Promised To The Don: The Runaway Mafia Princess novel Chapter 3

Alessia

─ ∘❉∘ ─

I was still soaked.

The white bikini clung to me, and the chill of the air-conditioning hadn’t done a thing to stop the heat boiling under my skin.

I paced the length of the guest room. Each slap of my wet heel against the marble was a reminder that I had been pushed..That I had fallen. That I had been laughed at like some brainless, half-naked American girl on display.

That smug, entitled, infuriating bastard. He thought he could humiliate me in front of his friends, and I’d what? Just take it?

No, I slapped him and he smiled. I wanted to rip his teeth out for it. I should’ve drowned him instead.

A knock hit the door once then it opened before I could speak.

I froze.

In walked Elisabetta Lombardi, spine straight, pearls on her throat, eyes cold and right behind her still shirtless, still smirking was him.

Rino.

He had the audacity to wink at me the moment our eyes met.

“Alessia,” Elisabetta said smoothly, “I brought Rino to apologize for his inappropriate behavior.”

I opened my mouth to reply but she held up a finger.

“And it would be wise,” she added crisply, “for you to apologize as well. Slapping your future husband in front of his peers was not only disrespectful, it was deeply embarrassing for both our families.”

I stared at her.

My hands curled into fists.

Rino had crossed his arms over his chest now, leaning against the wall. His mouth twitched, just slightly, watching me in silence.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, “Did I ruin your precious male pride when I hit you? Maybe next time I should just drown myself quietly in your pool to spare the embarrassment.”

Elisabetta pursed her lips, disappointedly, “We don’t expect American girls to understand tradition but we expect them to learn.”

Her gaze raked over me like I was already disappointing.

“Discipline begins at home,” she continued, “and clearly you’ve been indulged. In my household, daughters do not raise their hands to sons. Especially not in public. Especially not in front of men.”

Her hand lashed out and she tilted my face up to hers.

“You listen to me, ragazzina,” she said, “You will not bring shame to this family before you've even entered it. My son is the heir of a bloodline older than your country. His name is gold. You’re here because your parents sold you into legacy. Don’t confuse that for power.”

I didn’t breathe because if I breathed, I’d cry.

And I would not cry in front of him.

“My son,” she went on, “may be mischievous. But he is a man. You, on the other hand, are a child who embarrassed herself in a wet bathing suit in front of three generations of men.”

Elisabetta let go of my chin, harshly almost shoving me back.

“You’ll apologize to him. And then you’ll thank him for accepting your apology. And after that, perhaps you’ll both grow into your roles with a little dignity.”

I nodded because that’s what I’d been taught. I nodded like I was some well-trained thing, and not a girl who wanted to throw herself out the window.

Elisabetta gave a satisfied smile, “I’ll give you two a moment to reconcile,” she said.

The door clicked behind her and I took a deep breath. I turned slowly, heart pounding against and looked at him.

“You gonna slap me again?” he asked, casually. “Because I kinda liked it.”

He pushed off the wall and crossed the room in a few lazy steps, stopping just out of reach. I refused to step back.

“You know,” he said, circling slowly, “...most girls would’ve cried, run to daddy, or batted their lashes like good little wives in training.”

I turned sharply, jaw locked.

“Why are you still here?”

He tilted his head. “You owe me an apology. You ruined my honor. My pride. My reputation.”

“Oh, poor you,” I snapped. “I’m sure it’s devastating being embarrassed by a girl half your size who didn’t ask to be sold to you like cattle.”

That got a real smile out of him, “I didn’t ask for this either, principessa but here we are.”

He moved again, circling, until we were face to face.

“I didn’t push you because I hate you,” he said softly.

I blinked.

“You humiliated me,” I whispered.

“So humiliate me back,” he said.

I looked up at him, furious. “I already did.”

He grinned, “Then do it again.”

For a second, we just stood there, staring, breathing and then he did the last thing I expected.

He leaned in to kiss me.

His mouth came straight for mine, like I was supposed to melt into him just because our parents signed a deal over pasta and bloodlines.

I panicked.

Swerved my head to the side, fast and instead of kissing me, his mouth landed on the curve of my bare shoulder.

And instead of backing off like a normal human, he opened his mouth and bit me. His teeth sank into the skin just above my collarbone, it was not playful or teasing. It was animalistic. He wanted to leave a mark I couldn’t scrub off.

Pain shot through me, “What the hell is wrong with you?!” I shouted, shoving him.

He just stood there, watching me like he liked how much I hated him. I looked down at my shoulder and saw it.

Blood.

A drop blooming on my shoulder, red and real and his fault. That was it. That was the final straw. I stormed across the room, spotted my nude pumps tossed by the chaise, grabbed one by the heel and hurled it at his head.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”

The heel clipped the side of his head with a satisfying thwack. He ducked too late, stumbled a step to the side, caught himself and started laughing.

Laughing?!

“You bit me!” I screamed, grabbing the second shoe, “You lunatic freak, you actually, what, were you raised by wolves?”

He was still laughing.

“You’re crazy,” I snapped. “You don’t get to touch me, let alone sink your teeth into me!”

He wiped the side of his mouth with the back of his hand, “You moved, not my fault your shoulder got in the way.”

I launched the second heel. He dodged it that time. I pointed straight at the door.

“Get. Out.”

He didn't move.

“I said get out!”

He lifted both hands in surrender, smirk still painted across his stupid face.

“Fine, fine,” he said, backing toward the door, eyes never leaving mine, “I think that means we’re officially engaged now.”

I grabbed a pillow this time. He ducked and slipped out before I could throw it. The door slammed behind him. And I stood there shaking, shoulder bleeding, barefoot, breath ragged.

He hadn’t won.

We were not engaged!

I don’t care what ring they put on my finger. I don’t care what traditions they use to bind me to him.

I will never love Rino Lombardi.

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify