“Marco knows better than to knock up one of his women.”
That was fair. Marco was what you’d find if you opened the dictionary and looked under the definition of ‘manwhore’ but he wasn’t fucking stupid. Nothing caused problems in a mob family like a bastard with a random sugar baby for a mom.
Dad took a few bites of his carbonara and calmed himself. “Look, I know it’s a lot to ask. But I’m not expecting you to fall in love here. I’m not looking for you to star in one of those dramatic, unrealistic soap operas your mom loved so much. But you need to soften your image. How we present ourselves to the outside world is everything. You look strong, people think you’re strong. And people are going to start talking if my son’s a capo and thirty-five and he hasn’t ever had a long term girlfriend. You get what I’m saying?”
Yeah, I got it, loud and clear, but that didn’t soothe the annoyance coursing through me. People would spread rumors that there was something wrong with me, that I was gay or hurt women or couldn’t get a hard on. That there had to be a sordid reason why women never lasted more than a few dates.
God forbid it just be that I was focused on my damn job, and doing whatever necessary to keep my family’s place solidified in the underworld. I didn’t need any distractions, and that included adding a wife to my pile of other obligations.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I said, careful to leave the irritation out of my voice. “For the record, getting married isn’t something I’ve really thought about. I’m not ready to settle down, or commit to one woman, you know?”
Dad snorted with amusement. “Nobody’s ever ready to settle down, son. And nobody ever does.” He winked at me.
I chuckled, because he expected me to, but inside I felt just kind of… hollow. Dad joked a lot in that way—it was just how you were with the guys, making it sound like you were a ladies’ man who kept a few mistresses. But I knew he’d been loyal to Mom. You went behind Mom’s back at your own peril. She was the kind of woman who would have cut his dick off in his sleep if he’d dared to dip it elsewhere.
The jokes had gotten a lot more frequent since she’d died, and I’d always thought that it was a defense mechanism so he didn’t have to show how much her death had truly wrecked him. Dante had tried talking to Dad about it because my brother was that kind of guy—all in touch with his feelings and shit—but Dad would always shut him down.
I figured, hey, let the guy cope however he needed to cope.
My point was, the reason Dad had been loyal to Mom was because she’d stood up to him. She’d had high standards for her husband and she hadn’t been shy about putting him in his place. But she’d also thought the sun rose and set on him. Mom would’ve done anything for Dad.
You’re just like your father, Vinnie, she’d say, and she’d sound so proud and happy about it, as if me being like her husband was the best possible way to be.
That was what I wanted. A woman who could handle me at my worst but also adored me at my best. I wanted someone who made me be the best version of myself.
Finding that was a lot harder than it looked, though, especially when I was busy running around putting out fires and dealing with the family business. It wasn’t like I had an easy nine to five job. And given the nature of our business, my options were limited. I couldn’t just pick up a girl at a bar and hope she’d be understanding when I told her I was the heir apparent to the Russo crime family.
Non-mafia women were out of the question, and that narrowed down the field quite a bit. And I wasn’t comfortable marrying within the family ranks. Who knew if a soldier’s daughter was saying yes to me because she wanted me, and not because she felt she couldn’t say no? I refused to marry a woman against her will. That just wasn’t my style.
Dad didn’t want to hear about any of this, though. He wanted results. And I’d always been good at getting him those results. Clearly, he expected nothing less when it came to me finding a wife.
Resigned to fulfill his request, I nodded. “I understand, Father.”
“Thought you would.” Dad finished off his meal. “My compliments to the chef, as always,” he said to the waiter.
The waiter bowed slightly and Dad turned back to me. “If something’s brewing, then it’s especially important we get you looking like you’re on the straight and narrow. A wife will go a long way with that. You need to look like a respectable, upstanding family man.”
I refrained, just barely, from rolling my eyes at my father. “The other families don’t care about that kind of thing.”
“No, but the public does. And when this storm hits, whatever it is, the outside world’s going to get involved.” Dad’s tone was ominous. “It always does.”
Well, shit.
Chapter Two
Marla
* * *
I focused on the paperwork and ignored my mother as she paced back and forth in front of me.
“I just want you to find a good man,” she was saying.
Alina Preston had expressed some variation of this sentence every day to me for the past five years. Like my life had ended the moment I hit twenty-five. Now I was almost thirty and according to my mother I had one foot in the grave, romantically speaking.
“Mom.” The one word came out more sharply than I’d intended, and I reigned in my impatience as I pulled another list of reports closer to read through. “Can’t you see I’m a little busy working?”
Mom made a tssch noise of dismissal. “I’d already given birth to both your brothers by the time I was your age!”
“It’s the 21st century, Mom,” I pointed out, not for the first time. “Pretty sure I’m okay if I haven’t had a baby yet. And Papa needs these reports turned in, so can you let me finish reviewing them without you belaboring my lack of a spouse?”
My brothers were both busy handling other aspects of the family business, so I dealt with things like expense reports, spreadsheets, and profit and loss statements. Working for my father wasn’t ideal but it was a way to put my accounting degree to work while I figured out how to have my own life free of the mafia.
Papa wasn’t happy about my desire to leave what he believed was family traditions, but I’d grown up seeing the violence, and the high price we all paid by being a part of the mob. Even though it was the only life I’d known, I didn’t want any of that for myself, my marriage, or the children I might have one day.
And while I’d never tell my mom this because she’d just go on a rant about how spoiled I was… I didn’t want just some random mafioso to be my husband so I’d end up under his thumb, my every move monitored and controlled. I wanted a man I fell in love with who actually worshipped me, who thought I was amazing and smart, who would be sweet and caring—even if it was only for me in private.
But I also wanted a man who was confident and strong, a man who would treat me with respect despite my own mind and independence, a man who was, well, man enough to handle me. . .in the bedroom and out of it, without breaking my spirit.
Where the hell was I going to find a guy like that? Certainly not in our inner circle where all the men seemed to be dominant, arrogant, (and sometimes) abusive assholes when it came to their wives.