Making Her His (Beating the Biker 1)

“It’s a great job, Grandpa. It’s a stepping stone to other things.”

“I see,” he said gravely. He stroked his chin. “Well, that shouldn’t be a problem, for a while at least.” He looked to her father, who nodded seriously.

“Grandpa,” Chrissy said cautiously, “what’re you talking about?”

Pandolfo Serafina made a dismissive motion with his hands. “Your sister wants to get married.”

“And?” She failed to see what that had to do with this conversation.

“And,” her father finally spoke, “in this family the younger daughter doesn’t marry before the older one.”

Chrissy scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. She can marry before me. Waiting for me to marry is old- fashioned. Believe me, it won’t offend me at all if she goes to the altar first.”

Her grandfather slapped his hand on the desk sharply, startling both her and her father. “It’s tradition!” he said. “Plus,” he murmured more softly, “I don’t want that stunad Mario to get any ideas of where he’s heading in this family.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Chrissy,” her father said in a subdued tone. “We’ve been having our troubles with the Roccos.”

“And?”

“Well, it’s time that stopped,” her grandfather admonished. “I’ve been talking with Vittorio Rocco.”

“What?” Chrissy said, surprised. Pandolfo Serafina would rather stick a knife in a Rocco than speak to him.

“His nephew is near your age, and a hardworking man. Your type. Very respectable. I even understand he goes to church.”

“That’s nice, but I fail to see what that has to do with me.”

“Christina,” her father said, “we want you to meet him.”

“Why?” Chrissy replied with suspicion in her voice. Matchmaking hadn’t happened in the family for at least two generations. It sounded like this was where these two were heading, and she didn’t like it one bit.

“He has a full-time job,” her grandfather said. “He earns fifty grand a year. Substantial.”

“Give the man a medal,” Chrissy responded sarcastically. She earned seventy grand, so fifty didn’t sound impressive to her.

Her father cleared his throat, warning her to watch her tongue. “We think you’d be a good match.”

“Excuse me?” she said cautiously. “Match, in what way?” This conversation had better not be heading where she was pretty sure it was going.

“He’d be a good husband for you,” her grandfather said, staring her in the eyes, warning her not to talk back.

Chrissy jumped from her chair. “Unacceptable! Not! Happening!” In her indignation, she stuttered one-word answers. She couldn’t believe this was happening. This was old-fashioned, patriarchal, ridiculous!

As these words ran through her head, her grandfather shook his finger at her. “You’ll show respect, young lady.”

“Or what?” she hissed. This was her life. They had no right thinking they could arrange a marriage or plan love.

“Chrissy,” her father said tiredly. “Don’t go there.”

“Don’t go there? Don’t go where?” she spat. “You’d whore me out to the Roccos because you men can’t manage your business affairs properly? What is it this time? Someone overstepped in the Roccos’ territory? Sold drugs on one of their street corners? Ran a numbers racket in one of their towns?”

Now her father got to his feet, his complexion flushing with anger.

“That’s enough, young lady!” he snapped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying! You don’t think I’ve seen the meetings here in the dark of night? Different 'associates' brought to the house, bloody from some scrape? Or have I not heard enough Sunday dinner conversations about how all the Roccos should have a Christian burial as soon as possible. And now you want me to marry one? Not happening. Not fucking happening.”