God Of Vengeance (Kings Of Mafia)

Damiano Falco; 38. Gabriella di Bella; 23.

“This is a great honor for the family,” my mother says as her eyes slowly sweep over every inch of me. “Don’t disappoint us.”

She’s referring to my impending marriage to Stefano Ferraro. That’s if the Cosa Nostra approves of the union.

Or rather, Damiano Falco. The Capo dei Capi of the Cosa Nostra. He’s the only one who still has to give his approval, which he’ll do tonight at the dinner party that’s being held in his honor.

The stories I’ve heard about Damiano are enough to make my blood run cold in my veins, and I’m not looking forward to meeting him.

But first, I need to get through an entire afternoon of smiling and pretending I want nothing more than to become Stefano Ferraro’s wife.

God help me.

A chill creeps down my spine because the last thing I want is to marry Stefano. The man is in his late forties, and I’ve only seen him a handful of times. Every interaction with him didn’t bode well for my future.

Not once has he offered me a smile or a kind word, but instead, I’ve been treated like I’m nothing more than a pawn in the great game called the mafia. His touch is always brutal, and his words demeaning.

My mother’s eyes stop on my hair, and she lets out a displeased sigh. “I wish you didn’t cut and color your hair. It looks awful.”Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

The corner of my mouth almost lifts, but I manage to keep my face schooled with an obedient expression.

My hair used to be black and reached to my butt, but I colored it light brown with blonde streaks and cut it in a stylish bob. I did it because Stefano started calling me his black beauty, always pulling my hair to force me to look up at him. It was my way of giving him the middle finger.

My parents prefer that I wear modest clothes, no makeup, and keep my eyes lowered when we have company, and Stefano seems to be cut from the same cloth as them.

But that’s not me. It never has been.

I love playing with makeup and different hairstyles.

Her gaze drops to the tight silk dress I’m wearing, which stops mid-thigh, and the black five-inch heels on my feet.

I’m aware the outfit is risky and a little too revealing, but today, I can’t stop my stubborn streak from showing.

Shaking her head, Mother mutters, “Did you have to spill coffee on the dress I chose for you to wear?” She lets out a disgruntled huff. “I suppose it will have to do. We can’t keep the men waiting.”

Without checking to make sure I follow her out of the room, she continues to say, “Remember, Stefano is Mr. Falco’s cousin. You’re marrying into the greatest family, so you’ll wait hand and foot on Stefano. Do whatever the man wants to ensure you get him to the altar.”

When I keep quiet, my mother stops in the middle of the hallway to glare at me. “Do you understand, Gabriella?”

I do, but I sure as hell don’t agree.

When I stare at my mother for seconds too long, her arm swings through the air, her palm connecting with the side of my head.

There’s a burst of destructive emotions in my chest as my hands fist at my sides. The sting from the slap fades quickly while I swallow hard on the urge to tell my mother to go to hell.

With every slap, demeaning sentence, and controlling order, I become more defiant. I can’t stop it, and I know it’s only a matter of time before my stubbornness will land me in deep trouble.

They want a prim and proper little princess, but I’ll give them a defiant queen.

And one day, it might kill me.

Through clenched teeth, she hisses, “You will not ruin this deal for your father and brother.”

I swallow hard on my pride and temper as I bite out, “Yes, Mother.”

Rosa di Bella has never been a mother to me. Since I can remember, she’s kept a controlling grip on my life, telling me what to eat, how much to weigh, what to wear, and how to behave.

I’m nothing more than a bargaining chip, while my older brother is the crowned prince who will take over from my father. Santo can do whatever he wants and gets away with murder. Literally.

I was an accident. My parents were content with only having Santo, but then I came along, burdening their perfect lives with my unwanted presence.

They can’t wait to pawn me off on Stefano Ferraro. They’ll get a son-in-law who’s related to the most powerful man in our world. And they’ll be rid of me.

My mother gives me another glare before she takes the stairs down. As I follow reluctantly behind her, I hear my brother shout, “He’s here!”

When the foyer comes into view, it’s in time to see Santo open the front door.

A man comes up the steps, his head bowed while he unbuttons his suit jacket. He shrugs off the jacket, and without glancing back, he hands it to a man who seems to be his guard.

As he lifts his head, I suck in a desperate breath of air, my gaze stuck on the Capo dei Capi of the Cosa Nostra. With his features carved into a ruthless expression that promises agonizing pain and death, he looks like the God he is.

The dominance and power exploding from him keep my attention imprisoned.

I can’t tear my gaze away from him. Even if I wanted to.

He’s tall, dark, and utterly handsome. The man gives me the impression of a thunderstorm moving over the world, engulfing everything in darkness.

Damiano Falco.

As I think his name, his dark eyes lock with mine, and I swear they’re black as death. An intense shiver shudders over my body, and I can’t stop myself from taking a step backward.

Suddenly, Mother grabs my wrist, and I’m yanked forward. My shoes slip on the floor the servants polished until they could see their reflections on the shiny surface.

Before I can try to catch my balance, I fall to my knees while my mother’s fingers tighten around my wrist, making a sharp pain shoot up my arm. My free hand slaps against the tiled floor to stop me from face-planting in front of everyone.

“Get up,” Stefano growls beneath his breath.

Intense embarrassment burns through me, and before I can scramble back onto my feet, Damiano walks right by me, his steps filled with confidence and threats of death.

Mother yanks at my wrist, sending another sharp pain up my arm. “You’re embarrassing us,” she hisses between clenched teeth.

I struggle to my feet, in time to see all the men rush after Damiano. Even though this is his first time here, he heads straight for the living room.

Stefano shoots me a dark glare that promises nothing good for me before he disappears from my sight.

I’m yanked again, and I barely have time to fix my dress as my mother hurries to catch up to the men.

“Stop yanking me,” I snap at Mother while managing to rip my wrist free from her hold.

She shoots me an angry glare, that’s usually followed by a slap, but we enter the living room, making her restrain herself because of present company.

I notice Damiano’s pouring himself a tumbler of my father’s best bourbon while all the men look at him with anticipation on their faces.

My eyes dart over the gun tucked into his pants’ waistband before locking on his broad shoulders. He turns around, and as he takes a sip of the drink, his eyes slowly creep over everyone in the room.

“You must be tired, cousin,” Stefano says. “Why not take an hour to rest before we sit down for the meeting?”

Damiano doesn’t even acknowledge what his cousin says, and when his eyes lock on me for a second time, the shiver rushing over my body is more intense than before.

His lips part, and I swear I can feel everyone hold their breaths as they wait to hear what the Capo dei Capi has to say.

“Come,” he orders. His low and deadly tone is filled with ice, making a wintry chill spread through my veins.

When I don’t move, Mother shoves me in Damiano’s direction.

With every step I take closer to him, my legs feel like they’ll turn to jelly and give way beneath me.

I suck in an audible breath when I stop mere inches from him and force my spine to straighten so I don’t cower in front of the dangerous man.

Lifting my head, my eyes meet his, and every muscle in my body tightens as dread pours through me.

Caro Dio.

He’s easily a head taller than me, and I’m wearing high heels. Barefoot, I’d probably only reach the middle of his chest.

I have no doubt he can kill me with a single punch.

Damiano downs the last of the amber liquid in the tumbler, and as he holds it out to his side, Santo has to hurry to catch the glass when Damiano lets go of it.

He couldn’t even be bothered with putting the damn tumbler down on the table.

The Capo dei Capi’s ruthless gaze moves from my head to my toes before flicking back to my face.

Even though my body starts to tremble with fear, I somehow manage to keep my chin raised.

Damiano locks eyes with me, and when it feels like he’s digging his way into the deepest parts of my soul, I can’t stop myself from taking a step backward.

My hands fist tightly at my sides, and swallowing hard, I force myself not to move further away from him.

His eyes narrow on me, and he slowly tilts his head.

Dio.

My mouth grows bone dry under his intense scrutiny.

Suddenly, a hand slaps against the back of my head, and I’m forced to look down.

“I apologize, Mr. Falco,” Father mutters angrily. “She’s usually more obedient. I don’t know what’s gotten into her today.”

With my father’s fingers wrapped around the back of my neck, I’m yanked backward and shoved toward Mother.

She grabs hold of my arm and drags me out of the living room.

I hear Damiano let out a sigh, making it sound like he’s bored with the entire spectacle, then he orders, “Show me to a room where I can have privacy.”

Mother doesn’t stop walking until I’m shoved into my bedroom. The door slams shut, and as I turn to face her, she starts to slap me wildly, her palms burning over every inch of my face and torso.

In a moment of absolute madness, I bring my arms up between us and shove my mother away from me while shouting, “Enough!”

My outburst shocks her so much she stares at me with wide eyes. “Have you lost your mind?” she gasps.

My bedroom door opens, and as Stefano steps into my private space, he mutters, “I’ll deal with my fiancée.”

Mother shoots me an enraged glare before giving Stefano a trembling smile. “Thank you.”

When she leaves the room, dread spins in my stomach as I try to brace for what’s to come.