Married to the Mafia Boss

Arianna

If there’s one thing I hate more than being babysat, it’s being babysat by my own brother. I love Alessandro with my whole heart, but God, he can be so overprotective. All I can think about the entire day is the kiss that Carmine and I shared. Even as I drive out of the garage, I can feel the warmth of his body pressed against mine. I don’t know when he’ll be back, but I just needed some time.

I enjoy the drive to Long Beach, it isn’t too long, but it’s long enough to relax me. Traffic seems lighter than usual, and the kiss replays in my mind repeatedly. I’m just going to drive around for a while before I find a race to join.NôvelDrama.Org (C) content.

God knows I need some adrenaline.

I don’t pay that much attention to the passing scenery.

Carmine.

That’s all I can think about.

I remember the way he searched me, the feel of his hands working their way up my legs. Searching is kinky, I won’t lie, and I’d be jealous if he did to other women. Jealous? What am I jealous of?

Alessandro, Dominic, my father, and Frankie will never let me see Carmine as anything more than a mercenary for the family and an old family friend. If they got wind of the thoughts I’m entertaining, of being on top of Carmine while I ride his sizable cock, they would kill him and lock me away forever.

What if Carmine doesn’t even feel the same? Dominic is always saying that Carmine is a player and always has been. I haven’t seen him with anyone recently, though. Also, we keep bumping into each other, all the heavy flirtations and glances that pass between us.

I wonder if there’s a way to convince my family to see him as a good man for me, someone I could be with. I doubt it. I doubt anyone would ever be good enough for me.

Alessandro has made that very clear when I’ve dated men in the past. No one is good enough for the princess of the Sorvino family. Baby sibling and illegal racer.

Well, I’ll soon be a professional racer, so I’ll have that going for me.

I sigh and pull up to a traffic light. Glancing out of my rearview mirror, I see a vehicle with tinted windows. I keep an eye on the car before I go to the next block and turn. The vehicle turns with me. I turn down the next block, and they follow. Are they my brother’s men?

I fumble in the bag next to me on the seat and fish out my phone, trying to keep my driving speed the same so they don’t suspect I’m reaching out for help.

I see a bunch of missed calls from Carmine, and I dial him back, putting it on speakerphone.

“Arianna, where are you?” I hear his voice over the roar of an engine.

“Are you in the jag?” I ask, distracted.

“It doesn’t matter. Where are you?” he asks again. “It’s not safe for you to be out on the streets by yourself.”

That reminds me of the car following me, and I turn to head back toward the motorway. “I need some guards to meet me at South Central Park. I’m being tailed. I thought maybe it was our guys, but now I’m not sure.”

“It’s not our guys,” Carmine says. “Don’t dilly dally. Drive like it matters and lose the tail. We’ll be at South Central Park soon.”

I drop the call and put both hands on the steering wheel. I reach a red traffic light, wait a moment, spin my tires, and take off through the red light.

As suspected, the vehicle follows me at speed, but I have a slight advantage with the head start.

I weave my way through the traffic, clipping my mirror once or twice as I get too close. Sometimes I hear people hooting or cursing me as I pass, but I don’t care. I swerve onto the on-ramp of the motorway and gun my accelerator.

I feel something drive into the back of me, and I glance back. They’re trying to push me off the road. The heavy-duty vehicle is close, and they speed up, clipping my car again.

I ramp over the side embankment and land inches from another car, forcing the tinted car to fall behind them. I change lanes quickly and take off, not giving them a chance to weave back into the same lane as me.

My heart is thudding in my chest. I swear I can hear it.

After half an hour, I glance back, but I don’t see the vehicle anymore. I still don’t let off the gas. I keep going until I reach South Central Park and see Carmine and the Jag parked there with three other cars. A group of smart-dressed and probably armed men is standing by the vehicles. I pull up next to the jaguar and climb out.

“Are you okay?” Carmine asks with his hand on his gun.

“I’m fine,” I breathe out. “I think I lost them.”

“Don’t you ever do that again.” Did Carmine just raise his voice at me? “Don’t you ever leave without an escort again, Arianna. This isn’t some bullshit game you’re playing.”

“Don’t speak to me like that, Carmine,” I spit back. The men watch on uncomfortably.

“Get in the jag. You’re driving with me,” Carmine says, opening the door for me. “Give Carlos your keys.”

I glare at him before I drop my keys on the floor in defiance. I feel bad for Carlos but fuck Carmine. I can’t believe I wanted to have sex with him. He is as bossy and demanding as Alessandro.

He shuts the door, and everyone piles back into their cars, Carlos in my Impala.

Carmine starts the car, and we head back toward the estate. I don’t say a word to him. I think if I do, I’ll take his head off his shoulders.

A film of sweat forms on his face as the sun shines through the windscreen. His lips are pursed, and there’s a different kind of fire in his eyes-it’s almost scary.

I know he kills people for the family, I’m not deaf, and I’m not stupid. I, however, have never felt anything but safe with him. I’ve never seen him as someone who could hurt me. Having him angry at me now, though, does scare me. Why? Does it scare me because I’m scared he hates me now? What a childish thought. He obviously doesn’t give a shit about me at all, or he wouldn’t boss me around.

Or would he? Is this his reaction to being afraid of losing me? He still has no right to boss me around, but it would make more sense.

He pulls into the estate and opens the garage.

While he’s waiting for the door to open, he turns to me. “You go where I say you go.”

“Get fucked,” I spit, climbing out of the car without another word. I don’t care if I like him or if he likes me. I’m tired of everyone feeling like they can control me. I storm through the garage and the kitchen, and I ignore my parents as I storm up the stairs and into my bedroom, slamming the door closed.