Obsessed with His Bride: A Possessive Mafia Romance Read online

  She turned, opened her mouth, and shut it again.

  “Hi,” she said.

  Sergio looked at her then spotted me. I was grinning like an idiot, trying not to laugh. He wiped the stupid look off his face and glared at me. “What the hell is this?” he asked.

  “What? You never seen a girl before?”

  He grunted and shook his head. “You know what I mean. Who is she?”

  “This is Aida,” I said. “Aida, meet Sergio.”

  My former boss looked at Aida and forced a smile on his lips. “I’m sorry if I’m being rude,” he said. “I’m not used to seeing Dante with a girl.”

  She grinned. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s true,” Serio said. “Though your implication is also fairly accurate. He just never brings them here.”

  “They’re never worth bringing around,” I said dismissively. “Aida’s one of the good ones.”

  “Huh.” Sergio frowned at her. “That’s high praise, coming from him. Thanks for helping out.”

  “Sure. I love the place. And those smell amazing.”

  “Help yourself to one if you want.” He took the tray over to the baskets and filled one up. “Dante always does. It’s why he’s getting soft.”

  “Soft? You dick.” I laughed and looked down at myself. My usual uniform of expensive, bespoke suit fit my muscular body like a second skin. “I’m pretty sure I’m looking good. Right, Aida?”

  “You could cut back on carbs,” she said.

  Sergio barked a laugh. “Oh, yeah, I like her. Hey, Aida, help yourself to whatever you want. Don’t let him guilt you into working, too. You’ll let him get soft if you do.”

  “Sounds good to me.” She puts the rag and the spray bottle back down on the counter next to the register and leaned against it again. “Hey, Sergio, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course you can, young lady.” He put the tray under his right arm. I sighed and closed my eyes, rubbing my temples.

  “Maybe this was a bad idea,” I grunted.

  “Was Dante always such an asshole?” she asked. “I mean, maybe asshole isn’t the right word. How about… preening? Self-centered?”

  “All of the above,” Sergio said, nodding. “And yes, but actually he’s better now. You should’ve seen him when he was young. Oh, lord, the boy had no sense. If something was dangerous, Dante was doing it, profitable or not. That’s just the kind of man he used to be.”

  “And what is he like now?” she asked, and I noticed the genuine curiosity in her tone.

  Sergio’s eyes fell on me and he shrugged. “He’s a Capo now,” he said. “He’s a leader. Puts others ahead of himself. Still a jerk, but you could do worse. Now I’ve got a lot of bread to bake.”

  “Thanks for the kind words, Serg,” I said.

  He laughed and headed into the back again. I tilted my head and grinned at Aida as she stood up straight.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Interesting that you want to know more about me.”

  “Don’t get any ideas.”

  “Hard not to, when you’re fucking me with your eyes all the time.”

  She shook her head and turned away. “You’re unbelievable. You kiss me one time and you think—”

  “You kissed me back, you know.” I walked over and stood on the other side of the counter. I leaned forward, my mouth next to her neck. She didn’t startle as I brushed her hair back. Her posture tensed for just a moment, then loosened as my lips found her skin.

  “I didn’t know what else to do,” she said.

  “Interesting,” I murmured. “And right now. You seem to like it when I touch you.”

  She didn’t speak. I kissed her neck, her cheek, and she turned her head to look at me as our lips pressed together over her shoulder. I ran my fingers through her hair gently, not pulling, just feeling her. She purred into that kiss before she pulled away and shook her head.

  “Bad idea,” she said.

  “I disagree. Sergio wouldn’t mind. I could tell him to close up and go home. We can fuck in the back then eat all the bread.”

  She hesitated for just a second then laughed. “Okay, that actually sounds great. The bread part, at least.”

  “And the fucking.” I crossed my arms. “Don’t forget that.”

  “But we’re not doing this. You’re… you’re an asshole. You ruined my life.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “You don’t sound very convincing.”

  “You did. You… you ripped it wide open.” She took a step back from the counter and her eyes went wide. “I’m serious, Dante. What am I going to do now? How long am I going to be stuck in this limbo?”

  I spread my arms and shook my head. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know.”

  “Yeah.” She chewed on her lip for a second then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, okay? We’re not doing this and that’s final.”

  I watched her pretty face for a long moment and I could see the tension and the anxiety. I knew she wanted me as much as I wanted her. I knew her body kept telling her to give into my advances, to let me give her all the pleasure she knew I could make her feel. But she wasn’t ready for it, not yet at least. The wounds were too fresh, everything was too new.

  I could respect that. For now, at least.

  She was mine, after all, and I’d have her sooner or later.

  “Get back to work,” I said finally, picking up the rag and tossing it at her. “That display needs wiping. And the counters.”

  “Doesn’t anyone else work here?” she asked.

  “Staff comes in at five thirty.” I checked my watch. “We have twenty minutes. Get wiping, little Aida.”

  She glared at me then softened. “Fine. But I’m having another coffee and a pastry when we’re done.”

  “Works for me.” I picked up my espresso and sipped it, savoring the frothed milk and the rich coffee. “I have some meetings here this morning, so you can hang around. After that, I’m taking you back to my house. I’m sure Gino misses you already.”

  She shrugged and turned toward the display case. “Works for me.”

  I watched her spray it down, her lean, tight body moving in quick and precise lines, before turning back to the counter and getting to work.

  6

  Aida

  Every morning for a week, he brought me to the bakery and put me to work.

  At first, I was exhausted all the time. But I quickly realized that if I just went to bed earlier, I’d get almost enough sleep. By the fourth day, I was starting to get the hang of things.

  I hated to admit it, but I looked forward to those hours between four thirty and eight in the morning. He’d show up, call me downstairs, and we’d drive in together. We’d talk about nothing, TV shows and movies we liked, and I quickly realized that we shared really similar taste in things. That surprised me, because he didn’t seem like the kind of guy that liked that sort of stuff.

  “How do you have time to watch TV?” I asked him on the morning of the third day.

  He grunted and shrugged. “I don’t sleep much. I watch a lot of it in bed.”

  “Huh.” I frowned. “You always look well rested.”

  “Guess that’s my superpower. I look well rested, even when I’m not.”

  I smiled a little and looked out the window. “I think I’d rather have the opposite power,” I said, and he just laughed.

  I got to know Sergio a little bit during that time, though he kept to himself for the most part. The man slaved away in that kitchen all day and all night, and lived in that bakery as far as I could tell. It was working for him though, because as soon as the doors opened, people flooded in and he always sold out everything he made. He could never bake it fast enough for the customers that streamed in.

  During a couple of those mornings, I sat with Gino in a corner and sipped an espresso while people came in to speak with Dante. I thought they were all gangsters at first, until an older woman came
through the door and approached his table. He stood and helped her sit very respectfully.

  “What’s he doing?” I asked Gino.

  “Talking to some grandma,” he grunted.

  “No, I mean, I thought he was taking meetings.”

  Gino frowned. “Yeah. That’s what he’s doing.”

  “But I thought…” I trailed off.

  Gino smiled a little. It was lopsided because of the scar on his lip, and he didn’t smile often. “Oh, I get you. No, he’s meeting with regular people. That lady lives a few doors down and comes to see him like once a week. She never asks for anything, I think she just likes to talk, and he can’t help himself. Always indulges the old bat.”

  “Wait, people ask for things?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. That’s what he’s doing. People in the neighborhood come and ask him for things. Some of them are already paying for his services, so they don’t need to do anything else. They’re already associates. Some of them are just normal folks, and for them he’ll do one favor for free, but after that he’ll start asking for things in return.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Like the Godfather. One day, he might ask for a favor…”

  Gino shook his head. “Nah, not like that. If they’re not useful, he won’t do shit for them. He’s not a moron.”

  I leaned back and watched as Dante smiled at the old woman and let her take his hand and hold it between her own tanned, wrinkled fingers. She wore a navy-blue sweater over gray pants and had a brown cane leaned up against the table. Her shock of curly white hair stood on the top of her head like a mushroom. Dante listened to her speak, nodded, spoke back, and eventually escorted her back out the door. He sat down and a man wearing a business suit approached, sat, and began to speak.

  It went on like that. He’d pick me up in the morning, we’d open up the bakery together, and once the actual staff showed up, normally a woman named Maureen that wore crimson eyeshadow, had old tattoos on her arms, and dressed like a biker lady, he’d sit at a table and take meetings while I drank coffee and watched.

  I learned a lot about him in those days. And I had to admit to myself, it was nice.

  I was starting to like being around my father’s killer.

  And that scared me more than anything.

  The morning rush came in like usual as I leaned back in the booth and sipped the coffee Sergio made me before the old man disappeared back into the kitchen. He always made a point of coming out and chatting with me, and I think he liked having a young woman around for once.

  Gino paged through the Philadelphia Inquirer, glancing at the headlines before flipping through it. “You read that thing?” I asked him.

  He glanced up. “Just because I’m a thug, I can’t read the news?”

  I laughed. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just, you’re going too fast.”

  He grinned. “I’m a thug. I just read the headlines.”

  I smiled back and sipped my coffee, and couldn’t help but feel a chill at the thought of how comfortable things were beginning to feel. Dante sat back at his table, eating a muffin and staring at the window. He hadn’t gotten many petitions, and I could tell he was getting a little bored. He checked his watch, this silver, gleaming thing with diamonds studded in at each hour, the most ostentatious thing he ever wore, although I knew for a fact that any one of his suits probably cost as much as my entire wardrobe. They were subtle about their expense, whereas his watch was all about flash.

  He put the muffin down, blueberry crumbs on the plate and the table, and stood up. He nodded at Gino. “Enough for today,” he said.

  I stood and stretched my legs. “Slow?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Who knows.” He walked over and looked down at me, a little smile on his lips. “You getting interested in my business?”

  I shook my head. “You drag me here every day. I guess I was bound to get curious.”

  He snorted. “Please. I see you staring, watching. I know what you’re doing.”

  “Yeah? What am I doing?”

  He tapped my forehead and leaned close. “You’re thinking.”

  I swatted his hand away and he laughed, standing back up. There were a few customers, and I noticed an older woman with blonde hair cut short to her ears was staring at us with a disapproving look. I ignored her and turned toward the door.

  “Come on,” I said. “Don’t be a dick. Drive me home.”

  “What’s the rush?” he asked. “Gino’s not done with his paper.”

  “Gino can’t read,” I said.

  “I can read,” he protested. “I just don’t.”

  “Don’t let her get under your skin, kid,” Dante said and nudged Gino as the young soldier tried to stand. “Relax. Stay here and finish up. I’ll take her home.”

  “Boss—”

  “It’s fine,” Dante said. “Relax. Stay here. I’ll come pick you up when I’m done. Go tell Sergio I left and ask him for something to eat.”

  Gino nodded and frowned. “I hate asking Sergio for food. He always makes me do dishes.”

  “Then do the dishes and don’t complain.” Dante grinned and turned away. He walked past me and grabbed my arm, dragging me along. “Come on, little Aida.”

  “Don’t be a dick,” I muttered but I let him lead me out through the doors and into the morning sunshine. It was the sort of morning where birds were in the trees chirping at the sky, and people seemed to be walking with a smile on their faces. It was a Disney kind of morning, and although he pulled me along by the arm like a child, I felt a thrill at being touched by him.

  I knew I was going down a dark path. I knew I was tumbling head over heels into something I should’ve been running from, but the way his hands touched my body, the way he smirked at me, the way he acted like he owned any room he walked into made my heart flutter, my body sing out with need. I couldn’t resist it, even if I remembered my father wrapped in plastic that night, the gunshot ringing out and echoing off an abandoned, empty school.

  I could still see Dante’s face from that night, stern but empty.

  “Get in,” he grunted, opening the SUV’s door. I climbed into the passenger side and he slammed it shut before heading around and getting behind the wheel.

  “Why are you in such a rush?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not.” He started the car and checked for traffic then pulled out.

  “Tell that to the way you just dragged me down the street.”

  He laughed. “Sometimes you walk too slow. Anyone ever tell you that before?” We came to an intersection then turned, heading along the usual route.

  I shook my head. “Nope. Nobody’s been that much of a dick.”

  He grunted in response, a little smile on his lips. “You’re with the wrong man if you’re looking for pretty lies.”

  “I think I’d rather have pretty truth.” I hesitated before running my hands down the leather seat. “And I’m not with you.”

  He glanced at me, head tilted. “You sure about that?” he asked, and I stared back into his eyes.

  A second later, at the intersection just ahead, two black trucks pulled up and came to a screaming, screeching stop. Men were sitting in the beds of the trucks, two in each, with more men inside the cabs. I stared at them, my jaw dropping, as Dante slammed on his brakes to avoid smashing into them. The SUV came to a screaming halt and my body lurched forward against the strained seatbelt.

  For a moment, nothing happened. The air hung heavy and silent and all I could hear was my heart and Dante’s steady breathing. I watched him as his face dropped, a sudden stillness coming over his body.

  Then the men in the truck beds moved. They raised weapons, rifles, some kind of machine guns. I didn’t know what they were, but I knew we were dead, we were both dead. They were ten feet away and there were four of them. I saw grim faces, one of them was in sunglasses, the other three had shaved heads. One big, crooked nose, one scar along a forehead, one had tattoos on his cheeks and throat. They were a
ll pale and wore simple jeans and heavy denim jackets.

  “Down!” Dante shouted. He unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed me by the back of my neck. He unbuckled my seatbelt next and shoved me forward in one swift motion, his body diving across the center console to shove me down onto the floor, covering me with his massive arms and chest, as the guns opened fire.

  It was like fireworks going off just above our heads. Booming explosion after booming explosion, intense and unreal, shattering the air and tearing through the car. I felt glass shatter and I heard Dante grunt. I didn’t know if he was shot, or cut, or what was happening. All I could do was cover my head, my eyes squeezed shut. I could barely breathe, my body scrunched down so tight against the floor, but Dante didn’t move.

  And just as abruptly as it began, the gunshots stopped, and silence came back into the world, pierced through with a ringing in my ears.

  “Dante?” I said, pushing up against him. “Dante!”

  He grunted and frowned at me. He was alive, but he was bleeding. The windshield had shattered from multiple gunshot wounds.

  “You’re hurt,” I said, but I couldn’t hear myself. It was like talking under water, except I was gasping for air and my body felt sluggish and broken.

  He shook his head then touched his side. His shirt was soaked with blood, his jacket ripped clear through. He grunted and pulled a shard of glass out.

  “You need help,” I said, head dizzy.

  “Stay down,” he said, staring in my eyes. “Do you hear me? Don’t fucking move.”

  I nodded, my mouth hanging open, and he sat up.

  I stared as he pulled a gun from his back. It had been tucked into a holster pushed into his belt. I didn’t know how I never noticed it before, but as soon as it was in his hand, it was like the gun had never left him. He leaned against the door as I moved my head up to look out the windshield.

  Two of the men in the right truck were still in the back. Their guns were smoking and held up in the air. One was saying something and the other just shook his head, squinting at their car. One man from the right truck was coming toward us, his gun held out, angled toward the driver’s side. Dante was staying low and still, but I saw his hand on the door handle.