His to Own (Mafia Kingpins Book 1)
Chapter 8

The moment I hear the lock engage, I grind my teeth. She’s going to make this difficult. I already know it and I reel in my anger. There’s no use getting upset about it, though. It’s not really a surprise that my princess can turn into a headstrong pain in the ass. But, honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I enjoy her fire and her fight. It bodes well for our sex life, too. I’ve never been attracted to meek women. I like a challenge and I certainly like a woman to give as good as she gets in the bedroom.

I understand why she doesn’t want to marry me—or anyone—at this moment. Hell, I’m a total stranger, but that will be changing fast. I plan to get to know everything about Alessia. And I mean everything. From her favorite foods to the way she sounds when she comes and everything in between.

I’ve never taken the time to truly get to know a woman before and figured I’d save that for whoever I make my wife. Now that I’m on the precipice of marrying Alessia, a part of me can’t believe it’s actually happening. I haven’t told anyone except my butler Piero who is currently downstairs whipping up a celebratory meal. My family is going to flip their shit when they replace out, but I’m going to keep this my secret for a little while longer. Or, at least, for as long as possible.

After quickly dressing in my usual black shirt, suit and shoes, I smooth my thick, slightly wavy hair back with a bit of gel and splash my face with some aftershave. My breath is minty fresh and I lean closer to the mirror in the guest bathroom, examining my teeth to make sure nothing is caught between them. God, I’m nervous. And, that’s odd for me because I’m never nervous about anything. Confidence reigns supreme in my everyday life. Anxiety and nerves belong to the weak.

“Mr. Rossi?”

I turn around and walk into the attached guest bedroom to see my butler. Although calling Piero a butler is quite an understatement. He is a jack of all trades and takes care of everything for me—from the cooking to my schedule to making sure everyone else does their job. Quite honestly, I’d be lost without him. And right now he’s carrying several small velvet boxes.

“What did you replace?” I ask, reaching for the first one. They’re potential rings for Alessia and I need to choose one fast. Since time is of the essence, I had Piero call the local jeweler, describe what I wanted and rush the rings over for me to look at and choose.

“Several very nice options,” Piero says. He starts opening the other boxes and setting them up on the dresser. “I suggest you make a quick decision because Father Francesco just arrived and is waiting patiently in the living room.”

“Let him wait,” I grumble, snapping the first box shut, not at all happy with the diamond. It’s far too small. Grabbing the next one, I frown. “I said a big diamond.”

“They’re four carats. That is considered rather big,” Piero tells me, and I frown.

“Not big enough for Alessia.” So far, all of these rings are boring, far too small and plain. None of them will do. Then I pick up the last box and pause, my attention finally snagged. It’s a large, brilliant diamond with a ruby on either side. The combination is fiery and stunning. Just like my Alessia. “This one.”

I snap the lid shut and tuck the ring in my inside jacket pocket.

Piero nods knowingly. “I had a feeling that might be the one.”

“Tell Fr. Francesco we’ll be down momentarily.” I pull in a steadying breath and start heading back to my bedroom. “I have to break my reluctant woman out of the bathroom first.”

I hear Piero try to stifle an amused half snort-half laugh and fail miserably. Rolling my eyes, I stalk down the hall, enter the master suite and pause, hands on my hips, debating the best way to handle the situation. I did warn her, I think, and decide to try doing this the easy way first.

“Alessia?” I pause in front of the door, placing my hands on the doorframe. “Are you going to open this door or make me break it down?”

No answer.

Narrowing my eyes, I grind my jaw. We’re one-hundred and thirty floors high, so there’s no way she climbed out the window and made a break for it. No, my stubborn princess is simply ignoring me like the brat she can be.

“Alright, fine,” I grit out. “You want to do this the hard way then⁠—”

The door opens and Alessia stands there, looking up at me. “There’s no need to break the door down,” she states, looking unhappy.

I hate that she looks…well, if I’m being honest, slightly miserable. Maybe the ring will perk her up. Women like sparkly shit, right?

“Alessia,” I begin evenly, “I know this is far from normal, but everything will work out. You have to trust me.” Before she can respond, I drop down on my knee, reach for her hand and lift it up, holding it against my chest. “Even though we don’t know each other well yet, your father wanted our families aligned more closely through a wedding. I met you first and felt a connection right away. I hope you felt something, too?”

Alessia looks a little in shock, but forces a small nod.

“Good. We can build off that and I promise to be an attentive husband who treats you with respect and kindness. Trust me, princess, I will never hurt you. I’ll take care of you, protect you and worship you.”

She swallows hard as I reach into my jacket pocket and pull the velvet box out. Flipping the lid open, I make sure she gets a good look at the ring. Her gorgeous, sea-swept eyes widen. So far, so good. Plucking the ring out, I slide it onto her finger. It’s a little big and we’ll have to get it sized correctly.

“I want you to be my wife, Alessia.”

“What about what I want?” she whispers and I narrow my eyes, feeling everything in me go tight with anger.

“You don’t want me?” I snap, my restraint coming undone.

“I want a choice,” she insists.

“Too bad,” I say without thinking my words through. “You don’t get a choice. You get me as your husband and that should be more than enough.”

Alessia pulls her hand away and sends me a scowl. “You can’t force me to⁠—”

“Watch me!” I stand up, grab her around the waist and toss her over my shoulder. Alessia cries out and slaps her small fists against my back.

“What’re you doing?” she demands, trying to twist away.

“Making you my wife. Now behave!” I slap a palm against her ass and she gasps, immediately going still.

Then she turns into a demon, kicking and twisting. “If you force me to marry you, I will be the worst wife you’ve ever had!” she threatens.

“I’ve never had a wife,” I reply dryly. And, hell, now I can see why I was never in a rush to deal with this bullshit.

Marching out of the bedroom and down the hallway, I pause at the top of the stairs. Okay, so maybe I’m being a bit of a domineering ass, but I’m pissed. What the hell is the problem? I see how women watch and swoon over me. How they attempt to seduce me into their beds. Any woman in her right mind would marry me in a damn heartbeat and this feisty, little shit is acting like it’s the worst thing in the world.

“Are you going to walk down these stairs?” I ask, loosening my grip. Giving her a chance. “Or, am I going to have to carry you down?”

“You are the biggest jerk I have ever met!” she declares angrily and hits my back with a balled-up fist. “Now put me down before I scream!”

I let out a frustrated growl and start marching down the stairs, and she bounces against me. “Oh, trust me, you’ll be doing a lot of screaming,” I hiss, “later on in my bed.”

That settles her down and I carry her into the living room where Fr. Francesco sits, waiting patiently. His eyes widen when he sees us and I pretend there’s nothing unusual about having a woman slung over my shoulder.

“Father Francesco, it’s nice to see you. I’d like for you to meet my fiancée, Alessia.”

“Oh, uh…” He stutters and stands up, circling around me and leaning over until he’s eye to eye with the little brat hanging down my back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alessia.”

“Hello,” she murmurs politely.

Well, I’m glad she’s at least being nice to the old man. Rolling my eyes, I shift her body and turn to face Fr. Francesco. “Can we get this started? Before my bride decides to try to run off?” I crack her ass again and she lets out a squeal.

“Put me down!” she orders.

“Of course,” Fr. Francesco says, reaching for his prayer book. “But, Miceli, you may want to do as the young lady says and please put her down. I’d like to believe this is consensual so I can give you both the Church’s blessing.”

“It’s consensual,” I tell him. “She’s just having a temper tantrum.”

“I never said yes,” she reminds me tartly. For whatever reason, her words sting and I flinch. “And, may I also remind you that you didn’t actually ask.”

Huh. Well, I suppose she does have a point there. Thinking back, it occurs to me that I more demanded than requested. Shit. I suppose I better fix this quickly. I glance over at Fr. Francesco. “Can you give us a moment?” I ask. He gives me a nod and walks out, pulling the door shut behind him. And, I swear, I hear the wily, old bastard mumble a “good luck” under his breath.

I slowly lower Alessia to the floor and look into her sea-colored eyes where a hurricane currently whips around. “You’re right,” I immediately concede. “I’ve never proposed to anyone before and I did a pretty bad job, didn’t I?”

“It wasn’t great,” she admits quietly, twisting the too-large ring around her finger. “You didn’t even ask.”

“I got down on one knee,” I remind her, “and declared my hopes for our future. I gave you a big, expensive diamond.”

“And then declared you wanted me for your wife. I like having a say in my life, Miceli. It’s the whole reason I ran away in the first place. Because my parents weren’t letting me decide my own future. You need to understand how important that is to me.”

“I understand…and I’m sorry. Sometimes, I can be a little bossy.”

“A lot bossy,” she corrects me.

“That, too,” I admit, mouth edging up. “When I want something, I go after it hard. Full-force. And, I’m not going to lie and play games. I want you, Alessia.” I let out a breath, lower myself back onto one knee and reach for her hand again. Take two. “Alessia, will you marry me?”

I wait with baited breath for her answer. If she says no, I’ll probably just force her, anyway. But, it won’t be pleasant for either of us. Or, Fr. Francesco, for that matter. I shift, looking up at her, waiting patiently. And, she sure takes her damn time. Just when I think she’s going to tell me to go to hell, she slowly nods her head.

“Yes, I will marry you, Miceli.”

Relief pours through me because I was ready to do battle. Without thinking, I squeeze her hand, bring it up to my lips and brush a soft kiss against her knuckles, whispering thank you.

Now that everyone is in agreement—or Alessia, anyway—I call in Fr. Francesco and Piero who will serve as our witness. The ceremony goes surprisingly smoothly and fast. In less than ten minutes, we listened to a short scripture passage, declared our undying love and exchanged vows.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Rossi,” Fr. Francesco declares, grinning from ear to ear. “You may kiss your bride.”

I turn toward Alessia, slide my hand around her neck, cupping it gently, and kiss her. Not wanting to put on a show, I keep it restrained and fairly quick. But, I enjoy the sweet, fruity taste of her hard candy. It’s over before it begins and we say goodbye to Fr. Francesco. Piero has us sign the marriage certificate and then it’s done. At least the official part, anyway. Now, we can move onto the good stuff. The part where I take Alessia into my bed and fuck my new wife until she’s screaming my name.

“The celebratory brunch is all ready,” Piero tells us, grinning widely.

Oh, right. I suppose it is still only eleven in the morning. Too early to drag Alessia back to bed, especially since we just got up not long ago. Still though, I wouldn’t mind calling it a day sooner rather than later.

“Are you hungry?” I ask her.

“Yes.”

Her voice comes out soft, almost shy, and I take her hand and lead her down to the large, modern kitchen. Sun shines in through the skylights and I tell Piero to serve us in here rather than in the formal dining room.

We sit down at the small kitchen table with a metallic silver top, and I stare at my bride, a little amazed that I actually went through with the ceremony. And that I was so vehement and domineering about the whole thing. I’m not exactly sure what came over me, but Alessia makes me a little crazy and a lot possessive.

And now she’s mine.

Glancing down, I notice her twisting her ring. “We’ll get that sized for you,” I tell her and she nods.

Suddenly, I’m not sure what to say. The truth is I behaved like a brute and practically forced her into this, completely strong-armed her into this marriage. Will she resent me for it? I want our lives together to be pleasant. But did I take things too far? Does my wife hate me already?

The thought makes my gut twist. I plan to make up for my outlandish behavior and hopefully multiple orgasms will soothe her. Otherwise, I’m not sure what to do. Maybe start buying her more jewelry. That always seems to work with women.

Although, I have a feeling my fiery, little wife isn’t like most other women. And, I’m not sure how well that bodes for me.