Page 9 of Forsaking All Others

“My family controls Sicily, and look what happened,” I retorted, a little surprised by my gumption given that I hadn’t spoken to a man outside of my family’s sphere in recent memory.

But this man, this arrogant stranger who was now my husband, had made the inexcusable choice to separate me from my family.

What family I had left.

Dario scoffed lightly and returned his attention to his tablet. “The Cavallaros rule Sicily through strength and love. Sicilians have a deep-rooted respect for the Mafia because of its historic protection of locals against invading forces. I rule Chicago through strength, money, and fear. No one would dare to fuck with me or mine.”

“Has no one ever tried?” I asked, because people had tried to assassinate Papà since before I was born, but until today, no one had ever succeeded.

“Oh yes.” Dario raised his gaze but not his head so that those eerie eyes were pinned to mine. “They have tried. And I have mailed their attempts in pieces back to the original perpetrators. It’s funny what a few disassembled body parts do to a man’s psyche.”

I shivered slightly, because none of the men in my family had ever spoken to me so graphically of the violence that was inherent to their lives. It was always an ominous cloud off in the distance, something I could—and should—ignore.

I was to remain untouched by the dark side of the Mafia, left to wallow in its richness and glories.

Until my wedding day.

Papà’s wounded face flashed across my memory and made my stomach turn over.

Dario lifted a heavy square gold pendant from around his neck, the front inlaid with an enormous black diamond that glittered like tar in the light.

“This was the old don’s necklace,” he told me in a low, dangerous murmur. “I took it from him while he was still living, even though he was rapidly bleeding out from the wound across his throat. Do you want to know why I wear it?”

I shook my head mutely, wishing for Niccolo’s soft words, his sweet smiles.

I hadn’t married a man, but a monster.

One without remorse.

“Because . . .” Dario leaned forward to show me his teeth, the canines unusually sharp. “He dared to threaten me and mine. It did not matter that he was my capo dei capi, I bow to no authority but my own. And if someone opposes me, I will force them to their knees or take their lives as tribute to their stubbornness.”

Dio mio, I thought, swallowing the bitter taste on the back of my tongue.

“No one will fuck with you in Chicago,” he said, settling back in his chair, suddenly disinterested. “Because you are my property.”

I was used to being property, something evaluated and traded like a commodity.

But at least Papà, Ricco, Beppe, and Niccolo had loved me.

It was clear Dario felt nothing but vaguely apathetic disdain and responsibility for me.

“I’d like to call my family,” I managed to demand without a waver in my voice.

“There is no one to call,” he said flatly. “Beppe is in intensive care and unlikely to make it. Ricco is still in surgery. Your father is dead.”

“My aunts,” I offered desperately. “I want them to keep me up to date about what is happening in Palermo.”

“I will be your news source, Fiammetta.” He finally looked up at me again, his cold gaze searing. “Do not think you will play me as the fool. I know your connection to the Malatesta clan, your childish infatuation for Niccolo Malatesta, and it will not be tolerated. You are mine. That means no man will talk to you, yearn for you, or so much as look at you unless I give express permission.”

My mouth fell open as if my jaw unhinged. It wasn’t just the shock of his knowledge about my love for Niccolo, but the idea that I would be once more thrust into an isolated ivory tower and kept from people.

I was not a natural introvert. As a child I loved going to school once I got over my initial shyness. I loved making friends and did this easily with all sorts of people, including ones not approved by my father. Chatting, figuring out what made people tick, uncovering truths—these were all things that excited my brain, lighting me up like a fireworks display. Even though it was forbidden, I tried to make friends with the household staff and succeeded in getting a few of them to sit with me for teatime as a girl, and later, for more adult gossip under the guise of serving me tea.

Being alone as I had been for so many years felt like a living death.

The only thing this marriage was good for was freedom.

A new place, new people to discover, a new me to bring to life.