“I don’t want easy.” I kiss him gently. “I want you.”

  “Well then, you have me. Now let’s go walk around the floor and get a feel for how things are going, all right?”

  “Lead the way.”

  He takes my hand and tugs me along, and we walk together into our theater.

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  Chapter One: Karah

  When Papa finds out what I did, he’s going to kick me out of the family.

  Well, probably not. I am his only daughter, after all, and he’s a big softie at heart. Casso says Papa’s too easy on me, and maybe he’s right, but mostly I think Casso’s jealous since Papa nitpicks every one of his mistakes. Sometimes it’s good to be the oldest boy, but sometimes it’s a lot harder.

  Papa won’t toss me out on my own, but he’s definitely going to yell, and Papa’s terrifying when he yells.

  I hold my head up high as I march down the long hall that snakes along the spine of the Bruno family home. We call it Villa Bruno, even though there’s nothing provincial about our massive block-sized home in the heart of the Arizona desert a half hour outside of Phoenix. It’s a beastly construction of glass, wood, and slate, designed by some famous architect that loves the Southwest, so there’s plenty of turquoise and cacti and big natural red rocks jutting out all over the property. It’s beautiful, but it’s deathly hot. The house is like a maze even to me and I grew up in it.

  As I approach Papa’s study and prepare to get shouted down, a shadow steps out from the nearby rec room and pauses on my right. I slow and steel myself as Nico shows his perfectly white teeth and crosses his arms over his massive chest. Tattoos snake up his arms and disappear into his crisp white shirt. He’s always wearing suits, even in the oppressive desert heat. It’s like he doesn’t feel the temperature bearing down on him. Like his heart’s made of ice. I can’t remember ever seeing him sweat.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry?” he asks, his eyes sparkling.

  I raise my chin and steel myself. I know that tone: Nico’s in the mood to make me feel like shit once again. Sometimes I wonder why he’s always hanging around—he’s not part of my family, at least not my blood family.

  “Papa’s study. As much as I love our conversations, I can’t keep him waiting.”

  Nico laughs softly and leans against the walls, studying me. He always does that—stares like I’m a piece of fine art hanging on a gallery wall waiting to be picked apart and analyzed. It’s disconcerting, and I can never seem to get away from his oppressive staring.

  “I was just thinking about you, princess,” he says, head tilted, pretty lips pressed tightly together. “Your brother was talking about this little match of yours, and I’m curious how you’re going to weasel your way out of it.”

  My jaw twitches but I don’t let the discomfort show. “What match?” I ask carefully.

  His eyebrows raise. “You don’t know?”

  “Don’t play games with me right now, Nico.”

  “This is no game, princess. This is the word of the Don himself. Your father went and found you a husband.”

  I step forward and jab my finger into his chest. I feel nothing but hard muscle, but I’m too angry to stop myself from literally poking the bear and too dizzy with shock to think about how nice it feels to touch him.

  “That’s not true.”

  He snatches my finger as I try to poke him again. He squeezes hard and I release a surprised yelp. It doesn’t hurt—but it’s right on that edge of pain, and all he needs to do is push a little more to make me groan in agony.

  “Don’t touch me, princess.” His eyes blaze into mine and I know I crossed a line. Nico and I might bicker and fight, but we never touch, like there’s an invisible barrier holding us back. “If you want to call me a liar, go ahead and do it. But don’t poke at me like I’m some kind of fucking house servant.”

  I glare right back. This was a massive mistake—Nico’s not the kind of man I should be messing with, but I lost my temper and couldn’t control myself. Now I get to pay the price like always. I really should get into anger management or something.

  “Let me go, dickhead.”

  “No. I like watching you squirm. Little spoiled brat like you deserves some punishing every once in a while.”

  “Nico.” I glare at him, jaw working. “You want me to scream?”

  He leans closer. “I’d love it if you’d scream for me, princess.”

  “Asshole.” I rip my finger away. It hurts like hell but at least I’m free. I rub my knuckle as he watches me with an amused smile and I start to shift past him toward my father’s study.

  “Fair warning. He’s in a sour mood, so whatever you thought was about to happen is probably going to be worse.”

  “How do you know all this anyway?”

  He looks away. “Something with the business. I can’t say more.”

  “Oath of silence?”

  “Something like that. Famiglia shit, you know.”

  I roll my eyes. I know what the family business is. “You know, Nico, I can’t wait for the day when my papa assigns you somewhere far, far away and I never have to deal with your crap again.”

  “I highly doubt that.” He looks back at me and a smirk graces his pretty mouth. “You love it when I torture you and, princess, you’d better believe I love to torture.”

  “What you call fun, I call annoying and borderline harassment, so kindly fuck off,” I flip him off, turn on my heel, and march to my papa’s study.

  But his words linger. Nico is a lot of things—asshole, bully, conceited piece of shit, aggressive dickhead, so on and so forth—but he’s not a liar. So I’m more than a little concerned when I reach Papa’s study and knock on the intricately carved wooden door before turning the handle.

  It’s cool and quiet. Big, shaded windows line the top of the walls, beneath which bookshelves are packed to overflowing. A big desk sits on the left, and a fireplace that’s never used is on the right. I drift forward and Papa looks up from his laptop, a perpetual frown on his lips. He looks older every day—his thick hair is turning gray and thinning at the edges, and thick bags hang beneath his eyes. It’s all the stress from running the family business, and sometimes I wish my three brothers, Casso, Fynn, and Gavino, would step up sooner rather than later, just so Papa wouldn’t have to work so hard.

  But that’s not the way things are. Papa’s the head of the house and the Don of the Famiglia, and I’m just the little baby daughter, the least important person in the room at all times. And guys like Nico will never let me forget it—especially Nico himself, the asshole. It’s like that man was born to tease and bully me, and his words are lodged in my head like a record stuck on repeat, ticking away again and again—this little match of yours—and a cold fear sinks into my stomach.

  “Karah,” Papa says and gestures at a chair. “Please come and sit.”

  I walk over but I linger beside the chairs. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Papa?”

  He gives me a tight smile. “Do I need a reason to summon my youngest child? What if I simply wanted to see your shining face?”

  I gave him a big, cheesy smile. “There it is. May I go?”

  “Sit.”

  I sink into a chair and fold my legs beneath me. Papa studies me for a moment and I feel my cheeks beginning to turn red with anxiety. I hate that I always blush whenever I’m upset or nervous, but I can’t help it.

  “I’m sorry about the Amex,” I blurt out suddenly, unable to take the silence.

  Papa groans and rubs his face. “You’re pathetic. You couldn’t hold out for ten seconds.”

  “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have taken it. There was a sale—”

  “I don’t care about the credit card or the dresses.” He gives me a sharp look. “Under other circumstances, I’d be upset.”

  “I won’t do it again.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you will, but that won’t be my problem soon enough.”

  My heart starts to race. So Nico really wasn’t kidding. Papa’s finally gone and found me a husband after threatening to do just that for the last few years, and my days of lounging around Villa Bruno sketching with charcoal and swimming and being happy and carefree are finally over. My life as I know it will change, and change drastically, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it, no matter how badly I want things to keep going on like this. I’m the youngest and the daughter, and it’s my duty to marry, procreate, and be a good, happy mafia bride.

  I knew it wouldn’t last forever. Papa’s been saying since I was a little girl that one day I’d marry a man for the Famiglia. My brothers would give their lives to the business, and I’d do the same, only different. I used to think it was glamorous and imagined my husband as a dashing but dangerous man that doted on me wonderfully.

  But then I grew up and met more and more men in the business and realized I didn’t want to be married to a single one of them or a man remotely like them.

  “Who is he?” I ask quietly, almost too scared to say the words.

  Papa sighs and gently shakes his head. “His name is Jasha. He’s from a good family out in Texas—”

  “By good family do you mean he’s a filthy gangster like the rest of you?”

  Papa’s eyes go wide with amusement. He stares at me in surprise and I have to put my hands over my mouth to keep myself from saying more. I’m so stupidly angry and it just burst out of my dumb face, and now I can’t take the words back even if I wanted to. I sit there terrified and I know Papa’s going to yell, but he only rubs his temple and is quiet for a real long time before speaking.

  “Karah, you’re twenty-two. You’ve lived in my house, under my roof, for a long, long time. I’ve been easy on you—don’t argue, we both know it’s true. But it can’t go on forever. Jasha Novalov is a good man, and his family is strong—”

  “Papa, he’s Russian? You’re selling me off to some strange Russian? You couldn’t have picked someone Italian?” Panic rises in my chest. “I don’t want to go. You can’t force me to marry someone against my will.” I jump out of the chair and back away.

  “Karah.” His voice is hard, sharper than the slate rock that dots the desert landscape. He stands and glares at me, my big, strong Papa. He’s gone gentler in his old age, but he’ll always be a massive mountain of a man, covered in thick dark hair and muscle, and with an undercurrent of vicious, deadly violence rippling below every move he makes. My name is like a rumble in his chest, like an earthquake. “You will do as you are told. You can’t be a child forever, girl.”

  “What if I find someone else to marry?” It’s desperate, I know, but the thought of going off to some faraway place to marry a total stranger is more terrifying than anything I can imagine. I like my life, I like my home, my brothers, my little desert world. I like it here, and I don’t want to give it up for anything.

  “There’s nobody else. You know as well as I do—”

  “Someone in the Famiglia.” Desperate, so desperate. Papa can see right through me.

  His lips quirk. “I thought we’re all a bunch of filthy gangsters.”

  “You are, but I’d rather marry someone I know than a stranger. Please, Papa. You want to marry me off? Let me choose.”

  “Karah—”

  “I’ll choose soon. I swear it. Give me a week, and I’ll pick someone from the Famiglia. Someone good. Someone you’ll be happy with.”

  This is absurd. I know it’s crazy. The whole point of marrying me off is to make an alliance with another mafia family. Letting me pick my future husband from among our business won’t strengthen anything at all.

  But I’m so desperate, I’m willing to try anything at this point.

  “You know I can’t,” he says quietly, shaking his head.

  “Please, Papa.” I take a step closer. I feel a stone in my throat the size of a softball and I think I might throw up. “I’m asking for a favor. One final favor, and after this I’ll never ask anything from you again. I know you’ve been soft on me, and I’m begging you to give me this one final chance.”

  He closes his eyes. “Karah. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Please, Papa.”

  He sighs and rubs his face. For one long, silent moment, I picture my life somewhere far away, tethered to a strange man I barely know, rotting in a family that doesn’t love me and views me as little more than expedient currency. It’s a nightmare, one I’ve always known might be my fate, and now that it’s here, all I can think about is escape.

  “One week,” he finally says and releases a long breath. “If you can find someone suitable in a week, I’ll change my plans with the Novalov family. It may cost me dearly, but I love you, Karah.”

  “Papa, thank you.” I rush to him as tears stream down my cheeks. I hug him tight, my massive bear-like Papa. He hugs me back tightly.

  “I am too soft on you, girl,” he says quietly. “I’ve been too weak with you, but that’ll change from now on. Do you understand me?”

  “I understand.”

  He pulls me away and looks into my eyes. “You’ll grow up after this. No matter what happens, whether you marry the Russian or find someone suitable, you will grow up.”

  “Yes, Papa. I promise.”

  “Then you have a week. I hope you have someone in mind.”

  I only smile and extract myself from his big mitt-sized hands. “You know me, boy crazy.”

  He laughs and sits back down in his chair, already absorbed in his work.

  I leave his study and stand in the relative cool of the hallway, tucked back into the shadows of the doorway. The house is still and quiet, only the sound of the staff in the kitchen preparing dinner echoes up from the kitchens.

  I don’t fully understand why Papa gave in so easily—why he’s giving me this opportunity or why he’s always been so gentle with me. The others all notice and complain about it, especially Casso. Nico even teases me ruthlessly every time Papa bends his rules ever so slightly to make my life just a little bit easier. Everyone knows Papa has a soft spot for me, and I’ve never questioned it before, at least until today.

  Now I have to wonder—why would he do this?

  Why risk angering a potential ally and a rival family?

  It doesn’t matter. I can either accept that he has his reasons or I can obsess over what they might be, but either way I’d better find a husband and do it fast.

  One week.

  I have no clue who I’m going to marry, but I have one week to figure it out—or I’ll be sold to some stranger and shipped away from my home forever.

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  Hamel, B. B., Sunset Savage: A Dark Possessive Romance

 

 

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