Bound by Honor (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles 1)

The look in his eyes made me take another step back. “Is that a threat?”

I averted my eyes from his. My father might risk war over my death – not because he loved me, but to keep face –, but definitely not over a few bruises or rape. For my father it wouldn’t even be rape; Luca was my husband and my body was his to take whenever he wanted. “No,” I said softly. I hated myself for being submissive like a bitch bowing to her alpha, almost as much as I hated him for making me do it.

“But you deny me what’s mine?”

I glared. Damn being submissive. Damn my father for selling me off like cattle, and damn Luca for accepting the offer. “I can’t deny you something that you don’t have the right to take in the first place. My body doesn’t belong to you. It’s mine.”

‘He will kill me’, the thought shot through my mind a second before Luca drew himself up before me. Six foot five was scarily tall. I saw his hand move in my peripheral vision and flinched in anticipation of the blow, my eyes slamming shut. Nothing happened. The only sound was Luca’s harsh breathing and the pounding of my pulse in my ears. I risked a peek up at him. Luca was staring at me, his eyes like a stormy summer sky. “I could take what I want,” he said, but the viciousness was gone from his voice.

There was no use denying it. He was much stronger than me. And even if I screamed nobody would come to my help. Many men in my and Luca’s family would probably even hold me down to make it easer for him, not that Luca would have any trouble restraining me. “You could,” I admitted. “And I would hate you for it until the end of my days.”

He smirked. “Do you think I care about that? This isn’t a marriage of love. And you do already hate me. I can see it in your eyes.”

He was right on both accounts. This wasn’t about love and I hated him already, but hearing him say it crushed the last bit of foolish hope I had. I didn’t say anything.

He gestured at the squeaky clean sheets of the bed. “You heard what my father said about our tradition?”

My blood turned ice cold. I had, but until now I’d put it out off my mind. My courage had been for nothing. I stepped up to the bed and stared down at the sheets, my eyes boring into the spot where the proof of my lost virginity would have to be. Tomorrow morning the women of Luca’s family would knock at our door and take with them the sheets to present them to Luca’s and my father, so they could inspect the proof of our consummated marriage. It was a sick tradition, but not one I could evade. The fight drained out off me.

I could hear Luca coming up behind me. He grasped my shoulders and I closed my eyes. I wouldn’t make a sound. But not crying was a losing battle. The first tears already clung to my lashes, then dripped onto my skin and burned a trail down my cheeks and chin. Luca slid his hands over my collarbones, then down to the edge of my dress. My lips quivered and I could feel a tear dropping from my chin. Luca’s hands tensed against my body.

For a moment, neither of us moved. He turned me to face him and pushed my chin up. His cold gray eyes scanned my face. My cheeks were wet with silent tears but I made no sound, only returned his gaze. He dropped his hands, jerked back with a string of Italian curses, and then he drove his fist into the wall. I gasped and jumped back. I pressed my lips together as I watched Luca’s back. He was facing the wall, shoulders heaving. I quickly wiped the tears off my face.

You’ve done it. You’ve made him really angry.

My eyes darted toward the door. Maybe I could reach it before Luca. Maybe I could even get outside before he caught up with me, but I’d never make it off the premises. He turned around and removed his vest, revealing a black knife and gun holster. His fingers closed around the handle of the knife, his knuckles already turning red from the impact with the wall, and he pulled it out. The blade was curved like a claw: short, sharp and deadly. It was black like the handle, so it couldn’t easily be seen in the dark. A Karambit knife for close combat. Who knew Fabiano’s obsession with knives would ever be of use for me? Now I could at least identify the knife that would cut me open. Hysteric laughter wanted to fight its way out of my throat but I swallowed it.

Luca stared intently at the blade. Was he trying to decide which part of me to slice open first?

Beg him. But I knew it wouldn’t save me. People probably begged him all the time and from what I heard it never saved them. Luca didn’t show mercy. He would become the next Capo dei Capi in New York and he would rule with cold brutality.

Luca came toward me and I flinched. A dark smile curled his lips. He pressed the sharp tip of the knife into the soft skin below the crook of his arm, drawing blood. My lips parted in surprise. He put the knife down on the small table between the two armchairs, grabbed a glass and held his wound over it, then watched his blood drip down without a flicker of emotion before finally disappearing in the adjoining bathroom.

I heard water running and then he returned into the bedroom. The mix of water and blood in the glass had a light red color. He approached the bed, dipped his fingers into the liquid and then smeared it onto the center of the sheet. My cheeks flushed with realization. I approached him slowly and stopped when I was still out of arm-reach, not that it would do me much good. I stared down at the stained sheets. “What are you doing?” I whispered.