Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(26)

“So you've never been to the city before?” I hear Daddy saying.

“It's a beautiful city,” another man says. “Boris has been showing us around.”

“It is, it is,” Daddy says. I know that he prefers New York, but Chicago is his home. He has that sort of pride in his voice. “I assume you’ll be making use of the club too. My house is your house now. Please, make yourself at home.”

“That's very kind of you, Don Lauro,” the voice says. “What kind of club is it?”

“Ah,” Daddy says, and I can almost picture him in my mind, sitting back and folding his hands over his belly. He loves to talk about the club. “Just a small place, really. A place for my friends to come, gather, enjoy a few cigars, a drink or two. Nothing too special.”

“If your home is any indication, I'm sure it's a beautiful club,” the stranger says politely. I nod, knowing Daddy is probably extremely pleased at this point. Good manners and a little flattery go along way with him. He's accustomed to being treated like a king.

“It is, it is… But I'm sure that you are both eager to hear more about the arrangement. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Don Lauro, I am honored to be welcomed into your home,” another voice says. The tone is different from the first speaker, more formal, less ingratiating.

Oh, geez. This lovefest is making me sick. What kind of toe-licker has Daddy married me off to?

“That you would consider allowing me to care for your daughter is a greater honor than I deserve. I only hope that I can prove worthy of the trust that you've placed in me.”

Daddy sighs out a long groan of reluctance. “She's truly my pride and joy. She is a gift, the light in my world.”

“She must truly be an angel.”

“You have no idea. My daughter is a rare, precious gift. It breaks my heart to see her off, and yet I know… You will take care of her, won't you.”

“He is a man of honor, Don Lauro. I assure you,” says the first man smoothly.

“As am I, as am I,” I hear Daddy say.

I can tell by his voice that he feels satisfied with this arrangement. Just like that. Whatever they’ve been talking about, I just got passed across the table like a tray of food to the stranger.

“To the continued peace between our families,” I hear the first stranger say.

“To peace,” says the second stranger.

“Yes,” Daddy says, and their glasses clink together.

Well, I suppose I might as well get this over with. Now that they've basically shaken hands on the deal, I might as well go in.

I push the doors apart and step into the dining room, my eyes automatically going to the floor. All three men stand up as I enter and I can feel their stares as they look me over.

My eyes find Daddy first. His cheeks are flushed with wine, and he smiles at me broadly, nodding. With some effort, I smile back politely, just like I'm supposed to.

I finally get the courage to urge my eyes toward the next man. He raises his glass toward me, then pauses. I look at his thick, muscled arms, his broad shoulders, trying to force myself to look at his face. It seems to take a long time to raise my eyes to his, and what I'm seeing doesn't make any sense.

Charcoal grey eyes glare at me from beneath heavy brows. His face is handsome, I think, and then not as much. His dark, wavy hair is closely shorn over his head, curling slightly at his hairline.

No, it can't be.

“Marie,” I hear Daddy say, his voice breaking with emotion.

But the stranger steps forward. He extends his hand as his expression goes from confusion to something like fury, to something like revulsion. He looks like I've just told him a terrible joke.

“Roman,” he says in a controlled growl.

Automatically, my hand floats up to clasp his even as I'm begging myself not to. I want to run from the room. I want to disappear, to wink out of existence like a bad dream.

This can't be happening. This can't be him.

My eyes flicker toward the third man. It’s Alek, the friendly yet forceful brother from last night. I can still almost feel his hands holding me open and ready for his brother as he…

Oh, my God.

Alek smirks at me, quirking one perfect eyebrow and tipping his glass toward me with an expression that is both amused and polite, as though rendering a punchline and an apology at the same time.

“Shake his hand, Marie,” I hear Daddy say in an embarrassed warning tone.

Startled, I look down at my hand as Roman’s draws ever nearer. His giant paw covers my hand, obliterating it in his fingers. He holds my hand firmly, caging my bones in a way that lets me know that I couldn't pull my arm back even if I wanted to.

I stare up into his face, into his fathomless dark eyes. Though I can't tell exactly what he's thinking, I don't think it's good.