There was a flicker of something, maybe respect, in his expression. “The men waiting in that dining room are predators. They prey on the weak, and they’ve been waiting more than a decade for a sign of weakness from me. The moment they see one, they’ll pounce.”
“But your father—”
“If my father thinks I’m too weak to control the Famiglia, he’ll gladly let them tear me apart.”
What kind of life was it to have to be strong all the time, even around your closest family? At least I had my sisters and my brother, and even to some extent my mother and people like Valentina. Women were forgiven weakness in our world.
Luca’s eyes were hard. Maybe this would be the moment he’d decide it really wasn’t worth the risk and take me, but when his gaze finally settled back on my face, the darkness was at bay.
“What about Matteo?”
“I trust Matteo. But Matteo is hotheaded. He’d get himself killed trying to defend me.”
It was strange talking to Luca—to my husband—like this, almost like we knew each other. “Nobody will doubt me,” I said. “I’ll give them what they want to see.”
Luca sat up and my eyes were drawn to the tattoo over his heart, then took in the muscles of his chest and stomach. My cheeks heated when I met his gaze.
“You should be wearing more than this pitiful excuse for a nightgown when the harpies arrive. I don’t want them to see your body, especially your hips and upper thighs. It’s better when they wonder if I left marks on you,” he said. Then he smirked. “But we can’t hide your face from them.”
He bent over me and his hand came toward my face. I squeezed my eyes shut, flinching.
“This is the second time you thought I was going to hit you,” he said in a low voice.
My eyes flew open. “I thought you said…” I trailed off.
“What? That everyone expects you to have bruises on your face after a night with me? I don’t hit women.”
I remembered when he’d stopped my father from slapping me. He’d never raised his hand against me. I knew many men in the Chicago Outfit had a strange code of rules they followed. You couldn’t stab a man in the back, but you could cut his throat that way, for example. I wasn’t sure what made one better than the other. Luca seemed to have his own rules as well. Crushing someone’s throat with your bare hands was acceptable; hitting your wife was not.
“How am I supposed to believe you can convince everyone we’ve consummated our marriage when you keep flinching away from my touch?”
“Believe me, the flinching will make everyone believe the lie even more, because I definitely wouldn’t have stopped flinching away from your touch if you’d taken what’s yours. The more I flinch, the more they will take you for the monster you want them to think you are.”
Luca chuckled. “I think you might know more about playing the game of power than I expected.”
I shrugged. “My father is Consigliere.”
He tilted his head in acknowledgement, then he brought his hand up and cupped my face. “What I meant earlier was that your face doesn’t look like you’ve been kissed.”
My eyes widened. “I’ve never…” But of course he knew that already.
His lips collided with mine and my palms came up against his chest, but I didn’t push him away. His tongue teased my lips, demanding entrance. I gave in and hesitantly touched my tongue to his. I wasn’t sure what to do and looked at Luca wide-eyed, but he took the lead as his tongue and lips ravished my mouth. It was strange allowing that sort of intimacy, but it wasn’t unpleasant. I lost track of time as he kissed me, demanding and possessive, his hand warm against my cheek. His stubble rubbed against my lips and skin, but the friction made me tingle instead of bothering me. I could feel the restrained strength as his body pressed against me. Eventually he pulled back, eyes dark with desire. I shivered, not only from fear.
Insistent knocking sounded, and Luca swung his legs out of bed and stood. I sucked in a breath at the sight of the bulge in his briefs.
He smirked. “A man is supposed to have a boner when he wakes up beside his bride, don’t you think? They want a show, they’ll get a show.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “Now go and grab a bathrobe.”
I quickly leaped out of the bed with its stained bedsheet and hurried into the bathroom, where I grabbed the long white satin bathrobe and put it over my nightgown before I picked up the remnants of my corset that I’d dropped last night.
When I stepped back into the bedroom, I watched Luca putting his gun and knife holster on over his naked chest, donning another knife strap with a longer hunting knife onto his forearm, covering the small cut, and repositioning his stiffness so it was even more obvious.
My cheeks hot, I moved further into the room and threw the corset down beside my ruined wedding dress. Luca was a magnificent sight with his tall frame, muscles and holster, not to mention the bulge in his pants. A hint of curiosity filled me. How did he look without the underwear?
I leaned against the wall beside the window and wrapped an arm around myself,
