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Family had become nothing more than a means to an end for me once I had been kicked out of the Rocco compound. Unlike most Italians, I had never been sentimental about my blood ties, to my Malvini cousins or to Vito.

I shook my head.

Vito nodded, but his watchful look made me suspect he saw more than I wanted him to see.

The string quartet at the back of the chapel began to play a choral symphony I did not recognise—and the baby began to cry.

‘I will give Luca to his nanny so you can claim your bride in peace,’ Vito said.

But as we took our positions by the altar, something more than hunger twisted my insides into knots.

It could only be anticipation, I decided. Once the ceremony was over, the deal between Vito and me would be secure. Eva and I would leave for New York tonight on my private jet, so I could assume control of the property empire I now had joint ownership of. I had told her she could host the parties that would be part of my new role merely to get her to accept my proposal. But once we were wed, she would do as I told her.

After three weeks without her, I was eager to fuck Eva again and begin to work the hunger for her that refused to die out of my system.

I heard the hushed murmurs above the music and turned. My heart jumped.

Eva’s bright blonde hair had been piled on top of her head, white satin hugged her curves—the wedding gown classy and sleek. Her stride was steady, confident, her head held high, the sparkle of the fairy lights highlighting the shades of amber in her eyes. My jumpy heart pushed into my raw throat.

I swallowed convulsively, forced to acknowledge it was not just anticipation, or hunger, making my chest hurt and my groin throb… It was something a great deal more visceral and needy. I did not just desire her body, did not just want to hear the sobs and sighs of her release, or feel her clamped tight around me as I came in explosive bursts…

I had also missed her guileless chatter, that playful smile, and the compassion and hope in her gaze when she looked at me.

I struggled to control the pointless yearning, even as the desperation to hold her late at night again when we were both sated, to listen to her talk about everything and nothing, continued to torment me.

When she reached me at last, I rubbed clammy palms on my pants, then took her trembling hand in mine.

‘Ciao, Dante,’ she said. The hopeful smile made sweat trickle down my back under the tailored suit.

I couldn’t reply, scared my voice would come out in a husky rasp and everyone would know that this marriage meant more to me than a way to seal my alliance with Vito.

Too much more.

We kneeled together. But as the priest’s voice rambled on to bless our union, I heard none of it. I helped Eva back to her feet and we exchanged rings.

At last, the ceremony was over, the priest telling us to go in peace.

I turned to her, my gaze drawn to her plump bottom lip as she chewed it, the sparkle of optimism in her eyes only making the ache in my chest worse.

I had never kissed a woman on the mouth before. Never wanted to, the gesture both too intimate and yet also pointless, when it would not get her off. But when the priest suggested I kiss my bride, I found myself cradling her cheek. The tremor of her response echoed in my groin and I lowered my head, drawn to those lush lips.

She let out a shocked sob as I dragged her against me and slanted my mouth across hers. I thrust my tongue deep as she opened for me, and feasted on her heady sighs, grinding my hardening flesh against her soft belly, crushing the satin of her bridal gown and letting my hunger loose—to prove to myself, and her, that I controlled her now.

I devoured her, determined to conquer the yearning, and brand her as mine, for everyone to see, in the only way that could ever be real. The only way that I could ever acknowledge.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Evie

I kissed Dante with all the hunger and hope in my heart. When he had turned towards me moments ago, after the ceremony was complete—and the priest had whispered something in Italian with a twinkle in his eyes—I realised he’d never kissed me before on the lips. Not once. Even though he had kissed me pretty much everywhere else.

Dante had hesitated for less than a second, but then the determination in his gaze as his rough hand cupped my cheek and his eyes darkened with need had made my confidence soar. I could feel him getting hard now, feel my sex melting and throbbing as he devoured my mouth like a starving man. I sank my fingers into his hair to draw him closer, letting his tongue dominate and demand. And it felt glorious. To be owned, to be claimed, to be seen, and to be his, at last.

In that moment, as we feasted on each other, I didn’t care that our marriage was an arranged union to consolidate the merger of two powerful crime families because I was sure it could be so much more.

Vaguely, I registered cheering and clapping from the congregation, I think I even heard gunfire outside, but eventually Vito intervened, saying something in Italian which had Dante lifting his head, so we could both draw a shattered breath.

I beamed at my new husband, so happy it felt as if I was floating. He leaned in close to me and whispered against my earlobe, ‘Now you are truly mine, Eva, you will always obey me.’