Sleep alluded Liliana that night. With the importance of tomorrow - her wedding day - weighing so heavily, Liliana was barely able to lay still for more than a few minutes.
She feared what the cold shackles of marriage would bring; the restrictions she would experience once she became wife to Marcello D'Onofrio.
Again and again, Liliana found her thoughts straying to that of Gabriella D'Onofrio. Where was the woman right now? For what reason did she have to not attend her own son's wedding? Was she another woman victim to the hard life that came with marrying a mafia man; trapped at home, isolated, and controlled. Was this what Liliana's life was to become?
It was 2:00 am when Liliana found herself wandering into the kitchen in the dark, too afraid to turn on the lights in fear that she would disturb one of the D'Onofrio men. She couldn't bare to face them right now. There was a heavy pressure pressing down on her chest and she could feel the bile rising in the back of her throat. She needed to get something to eat, to drink. She needed fresh air. She needed to escape.
With hesitance behind every step, Liliana shuffled into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, all the while staring out at the beach where the waves lapped gently against the sand - the glow of the moon on the dark water seeming ethereal. What better place was there to be married? A small stretch of land surrounded by miles of sea so that she couldn't escape even if she tried - not that she would dare face the wrath of Sebastiano or her own grandfather.
"Why are you still awake?" A low, grumbling voice startled her. She jumped with a short, quiet yelp - water sloshing out from the glass onto her hands - and flattened her back against the sink. Her other hand flew to her chest where she could feel her heart pounding beneath her fingertips.
Liliana's eyes strained through the darkness and she could just about make out Marcello's sturdy figure. To her horror he was only wearing sleep pants and despite the lack of light she was unable to miss his toned torso. Her lips parted ever so slightly and a shuddering breath escaped.
"Merda," she swore quietly under her breath which was followed by the sound of Marcello's deep chuckles.
"Didn't mean to startle you." And yet his smirk suggested otherwise.
Liliana tried to hide her scowl and headed for the doorway; which, unfortunately for her, he was partially blocking.
"I couldn't sleep," she hissed, her fingers curving tighter around the cool glass in her hand. "I was going to the lounge for a bit." She stalked by him, her hard glare wavering as her shoulder brushed against his chest.
She nearly faltered at the feel of the heat from his skin and hated herself for how much the mere sight of his body seemed to affect her so easily.
She'd lived amongst enough men for the last three years that the sight of one shirtless shouldn't make her so uncomfortable. And yet she felt her cheeks flushing regardless.
Marcello followed her, giving her no chance to escape him, even choosing to sit beside her on the large sofa just as she was putting her feet up. Without hesitation he grasped her ankles and pulled her feet to rest across his lap, one hand reaching for the remote to turn on the TV. He didn't even glance at her as his hands stroked across her legs, massaging her calves.
"What are you doing?" She asked through gritted teeth, her gaze burning into the side of his head.
"You said you couldn't sleep, right?" He sighed heavily, as if it were obvious. "I'm helping you relax. I don't want my bride exhausted on our big day."
Liliana tried to pull away from him but his grip on her legs remained firm and her struggles only seemed to amuse him.
"I don't even know why you agreed to this marriage," Liliana said, crossing her arms across her chest with a huff.
He only shrugged nonchalantly, keeping his eyes trained on the TV. She didn't want to enjoy his touch, but she couldn't deny that the massage was soothing.
Damn him.
"I get the obvious benefits," she continued, regardless of his obvious disinterest in the conversation. "Your reputation will certainly grow - marrying Valentino Fiorenza's only granddaughter. And your company will benefit if you're to assume control of my father's share of our family restaurants; even if your hotel is just a front. But it's still such an awfully large commitment. Your loyalty to your father's demands is astounding."
"You presume I am acting out of loyalty to my father?"
"Are you saying you chose this? That it is you who is forcing me into this marriage?"
"No." He was scowling now, the expression fierce against his already sharp features. When he turned that ferocity towards her, she did her best not to flinch.
"Because I didn't choose this," she snapped, "I am being forced into this. I'm under no allusion as to what will happen to me if I refuse this." She wouldn't let fear silence her, not now. This was her last chance before the wedding to convince him to put an end to this ridiculousness, and she wasn't going to waste it.
"And just what do you think that is?"
"I'm not stupid Marcello," she spat. "I know who my grandfather is, I know who your father is, I know who you are. And I know what happens to the women who deny men like you."
His hands were now like two stone clamps around her ankles, holding her stiffly in place. He didn't say anything, waiting silently, seemingly knowing she wasn't finished in making her case.
"I'm not an ideal wife for you. I can't be... obedient," she explained, for lack of a better word.
The rules for a mafia wife were endless and strict. Once she entered into this life she would never be free. She knew there were mafia wives who had power of their own - those married to incarcerated men that took on leadership roles to ensure their clans posterity - but that didn't free them from the restrictive control of this male dominated culture.
Women in the mafia were first daughters, then wives, and then mothers; always under the control of a man, always expected to live up to their expectations.
"You'll grow frustrated with me, you'll wish we never married. You won't be happy with me as your wife. Why comply with your father's ruling when he isn't the one to endure this marriage? We will be the ones condemned, not him."
She studied him, praying that her words had any impact. But he had turned away from her again, all sense of emotion leached from his expression. And still he seemed disinclined to speak. Yet his grip on her remained tight, the pressure of his hands perhaps an indication of his continued anger despite the otherwise muted response.
She didn't dare move, fearing that she may have pushed him too far already. She didn't know this man after all. She didn't yet know how much disobedience he would forgive.
"We will marry tomorrow," he stated in a firm tone. "You won't speak of this again."
Liliana's lips pressed together tightly. She'd already said too much, she couldn't afford to push her luck any further. She nodded firmly, conceding to his command despite the glare she directed firmly his way.
***
Marcello was distracted. Had been ever since that damn conversation with Angelo.
He'd been accused of jealousy. Jealousy over his own brother flirting with his fiancée. A ridiculous accusation, completely unfounded and yet... he couldn't stop fucking thinking about it.
He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. Especially not now that she was wrapped around him like a damn snake suffocating its prey.
It had began when she'd firmly ripped her legs from his lap and sat up on the couch beside him. He'd never seen a woman so tense in his entire life. Then, as whatever stupid film he'd had playing on the TV progressed, he felt her lean into him.
The sudden contact had been so startling and unexpected, his first impulse had been to smirk and mock her for warming up to him so easily. But she hadn't. She had merely fallen asleep.
Now, an hour later, her face was pressed up against his chest, with one leg slung across his thighs.
He shifted under her weight, tried to detach himself from her hold and cursed himself for not doing so sooner.
He cursed himself more for being so fucking aware of the softness of her body against his, of the heat of her, and of her scent that assaulted his senses.
He didn't know what it was in her that appealed to his father so much. Liliana had proven her point tremendously; she was far too outspoken and strong willed to be considered an ideal wife to a mafioso. And while Angelo had complimented her fierceness, Marcello understood it to be yet another quality that would make their marriage so difficult.
He didn't have time for a fierce, outspoken wife.
He didn't have time for a wife at all.
But he trusted his father's judgement. So tomorrow he would marry this head-strong, hot tempered Italian woman.
From beside him, Marcello's mobile began to buzz. He glared at the screen, as if that would end the disturbance.
"D'Onofrio," he answered, in a hushed tone, glancing warily at the woman asleep against him. She didn't so much as stir.
"Capo, è Robert. C'è un'altra nota. Un altro uomo morto." Marcello sighed as the young voice of one of his men filled his ears. Another of his men was dead, and another note was found with his body.
The first note had been found just a day before their departure for Belize, a threat against Marcello.
"I want those responsible found, and I want them dead," he said through gritted teeth. "Tomorrow is my wedding day, do not contact me about this again until my return, and if you need to speak to anyone you contact Giovanni. Do you understand?"
"S-sì, Capo," the boy stuttered out. He was barely out of education, only just turned eighteen and eager to prove his worth within the organization. If he wanted to make an impression he would have to toughen up. Men that startled easily and trembled in fear under the slightest amount of pressure would not survive in their business.
He threw his phone away from him, the small item hitting the cushions of the chair across the room with a soft thud, and groaned into the hand that he dragged roughly across his face. What good was it to be so powerful and so feared, if he was still plagued with petty threats and rivalries?
He had not worked so hard this past year to uphold the D'Onofrio reputation in place of his father, only to be so disrespected.
He needed this wedding to be over with as soon as possible so he could once again focus on his responsibilities.