His Tesoro: An Arranged Marriage Age Gap Mafia Romance (Empire of Royals Book 1)
His Tesoro: Chapter 52

My father was late.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise—it was yet another way for him to try to assert his power in every situation by subtly disrespecting Matteo, even though he needed this alliance just as much as my husband did. I didn’t know much about the Pakhan’s business dealings, but I knew he had been coveting New York trade routes for years. Leave it to my father to let his pride interfere with maintaining his own best interest.

Matteo’s hand rested on the back of my neck, his hold the only thing keeping me even remotely calm. My father couldn’t hurt me anymore. He could try, but I had people in my corner now. Angelo, Romeo, and Domenico were stationed around the restaurant, and even more men were in the back and surrounding the perimeter. The worst the Pakhan could do was humiliate me, but I trusted my husband to not pay attention to whatever vitriol my father spouted about me.

I fidgeted with my new diamond bracelet. Matching earrings swung lightly against my skin. They were beautiful, but my favorite was still the delicate locket Matteo had given me. It was warm as it rested against my neck. The jewels were armor against the Bratva women I knew would be in attendance.

Three black G-Wagons pulled up outside the restaurant, and Matteo tightened his hold on me slightly before letting go. I grabbed his hand as he stood. “Don’t do anything to ruin the alliance just for me, okay?”

A flash of fury crossed his face and he leaned down, hands resting on the sides of my wheelchair, caging me in. “Just for you, tesoro? I know you’re not implying that you wouldn’t be worth it, that you aren’t my priority. Because if you were, I would have to bend you over my knee right here.”

My cheeks heated. “No, I definitely wasn’t suggesting that.”

He pressed a kiss to my lips with a fierce scowl, straightening up as the front door swung open.

One of the Italian guards held it open, and the Pakhan entered. His sneering gaze raked over me, and I clenched my fists. He was followed by his second-in-command, Bogdan, a cruel man around my father’s age. I’d done my best to keep my distance from him my entire childhood. He was a man who loved inflicting pain on others. Following him were two of his guards I recognized as Igor and Arkadi. I could already feel myself shrinking, trying to make myself a smaller target for their ridicule.

The wives entered behind the men. My mama, wearing a pea-green satin dress with a full skirt, Bogdan’s wife Yulia, and two younger women who must be married to the guards. I thought the pretty brown-haired one might be named Liliya.

I wished Noodle was by my side. He’d been in my life for such a short time, but now I couldn’t imagine being without him. Enzo had taken him for the evening and while I missed him, I would never risk Noodle by having him close to my father. When I was six years old, I’d found a tiny kitten in a ditch by our house. I’d named her Zvezda—Star—and nursed her in my room for weeks. She’d grown strong under my care, delighting Mila and me with her little acts of mischief in our room, until the Pakhan discovered her and drowned her in front of me.

There was no fucking way Noodle was getting anywhere near him.

Matteo’s expression was relaxed and impassive as he welcomed our guests. Was I the only one who noticed the white hot rage simmering under the surface?

“Come, let’s eat,” he said, guiding everyone to the large table in the center of the restaurant. It was set beautifully with lit candlesticks, flowers, and wine.

“Sit at that end,” the Pakhan instructed my mother, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

Matteo had the seat of honor at the head of the table and guided me to the seat at his right hand.

“Bah, let your wife sit at the other end, Don Rossi. That way, us men can have a real conversation.”

Your wife? Classic. How quickly he’d removed any reminder of his relationship to me.

“My wife sits beside me,” Matteo said, his voice like ice.

“Well, she’s certainly not standing beside you,” Yulia said in Russian, her voice just loud enough to ensure I heard her.

I gave her a sickeningly sweet smile and responded in Russian. “Bold words from a woman whose husband can’t get away from her fast enough. You arrived last night? That means he must have found at least three women to fuck already.”

It was a low blow and I felt a little guilty, but Yulia’s furious expression gave me some pleasure, too.

Matteo met my gaze, and I shook my head slightly. I could hold my own against the Bratva women. He took my hand and helped me into my chair before standing behind me, his hands on my shoulders as he stared my father down, daring him to say something.

The Pakhan burst out laughing. “Young love! How we all remember those days.”

None of his men cracked a smile. I doubted they would know what love was if it smacked them in the face.

Everyone took their seats, the Bratva wives relegated to the opposite end of the table. One of the new guards sat beside me, which I was thankful for. It was bad enough to have to look at the Pakhan and Bogdan, I didn’t think I could tolerate sitting next to them.

Dinner crawled by, filled with polite, bland conversation. Matteo’s hand never left my skin—either resting on my leg under the table or holding my hand on top of it. A few times, I caught my father’s gaze flitting to where my husband and I were touching, and I felt a sick sense of satisfaction. He had sold me to the Italians with no concern for my well-being, and it had backfired spectacularly. Angelo caught my eye over my father’s shoulder and winked. Warmth curled in my stomach. I finally had a real family who freely gave their care and protection.

My mama stayed silent, but she eyed my plate of food. Her expression was so clear I could practically hear her scolding words about my weight gain. I took another large bite of fettuccine, staring her down the entire time. She looked away, disgust twisting her lips.

As we neared the end of dinner, servings of tiramisu and Sambuca appeared. Angelo rubbed his stomach as he eyed the large trays of dessert from his position by the wall. I needed to make sure he got some later.

My father stood up and announced that the men needed to try the vodka he’d brought. They moved to the side of the restaurant with a fireplace and large leather chairs. This time, I squeezed Matteo’s hand and gave him an encouraging look. He needed to go with the rest of the men to appease my father. He leaned over and brushed a kiss on my cheek. “Behave yourself.”

I rolled my eyes. “You behave yourself,” I hissed back.

His dark expression told me he was imagining spanking me. He jerked his head at Angelo who was immediately at my side, escorting me to where the other women were sitting on couches. But I only had eyes for my mama. Her dress clung to her stick-thin frame and her eyes looked even more blank since the last time I saw her. I reached out and clutched her hand. Her skin was cold to the touch.

“Mama, are you okay?” My feelings about my mother were endlessly complicated. She had failed Mila and me over and over, and there was no kindness in her. But I also knew she was a victim of the Pakhan, and I held onto the desperate hope that she could break out of this fog someday.

She met my concerned gaze with blankness.

“Mama, please,” I whispered, wishing the other wives weren’t within hearing distance. This would be gossip fodder for the Bratva inner circles, I was sure. “Talk to me.”

“What could she possibly have to say when you show up in that?” Yulia said, voice scathing as she gestured at my wheelchair.

I dropped my mom’s hand and swallowed hard. I refused to be ashamed. Feeling accepted by my new family was slowly helping me accept myself. How dare these women try to make me feel bad for using a wheelchair?

“Isn’t it wonderful? My husband got it for me.”

“As if that makes it better,” she sneered.

Mama sat silently. I wished I knew how to reach her.

“Tell us, Sofiya, how are things with your new husband?” Liliya asked. “He’s certainly handsome enough.”

I raised an eyebrow. “They’re wonderful. And you’re newly married?” She was twirling her ring around her finger.

“To Arkadi,” she said, gesturing at the black-haired guard currently standing behind the Pakhan, her smile turning tight. “Another handsome man.”

I inclined my head.

The other young woman I didn’t know spoke up. “Is that your ring?” Her voice was filled with pretend outrage.

I looked down at my gold band, so plain, especially compared to the Bratva wives’ ornate diamond rings with their three entwined bands. This was the ring my husband had given me when he didn’t want me. I wondered what it would be like to have a ring that was attached to a happier memory.

“I thought the Mafia was engaged in the diamond trade,” Yulia said. “I guess this wonderful husband of yours didn’t think you worthy of one.”

I said nothing but shook my wrist, making sure the light caught the diamonds in my bracelet. Yulia rolled her eyes and I smirked.

I looked over my shoulder at Matteo across the room. The men were drinking as smoke from their cigars swirled around them. I knew I’d been the one pushing him to go over there without me, but now I desperately wanted him next to me. Actually, I wanted to be curled up on his lap on the couch in our home, away from all these horrible people.

His gaze snapped to mine, his stare as intense as ever. I broke all rules of etiquette and blew him a kiss. There was the slightest tilt to his lips before he returned to his conversation.