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Gabriella

Damiano Falco; 38. Gabriella di Bella; 23.

“This is a great honor for the family,” my mother says as her eyes slowly sweep over every inch of me. “Don’t disappoint us.”

She’s referring to my impending marriage to Stefano Ferraro. That’s if the Cosa Nostra approves of the union.

Or rather, Damiano Falco. The Capo dei Capi of the Cosa Nostra. He’s the only one who still has to give his approval, which he’ll do tonight at the dinner party that’s being held in his honor.

The stories I’ve heard about Damiano are enough to make my blood run cold in my veins, and I’m not looking forward to meeting him.

But first, I need to get through an entire afternoon of smiling and pretending I want nothing more than to become Stefano Ferraro’s wife.

God help me.

A chill creeps down my spine because the last thing I want is to marry Stefano. The man is in his late forties, and I’ve only seen him a handful of times. Every interaction with him didn’t bode well for my future.

Not once has he offered me a smile or a kind word, but instead, I’ve been treated like I’m nothing more than a pawn in the great game called the mafia. His touch is always brutal, and his words demeaning.

My mother’s eyes stop on my hair, and she lets out a displeased sigh. “I wish you didn’t cut and color your hair. It looks awful.”

The corner of my mouth almost lifts, but I manage to keep my face schooled with an obedient expression.

My hair used to be black and reached to my butt, but I colored it light brown with blonde streaks and cut it in a stylish bob. I did it because Stefano started calling me his black beauty, always pulling my hair to force me to look up at him. It was my way of giving him the middle finger.

My parents prefer that I wear modest clothes, no makeup, and keep my eyes lowered when we have company, and Stefano seems to be cut from the same cloth as them.

But that’s not me. It never has been.

I love playing with makeup and different hairstyles.

Her gaze drops to the tight silk dress I’m wearing, which stops mid-thigh, and the black five-inch heels on my feet.

I’m aware the outfit is risky and a little too revealing, but today, I can’t stop my stubborn streak from showing.

Shaking her head, Mother mutters, “Did you have to spill coffee on the dress I chose for you to wear?” She lets out a disgruntled huff. “I suppose it will have to do. We can’t keep the men waiting.”

Without checking to make sure I follow her out of the room, she continues to say, “Remember, Stefano is Mr. Falco’s cousin. You’re marrying into the greatest family, so you’ll wait hand and foot on Stefano. Do whatever the man wants to ensure you get him to the altar.”

When I keep quiet, my mother stops in the middle of the hallway to glare at me. “Do you understand, Gabriella?”

I do, but I sure as hell don’t agree.

When I stare at my mother for seconds too long, her arm swings through the air, her palm connecting with the side of my head.

There’s a burst of destructive emotions in my chest as my hands fist at my sides. The sting from the slap fades quickly while I swallow hard on the urge to tell my mother to go to hell.

With every slap, demeaning sentence, and controlling order, I become more defiant. I can’t stop it, and I know it’s only a matter of time before my stubbornness will land me in deep trouble.

They want a prim and proper little princess, but I’ll give them a defiant queen.

And one day, it might kill me.

Through clenched teeth, she hisses, “You will not ruin this deal for your father and brother.”

I swallow hard on my pride and temper as I bite out, “Yes, Mother.”

Rosa di Bella has never been a mother to me. Since I can remember, she’s kept a controlling grip on my life, telling me what to eat, how much to weigh, what to wear, and how to behave.

I’m nothing more than a bargaining chip, while my older brother is the crowned prince who will take over from my father. Santo can do whatever he wants and gets away with murder. Literally.

I was an accident. My parents were content with only having Santo, but then I came along, burdening their perfect lives with my unwanted presence.

They can’t wait to pawn me off on Stefano Ferraro. They’ll get a son-in-law who’s related to the most powerful man in our world. And they’ll be rid of me.

My mother gives me another glare before she takes the stairs down. As I follow reluctantly behind her, I hear my brother shout, “He’s here!”

When the foyer comes into view, it’s in time to see Santo open the front door.

A man comes up the steps, his head bowed while he unbuttons his suit jacket. He shrugs off the jacket, and without glancing back, he hands it to a man who seems to be his guard.

As he lifts his head, I suck in a desperate breath of air, my gaze stuck on the Capo dei Capi of the Cosa Nostra. With his features carved into a ruthless expression that promises agonizing pain and death, he looks like the God he is.

The dominance and power exploding from him keep my attention imprisoned.

I can’t tear my gaze away from him. Even if I wanted to.

He’s tall, dark, and utterly handsome. The man gives me the impression of a thunderstorm moving over the world, engulfing everything in darkness.

Damiano Falco.

As I think his name, his dark eyes lock with mine, and I swear they’re black as death. An intense shiver shudders over my body, and I can’t stop myself from taking a step backward.

Suddenly, Mother grabs my wrist, and I’m yanked forward. My shoes slip on the floor the servants polished until they could see their reflections on the shiny surface.