Consumed by Desire: A Dark Mafia Romance

“Right through here,” Karah says and we’re inside a library. Massive fireplace, rows and rows of books crammed onto wooden shelves, and a big mahogany desk in front of stained-glass windows that depict an idyllic Italian countryside: rolling green hills, bales of hay, olive trees. Nico stands near a drink cart while Karah sits with a huff and bounces her child on her knee. I stay close to Papa, too afraid to comment on the gorgeous rugs, the obscenely beautiful statues, the absurd class and wealth and power that shines from every surface. “He’ll be in soon,” Karah says.

“Which son are you selling me to?” I ask Papa, trying to ignore Nico’s intense glare and Karah’s awkward surprise. “Which one?”

“Olivia,” Papa says, trying to smile, but his tone is warning.

“Enough games. They’re aware of what’s happening.” I wave my hand at Nico and Karah. “You drag me here, into this house with these people, you don’t warn me ahead of time and you want me to hold my tongue? Which one am I supposed to marry, Papa?”

Karah clears her throat. “You don’t know?”

I turn on her. Karah Bruno, little spoiled Karah Bruno. She doesn’t know a damn thing about what my life’s been like these last ten years—no, longer than that, eleven years if you count the miserable war—and she dares talk to me right now. I hate her so much it hurts, like my insides are fire and it’s eating away my skin.

“Unfortunately, I wasn’t told which of your family was purchasing me. I was simply shoved in a car, informed I was going to meet my husband, and driven to this hellhole. So no, I don’t know, Karah.”

She grimaces and glances to the side. She shakes her head slightly and I notice Nico standing there with trembling hands. What’s he going to do—beat me to death with that cut crystal glass for daring to speak to his wife that way? I wouldn’t put it past him.

Papa grabs my arm. “Enough,” he says.

“No, no, it’s okay, Senor Cuevas. I understand what she’s going through better than most.”

“Call me Gerardo,” he says, still glaring at me. “And even if this is difficult for my daughter, it doesn’t excuse her rudeness.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “You have no clue what I’m going through, and I think rudeness is better than you people deserve.”

Karah’s smile is sad. “I understand our families have history. I hoped that this marriage would bury all of that, but I understand if you’re still holding on to the past. If only—”

“Holding on to the past? You think if I simply let go of what happened then my brother will raise from the dead? His corpse will come home and he’ll smile and give me a great big hug?”

Papa’s grip on my arm is painful as Karah turns pale and looks at the floor. I hope she feels shame, I hope they all feel shame—this is a travesty, a nightmare, a cruel joke.

The door opens and Papa pulls me to the side as three men step into the room.

The first is Fynn Bruno. I recognize him from back in the day: he gives me a simple frown, nods once, and joins Nico at the drink tray. The next is Gavino Bruno, handsome like his brothers, the youngest of the three. He winks once and walks over to Karah, scoops Antonio into his arms, and coos at the little boy, tickling him and making him laugh.

The last remains in the doorway.

My heart races wildly, staring him in the face after all this time, and it’s like I never left. I feel like that girl again, the awkward fifteen-year-old with long gangly legs and a chronic case of low self-esteem, and it only makes me despise him even more. I thought I left that girl behind, but it’s like going back in time.

He’s the same as he was back then, only older, more mature. A grown man now, no longer a boy. Handsome, haughty. Eyes like the space between stars. Hair like coals. He’s bigger, more muscular, more stubble on his chiseled jaw, more tattoos on his tanned skin. His suit fits like bespoke armor and every detail glitters with money, from the watch to the cufflinks to the shoes.

But he’s still Casso Bruno. The oldest Bruno sibling. The man I hate more than any person living. My tormentor, my bully, the monster that still haunts my dreams.

The man I ruined. The man that ruined me.

“Papa,” I say quietly. All my quiet thunder dissipates.

“Olivia, you remember Casso,” Papa says into the tension. “He will be your husband.”

I back away. This can’t be happening. Casso doesn’t move, but his lips curl slightly like he’s staring at an unsightly corpse on the side of the road, like I’m rotting meat and fly-speckled animal flesh, like I’m a maggot he’s forced to crush and swallow.