a new giordano

A gasp slips from my lips as I feel a bite on my neck. I instinctively push against the man’s chest. He moves, but I get the feeling it’s more because he wants to, not because I pushed him.

I quickly recognize who it is and groan as he pins my wrist above my head, his face hovering just inches above mine.

A shiver runs through me at our proximity. Up close, I can see the light freckles around his nose and the guarded look in his coal-like eyes.

Our position—with him on top of me—brings back memories of our night together. I know this is normal for him, but I can’t help but blush at the intimacy.

“Get ready,” he murmurs, pecking my lips before he gets up and sits on the edge of the bed. He fiddles with his watch as I quickly rise and hurry to the bathroom, sleep now a distant memory.

I decide to be quick. I don’t want to keep him waiting. Soon, I’m dressed in a pale pink, knee-length dress and a pair of studs.

When did he come home last night? I feel guilty for falling asleep without him, but then again, he might’ve spent his night with another woman—or women. I wouldn’t know.

He’s not in the room when I come out, so I assume he’s already downstairs. The bed looks too inviting, but I don’t want to get in trouble for relaxing again. Am I already in trouble? I hope not.

I hate feeling so paranoid. I long for a normal life where I have a family and a husband who comes home every night without blood on his hands.

I’m trapped, but I know that if I had the chance, I’d escape. I’d do anything to live a different life. Even though my body is supposed to be mine, it really belongs to my husband.

I can’t even kill myself without ruining the whole Family. The Don would be seen as unfit. My family would be killed, and the whole Family would be left vulnerable.

After all, I’m the Donna of the Giordano Family, and men rarely remarry after their wife’s death. It’s seen as unmanly.

I dread going down the stairs. I realize that as I take the first step down. It makes my head spin. I cling to the railing as if my life depends on it. In a way, it does.

I don’t want to fall and break more bones. Surprisingly, I find myself hoping that my husband will be here to help me. Even though I don’t like him, I know he’s not the one who ruined my life.

I was born into this, and it’s my family’s fault for making me the sacrificial lamb.

I jump when I feel a hand around my waist. My head spins at the unexpected touch, but I instantly know it’s not my husband.

His touch is much gentler than this man’s. I know this man is a stranger, so I immediately try to push myself away.

“Stop, ~cognata~,” a familiar voice mumbles. It’s not hard to guess who it is. With his raspy voice and younger frame, I realize it’s Omero. Why is he trying to help me?

“Let me go.” My voice sounds weak, but I’m sure he’s used to it. Wives always speak like that here. He removes his arm that was supporting me but stays close as I hobble down the stairs.

It’s as if he’s afraid I’ll fall. An awkward silence falls between us because neither of us speaks until we reach the bottom, where my husband is waiting. I realize it’s still dark.

I hadn’t checked the time when I got ready, but now that I look outside, it’s barely morning. Why am I up so early?

My husband’s eyes rake over my body as I reach the bottom of the stairs before his gaze rises to my face. I know what he sees.

I have a bad bruise on my forehead that I, stupidly, didn’t bother to cover up. I forgot about it. It’s not every day that I get hit.

Omero immediately leaves my side and goes out. I have a feeling I’m going with them because other than them, there’s no one here. Antonio glances at his watch before silently telling me to follow.

I don’t bother asking where because I know he won’t answer. He seems to be in a bad mood, and I’m not going to be the one to provoke his silent rage.

When I sit in the car, I immediately feel the memories coming back. They’re blurry, but I remember gunshots before my bodyguard saved my life.

The rest is unknown. I try to remember, but my head feels like it’s about to explode.

My husband gets in the car and sits beside me. Once Omero is in the front, the driver starts the car. Apparently, I’m the only one in the dark.

I hate it, but I’m used to it. I shouldn’t be used to it, right? Where are we going, though?

I clench my hands against my dress as a ringing sound echoes in my ears. I don’t feel good and I really don’t want to throw up in my husband’s car. I’m sure he would punish me for that.

If I embarrass myself, then I embarrass my husband and the Giordano Family. I jump when I feel a hand on my arm, making my head spin even more.

My eyes meet his coal ones. He stares at me silently before moving to unbuckle my seatbelt. I don’t stop him. I’ve been taught that I have no right to.

I can’t help but stare at him—my husband, one of the most intimidating men in America. His coal eyes match his raven hair that’s darker than a starless night.

His face looks paler than before. He grabs my arm before swiftly pulling me onto his lap, an arm wrapped around my waist.

Heat creeps up my neck when I see Omero glance back emotionlessly before smirking a bit.

I don’t even try to get off of him. I sort of like it, and the windows are tinted enough so people can’t see what’s happening inside.

I feel his breath fan my neck and it’s a struggle to breathe. His other hand plays with my brown locks.

“Francesca,” he says, “I have a task for you.”

My heart skips a beat. Whenever Dad uses that tone with Mom, it usually means he's up to something. He's got a knack for making her feel important, then insignificant. “Yes?”

He brushes my hair away from my neck, peppering it with soft kisses. “I need you to talk to someone. Someone very important.”

***

Why are we at the airport? I want to ask. If we're going somewhere, why didn't they tell me to pack? Are we going somewhere? I'm so confused.

“Why are we here?” I finally ask.

Antonio plants a kiss on the back of my head before tightening his arm around my waist. I squirm in his lap but freeze when I feel his lips on my neck.

I can't help but tilt my head to the side, a small smile playing on my lips. His warm breath fans over the pulse in my neck and I shiver at the sensation.

Goosebumps rise on my skin as his thumb rubs the fabric over my stomach. It's a small gesture, but it makes my breathing deepen. I'm relieved that we're alone in the SUV.

Omero and some of the bodyguards have gone inside to fetch someone while Antonio and I wait in the car. The driver is smoking outside and bodyguards surround our car.

People glance at our cars with a mix of worry and curiosity. I can't blame them. We do look intimidating—a fleet of identical black SUVs surrounded by men in black, guns in their hands.

We look dangerous. Our cars are heavily tinted. We radiate an aura of danger. So much for being discreet, but I get the feeling Antonio doesn't care about hiding.

He's distracting me, so when he answers my question, I momentarily forget what I asked. “Mya’s older sister recently died and her daughter is my half-sister—the hidden Giordano princess.”

I'm still a bit confused and have many questions. “Is she with the Family? I mean, does she know about all this?”

“No, and she better not.” There's a warning in his tone that I pick up on. I'm not stupid. I'm not going to cross him and tell her.

“Of course.” Even though I act as if I understand everything, I don't. I still don't understand why Raffaello would let his daughter and mistress go.

After all, marrying off girls is how the Family makes new alliances. But it also means more vulnerabilities. Judging from Antonio’s tone, I know that he doesn't want to talk anymore.

And knowing that angering him would be a whole new level of stupidity, I stay silent.

I wait quietly in the car with him. As time passes, I start to get bored and my eyes start to droop. Slowly, I let myself relax.

My back is pressed against his chest and my head is nestled between his neck and shoulder. I smile when he places his arm on my back and turns me slightly so my cheek is resting on his shoulder.

He's not really that bad…so far.

Sleep starts to cloud my vision as I feel his hand gently pulling on my hair. I don't think he realizes I can feel it, because why else would he touch me like that?

I'm his wife, but we're far from having a comforting, loving relationship like normal couples. It doesn't take long for me to realize that this is as close as we'll ever get.

We're at a point in our relationship where we can still talk and that's something. In some relationships, like my parents', there's no communication.

The man only uses his woman for sex. In fact, their mistresses spend more time with them than their wives.

Antonio’s hand moves to my thigh. Even though I freeze, fearing what he might do, the touch leaves a trail of comfort behind. He might be one of my potential tormentors, but he's also my protector.

But the relaxation is instantly gone when someone opens the door. I try to move away and sit back on my seat but Antonio’s grip tightens on my leg.

I lean back stiffly and wait for the person to get in. It's odd that someone is going to sit with us in the back.

My mouth forms an O as a young girl slides in. She looks about fourteen or fifteen with straight, golden-blonde hair and olive skin. I furrow my brows in confusion. I thought Antonio’s sister was going to be younger.

Omero slams the door shut as he sits in the passenger seat. The driver also gets in and the car instantly starts moving.

Now I feel very uncomfortable. Her first impression of me must be terrible, since I'm sitting on my husband’s lap. Does she even know that we're married?

Probably not, since she looks at us with her coal-black eyes in confusion. She should've recognized Antonio at least.

I'm honestly so confused. I don't understand what's going on. Am I just being dense? I decide to hide my confusion as I don't want to look any more foolish.

The two protection cars start moving, and before I know it, we're speeding off. Another pair of our cars trail behind us.

They're all the same design as ours. I'm sure it's like that to confuse our enemies.

The car ride is incredibly awkward with the new addition in the car. I know she keeps glancing at us and wants to ask questions, but she refrains from doing so.

I'm exceptionally relieved when Antonio’s phone rings. I just want some noise to fill the silence in the car. I feel bad for the poor girl.

She's stuck in such a terrible world. Her life is about to change completely. She's going to regret the day she was born, just like I do.

Antonio’s breath fans my face as he speaks. “Speak,” he orders. I instantly hear someone rapidly speaking, but it's too quiet for me to hear.

His hand on my thigh freezes in the middle of rubbing circles, and I see him briefly glance at me.

Antonio ends the call without a formal goodbye, and from the look on his face, I don't think it's good news. That makes me scared for him and the Family.

Even though I hate my life and what they've done to me, I'm still loyal to them, especially him.

I'm curious, and this time I'm desperate to know what he knows.