When She Loves: A Dark Mafia, Arranged Marriage Romance (The Fallen Book 4)

I twist the emerald engagement ring on my finger. I wish I could stop fidgeting, but you try sitting still while being scrutinized by thirty-plus fucking people.

Sabina wasn’t exaggerating. Rafaele’s entire family does hate me. They all think I’m a whore who’s unworthy of their precious don.

They can all go to hell. As far as I’m concerned, Rafaele is not worthy of me. At the end of the day, Rafaele must care more about his deal with my father than his family’s opinion, since he’s still marrying me.

Of course, unlike them, he knows I really am a virgin.

I accidentally blabbed the truth to him while I was drunk. He and Nero kidnapped me off the side of the road and stuffed me into their car when we were at Vale’s wedding in Ibiza. I was so angry that I wasn’t thinking straight. Until then, I’d managed to convince everyone who mattered that I was disgraced and unsuitable for a wife, which suited me just fine.

It used to make me mad that Rafaele knew the truth, but if he didn’t, he may have never let Gemma off the hook.

I bet his family wishes Gemma were still the one marrying their don. After all, my sister didn’t spend a lifetime trying to ruin her own reputation in every way possible.

I blow out a breath. I thought I had a chance to break free from all this. How naive of me. Instead, here I am, sitting beside a man who thinks of me as nothing more than a piece of meat.

Goodbye college. Goodbye moving to LA. Goodbye summer internship at a talent agency. See ya never to all my hopes and dreams.

I glance discreetly at Rafaele. I can’t believe this is the man I’m about to tie myself to.

For life.

At least he’s easy to look at. Okay, not just easy to look at. Rafaele is fucking hot. Far better looking than the last guy my father tried to set me up with—Ludovico. He was over forty, balding, and always had bad breath.

Rafaele is twenty-seven. That’s still eight years on me, but it’s the kind of age gap that nobody even blinks at in the mafia. His dark hair is shiny and smooth, longer at the top and shorter on the sides, and he’s got a clean shave. Young made men often grow out their beards to make themselves look older, but not him.

There’s no mistaking that he’s the don of this family, even though he’s far from being the oldest person in the room. He’s got an air about him that practically screams, “Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me.” Maybe it’s because of his serious expression, or the kind of perfect posture I thought wasn’t a thing in the age of smartphones, or those damn eyes of his.

Gemma called him the ice prince because of his cold blue gaze, but I don’t know if that’s accurate. I’ve seen him rage.

I’m not sure what was more traumatizing, Ludovico trying to grind his crotch against me, or having his blood splattered on my shoes when Rafaele just casually murdered him.

The memory sends ice down my veins. Rafaele’s brutality is his brand. His civilized exterior is a mask he puts on to make himself palatable in public, but he can remove it just as easily. And besides an affinity for casual murder, I’m not totally sure what else is hiding beneath.

“I’m very good at intimidation. I’m also quite good at other things.”

What was that?

I thought he’d lecture me on how to behave at this dinner. What I didn’t expect was to be blasted with all that sexual energy and innuendo. I mean, he backed me against a wall with that powerful body and sniffed me for fuck’s sake.

The back of my neck heats. I hadn’t anticipated him being interested in me in that way. This is a political marriage, nothing more.

He never even kissed Gemma, and they were engaged for months. I assumed that like some men in the mafia, his wife would be there to pop out babies, but beyond that, he’d entertain himself with whores. That sort of arrangement is common.

Now, I’m not so sure.

Even now, he’s studying me like I’m something fascinating.

I swallow.

I haven’t thought much about what he’ll expect of me beyond the obvious on our wedding night, and now I’m getting the sense he definitely has certain expectations.

Anxiety fans through me. My life has done a one-eighty in the span of a few days, and I’m still coming to terms with all of this.

When the servers come out with the appetizers, the blond woman sitting to my left leans closer. “I’m Elena Messero.” She extends her hand.

I eye it with suspicion, half-expecting her to jerk it back and say “Gotcha.”

But she doesn’t, so eventually, I take it. “I’m Cleo.”

Her grip is firm, and her smile is friendly. She gestures at the woman beside her. “This is Fabiana, although everyone calls her Fabi.”

The other woman also offers me her hand. “We’re Rafe’s sisters.”

Sisters? I didn’t know he had sisters. I never saw them at any of the Messero family events Gem and I went to.

“I didn’t realize Rafaele had siblings.”

I don’t know much about him at all. Rafaele is stingy with words. His annoying consigliere talks about ten times more than him.

“We live in Switzerland,” Fabi says. She twists her bracelet around her wrist like she’s nervous. Maybe she’s not supposed to be talking to me?

Rafaele doesn’t seem to care, but some of the other people at the table are watching us with disapproving expressions.

My irritation bubbles to the surface. Fuck them. If they don’t want me talking to Rafaele’s sisters, that’s exactly what I’ll keep doing.

“My brother, Vince, also lives in Switzerland.”

Fabi arches a surprised brow. “Vince Garzolo? I don’t think we’ve met. Is he in Geneva or Zurich?”

“I think Zurich, but he may move around a bit. I’m not sure.” My brother’s life abroad is a mystery. I get the sense Vince likes to keep it that way.

“We’re in Geneva.” Elena takes a sip of her wine.

“How long have you been there?”

“Our mother sent us to boarding school there at eleven. We went to college afterward for undergrad and masters. Now, we both work at the UN.”

My eyes widen. “The UN?”

Beside her, Fabi laughs softly. “I know. Believe me, the irony isn’t lost on us. We keep a low profile, and no one there has any idea who our family is.”

I wonder how they manage to do that. They must use fake names. “So, you’re there on your own?”

“We have bodyguards with us, but they’re good at staying hidden. And at work, we’re as safe as it gets.”

I nod. I can’t imagine the UN offices would slack on security procedures.

“You look surprised,” Elena notes.

“I am. I didn’t think you’d be allowed to do something like that in your family. Based on what I’ve heard about Messeros, your men sound like a bunch of Neanderthals.” I glance at Rafaele, who’s still looking like a beautiful Roman statue, but I know he’s listening to every word.

His sisters stifle their laughs. Am I imagining it, or did Rafaele’s lips just twitch?

“Our father wanted us back after our graduation from uni, but then he got sick with cancer, and all of his plans for us went on hold,” Elena says, her voice dropping lower. “And when Rafe took over, he told us we could stay for a few more years if we wanted to.”

“So we’ll stay in Geneva until time comes for us to marry,” Fabi says, a note of resignation in her voice. She doesn’t sound too excited about the prospect.

Trust me, I know exactly how you feel.

The servers come out with the main courses and signal an end to our conversation. A plate of steak appears before me.

I frown at it. I’m a vegetarian, but I suppose the maid who brought food to my room over the last few days didn’t care enough to notice that I’ve avoided eating any of the meat. I pick at the mashed potatoes while everyone else digs in.

Rafaele’s sisters seem nice. It’s hard not to be jealous of the freedom they get. I would have done anything to be allowed to leave New York, but there’s no hope of that now.

I scan the faces of other people sitting nearby. There’s Rafaele’s mom. I’ve spoken briefly to her before, but now she seems to be avoiding my gaze. She’s a frail woman—thin and pale. Beside her are two women who bear a resemblance to her. Are they her sisters? One of them meets my gaze and sneers. I sit up straighter.

Fuck you too, lady.

“Do you not like the food?”

I nearly drop my fork, startled by Rafaele’s question. I glance in his direction. His own plate is nearly clean.

“I don’t eat meat.”

He frowns. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Didn’t think you’d care,” I mutter.

“Do you think I want to starve you?”

“Maybe you want me famished as a precaution so that I won’t have the energy to run away tomorrow.”

He arches a brow. “I already know you’re not going to run away. You care too much about your sister to do that.” He leans closer, brushing the tips of his fingers over my wrist and making my skin tingle. “But if you try, I’ll catch you,” he says, his eyes locked on mine.

I swallow. That shade of blue really is something. It feels like he can see right through me.

Rafaele pulls back and waves down one of the staff.

“Get her a vegetarian meal,” he says to the young server before moving his attention back to me. “Tonight, I want you to write down a list of all of your food preferences and give it to Sabina.”

“Fine.” There’s a high likelihood Sabina will toss that list right into the trash, but whatever.

“This is your new home. I want you to be comfortable.”

I bite down on my lip. Comfortable? I’ll never be comfortable here. Why is he trying to act nice to me? This place is my new prison. It doesn’t matter how pretty it is.

A cage is still a cage, and he will always be my jailer.