, and he’d taken her phone in the morning, despite Gabriel’s insistence it wasn’t necessary.

“I was beginning to think you might stand up my daughter today.” At Armani’s words, I switched my phone to silent, pocketed it, then faced my future father-in-law. “Too bad your parents can’t make it to the ceremony.” The asshole actually sounded genuine. “I assume your brothers and sister will be at the church?”

Unfortunately. Of course, it was probably a good idea to have them there in case Rocco managed to slip The League’s overwatch and make a surprise debut to object to our nuptials. “We need to iron out a few details before we leave.”

Armani went over to his bar, which took up the entire length of one wall, and poured two drinks. “Grappa. My mother’s homemade recipe.”

Drinking was the last thing I wanted to do after my fucked-up night, but I accepted the glass and swished the liquid around, buying myself time to feel the familiar burn of grappa warming my chest post-drink.

A few of Armani’s guards hung back by the doorway, but far enough away they’d need to strain their ears to hear our conversation. So he clearly wanted our talk to be mano a mano.

“There are many details we need to discuss.” He sipped his drink, appearing satisfied with the taste. “I spoke with Emilia Calibrisi last night and your father today. We’re in agreement this union will work favorably for us all.”

I’d only found out about the recent conversation with my dad on the ride over to the estate. I wasn’t thrilled they’d spoken, but Dad was playing ball to help us succeed with the op, so I supposed I ought to be grateful. He could’ve stopped the whole mission in its tracks had he not garnered Emilia’s support.

“I suppose you have terms you’d like to present?” Armani looked my way, keeping his distance from me to just beyond a choke hold reach.

Smart bastard. “I need six months in New York with Callie before we move to Sicily.” I lowered the glass to my side. “I have business there. Deals I need to wrap up. A life. But more importantly, you need to clean house before I allow my wife near your associates. I’m not happy you let Marcello back under your roof, either.”

He quietly studied me, only a subtle change in his expression to indicate my words made it to his damn ears.

“I don’t believe Esposito is the only one who wants Callie gone. And if one of your trusted guards could be turned, I have concerns you have more traitors”—I pointed to the ceiling—“here as well.”

“You think you can protect my daughter in New York?”

“My family is off-limits in that city. Untouchable. And after the wedding tonight, we’ll have the backing of The League. She’ll be safe as long as she’s with me.” I lowered my hand and shoved it into my pocket. “But here, I won’t be able to sleep with both eyes closed, worried someone will try and sneak in at night and slit our throats.”

He tossed back the rest of his grappa and headed to the bar to add more to his glass.

When he began speaking in Italian, I demanded, “English,” not in the mood to cater to him or his preferences.

“Let’s say I may agree on the fact that some may want Calliope dead,” he said, switching to English without pushback. “Power does mess with a man’s head. But I can’t give you six months. I want my daughter back home before summer’s end. And, preferably, pregnant by then, one way or another.”

He took the bait. Gave me the three months I’d actually hoped for. I still wanted to chuck my glass at him for the pregnancy comment. It wasn’t time to lose control when I was managing to get him to agree without much fight, though. I had to assume my father and Emilia had already planted the New York idea in his head and given him the nudge, warming him up before this conversation.

“Define ‘one way or another,’” I remarked, unable to stop my tone from dropping low, all the way to the depths of hell, where this man would soon forever live.

“If you can’t get her pregnant naturally, then we’ll have the doctor artificially inseminate.”

Now I needed a drink.

“I had my people look into your medical records back in New York. Seems you get regularly checked, given your active sex life. And based on what I read, you’re clean and fertile. We wouldn’t be having this conversation otherwise.”

I swallowed, trying to control myself. To not go for him now. I’d managed to hold myself back from killing Rocco last night, but this fucker was testing my patience.

“If I find out you lie with another woman and cheat on your wife, my men will cut off your testicles, understood?”

“You’re the cheat, not me,” I reminded him.

“Have you ever been in a relationship to test your fidelity?”

I wasn’t about to satisfy him with an answer or think about my ex. So I took another sip, and the grappa warmed my chest.

“Tonight, my men will be in the bedroom while you consummate the marriage to ensure there’s no use of protection.”

At that, I snapped. The glass slipped from my hand, and I started for him. When his guards hurried in, barking out orders in Italian to step back, I hesitantly surrendered. I was still close enough to squeeze the life from him as I warned, “You put your men in the room with us, and it’ll be them who lose their balls, I can assure you of that. No one sees my wife but me. Non-fucking-negotiable.” My body locked tight as I stared him down, and the prick smiled.

He was testing me. My limits. Control. My feelings for her. And I was pretty sure I’d shown my cards. I would protect his daughter no matter what.

“Fine, fine. Just outside the room, then. And they’ll come in after consummation to make sure it’s been done.”

The way he could so easily talk about his daughter being fucked . . . Well, I’d really, really enjoy taking my time to make his death painful. “I won’t force myself on her. If she doesn’t want to ‘consummate’”—I tossed his ridiculous word back at him—“then it won’t be happening.” Not that I had plans to have sex with Callie. Period. I only needed his people to think we were actively trying to provide him an heir.

“I see the way you two look at each other. You can’t fake that.”

I ignored his words. Well, did my best not to think about what he’d said. Did I want Callie? Yeah, the woman was gorgeous. But would I ever have sex with her, even if she wanted it? Hell no.

“I have more conditions.” Armani set aside his glass, went over to a leather chair, and snatched his suit jacket.

Realizing my hands were in fists, I unfurled them and faced Armani as he buttoned up.

“The wedding night happens here. Tomorrow, you can leave. But two of my trusted men will fly on your jet with you back to New York. They’ll be staying in your home for protection.” He lifted his hand as if worried I’d protest. And yeah, I planned to.

I not only didn’t trust his men, but also, having his people in my house meant I’d be forced to share a bedroom with my wife to keep up appearances.

“You want her in New York this summer? This is the only way.” He made a dismissive hand gesture. “Have your people check into their backgrounds if that makes you feel better. But they’re coming, or she’s not going.”

“Fine,” I gritted out, hating myself for giving in, but I was too close to getting what I wanted to start shit now.

“I need your word you plan to do everything in your power to protect the DiMaggio organization, too.” He walked my way and had the fucking nerve to offer his hand, as if my word were as good as my bond.

“Your daughter, you mean?” I stared at his palm, not ready to give him mine.

“I already know you will keep her safe. Die for her. Your eyes don’t lie.” He angled his head, waiting for my hand—my submission. “But my family name, the bloodline, and my people in the organization must also be protected with your last breath. Especially the grandson you’ll give me.”

This favor to Gabriel was turning into quite the mindfuck, but I accepted the man’s hand and shook on it. And damn it to all hell, my word was something I’d never broken before, and now I’d have to.

“One more thing,” he said, once our palms departed from the handshake. “I need you to work on teaching my daughter to be more like you. Help her see the way.”

“What do you mean, more like me?”

He smiled. “You may be a Costa, but you’re no saint. You’ve racked up quite the number of bodies since you met my daughter last weekend, just to protect her. But that doesn’t change what you are. A killer. She needs to see the light. Understand it’s okay to let that part of her out, too.”

My insides turned at what he was proposing. God help me if he demanded she murder someone over the summer before I could take him out. I’d never let that woman know what it was like to take a life. I had no choice but to snap out, “Understood.”

“Good.” He narrowed his eyes, and what else was coming? “Is Rocco Barone going to be a problem for you? I learned this morning you two have a history together.”

I should’ve been expecting this, but I didn’t have the mental bandwidth left for the conversation. “Not unless he comes after Calliope as retribution. You do realize he’s one sick fuck, don’t you?” I pointed out, unable to dull the blade of my bluntness. “The vile things he would’ve done to your daughter . . . No father should’ve ever let that man within a hundred feet of his child.”

“He won’t come after my daughter. He knows there’d be hell to pay.” He flicked his hand toward the guards, who were hanging back in the doorway again, and Gabriel was there waiting for us, too. “Time to go.”

I’d never been so grateful to see a criminal. But after the last few days, I was beginning to think Callie was wrong about him needing my help to see the light.

Either I was becoming a horrible judge of character, or Gabriel had already seen it, and this was his chance to become a better man. Change the DiMaggio organization into a legitimate one after Armani died.

Gabriel met my eyes and gave me a little nod, and I hated the nagging gut feeling that told me I was too off my game to truly know anything.

For now, I needed to focus on one step at a time.

Marriage.

A fake honeymoon.

Then devise a plan to take out Marcello, Armani, and any other threats to Callie’s safety.

And also, somehow survive three months without actually impregnating my wife.