Page 4 of Venomous Throne

Franky didn’t seem convinced. And if I was being honest, I didn’t think it would work either. There were those who would always hate me for being a woman, for stepping into a role that wasn’t mine. It might be only a small portion of the Moretti organization, running the car dealerships, but it was still something they didn’t think the boss’s widow should be doing. Especially since she claimed innocence in the matter of Vincent’s demise.

Chapter 2 – Isabella

“This is insanity, Marco!” I fisted my hands at my side. Although my words packed a punch, they were spoken softly, so the murmuring, mingling mess of members didn’t hear. The famiglia turned out in their finest to celebrate the Christening of our newest tyke. But they were really here so as not to miss the latest gossip as the tragic saga concerning the late don continued.

A glint flashed in Marco’s eye. My heart thumped double. This was a dangerous man, prone to explosions of violence. Whereas his brother was apathetic, showing an almost bored cruelty, Marco wore his openly.

“You’re my brother’s widow. Marrying me makes sense.” He folded his hands in front of his body.

I looked away, gaze latching onto the baby. Margherita “Maggie” Lou Marrone slept serenely in her godmother’s arms. One would never know that was the child yelling at full volume, face blistering red, and tiny body straining in protest just an hour ago during the Baptism.

“I know my brother was impotent, but I can give you that,” Marco said, voice resembling something of a gentle murmur.

My spine stiffened. To do that, he would have to touch me.Bewith me.

Oh, Santa Caterina! Spare me!

The blessed saint, whom my mother beseeched daily for intercession, must have heard because she silenced my tongue. And in the silence, a wise thought sprang alive.

If I fought Marco, if I laughed in his face and made an attempt to defy his power, he would exert it over me. And he could. There was no stopping him.

“Marco.” I lowered my gaze. “It’s too soon.”

“Ah, cara mia! You miss him,” Marco crooned, laying a fat paw on my upper arm.

I nodded, hoping the jiggle in my lip was sufficient to convince him it wobbled. “I’m sorry I raised my voice.”

No, I’m fucking not! And I can’t wait to do it again!

That little firecracker in my head was going to get me in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.

“Ah, it’s okay,” Marco assured me. “It was an inappropriate conversation—”

You think?

“—but we had to have it. I don’t want you considering anyone else’s proposal. You don’t belong to them, you belong to the Moretti name.”

Like a grandfather clock. Or a set of fine bone china.

“You tell me if anyone else is making a move on you.” Marco squeezed my arm.

I met his brown eyes, the color of mud. “Yes, Marco.”

His hand lingered on my arm a moment too long before he finally released me. I fought the urge to wipe away his touch.

“Good,” he said with that smile that never reached his eyes. “I need to speak with the priest about some business matters. Enjoy yourself, Isabella.”

Marco turned and walked away, merging with the crowd of tailored suits and designer dresses. Thank the saints! The weight on my chest lifted slightly as I watched him disappear.

I took a long sip of champagne, feeling the bubbles burn down my throat. The glass was nearly empty now. I needed something to do with my hands, something to keep me from screaming or throwing things. Careful of the optics, I didn’t take another flute. Wagging tongues wouldn’t criticize the Moretti widow having a single drink, but two? Three! Yeah, that would not go over well.

Across the room, little Maggie’s baptism gifts were arranged on a table draped in white linen. I drifted toward them, grateful for the distraction. Silver picture frames, delicate crosses, and tiny jewelry boxes lay on the table.

A spot deep in my chest throbbed.

I indulged in a moment of self-longing. Years ago, this was what I wanted. I took some college classes at the community school, but I always knew marriage and children were my future. Growing up in a criminal family—albeit a small one—there was only a select group of individuals eligible for me to partner with. And then, in a stroke of good fortune, as my parents called it, I caught the eye of a don.

Shivering, I tucked the longing away. It was the only way to protect my heart. Thankfully, after six years, there were no little Morettis running around. I would have died if they had a father like Vincent.