Broken Whispers: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance (Perfectly Imperfect Book 2)
Broken Whispers: Chapter 14

I’m leaning on the counter in the kitchen and scrolling through my phone for updates on work when Bianca walks in. I look up and my breathing stops for a moment. Wearing a long black dress that wraps around her upper body and then falls to the ground in numerous layers of silky fabric, and with her hair in a thick braid, she looks like she stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. She sees me looking, smiles, and turns around twice, making the silky fabric float around her, revealing her black stilettos and slender legs through a deep slit on the side. I can’t take my eyes off her.

“What do you think?” she signs.

I’m not capable of rational thought, and the only thing currently on my mind is her, naked, in my bed.

“Ty zazhgla ogon’ v moyey dushe, solnyshko.”

She smirks, approaches me, and starts tracing the shape of a question mark on my chest with her finger.

“It means, you’ve ignited a fire in my soul, Bianca. And if we don’t leave immediately, we won’t be going at all.”

Her lips widen in a smile, and she takes my hand and leads me toward the door. She keeps smiling in the car as we leave the garage, and I’m wondering what could be on her mind when she leans in and whispers in my ear.

“I don’t . . . have panties.”

The car swerves, but I manage to righten it, barely avoiding the concrete pillar on the side. When I have it under control, I turn toward Bianca to replace her leaning back in her seat, wearing a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

* * *

There are four large tents set up on the expansive manicured lawn. At least two hundred guests are milling around long tables covered in white cloth, chatting with each other, laughing at what are probably lame jokes. Most of them are Italians. Some of them I remember seeing at our wedding reception. There are also a few politicians. An interesting lot for sure.

In the middle of the largest group stands a small frail woman, wearing a poison-green dress and a strange spiky thing on top of her head of grey hair. An extremely attractive and young man—probably in his mid-twenties—has his arm wrapped around her waist and whispering something into the woman’s ear.

Bianca squeezes my hand, and I look down at her to replace her smiling widely, motioning with her head toward the woman in a green dress. I guess that would be the famous Nonna Giulia.

We approach the group, and I take note of each person who enters my field of vision, cataloging anything even remotely suspicious. I don’t like crowds, but I’m not a fan of wide-open spaces either. Both are a security risk.

Bianca’s grandmother turns, and the moment she notices us, she giggles in delight like a little girl, then hurries over to us. Her young companion trails after her.

“Bianca! You are late!” She kisses Bianca on both cheeks, then turns to me. “I see you brought your husband. Handsome. Tall. Fit.” She leans in slightly, regarding me. “You picked good, tesoro.”

Not only crazy but blind as well, apparently. I nod. “I’m glad you approve, Mrs. Mancini.”

“Oh God, no. Just call me Nonna. Mrs. Mancini sounds like an old woman’s name. And I divorced two months ago, anyway,” she says and makes a shooing motion to the young man standing next to her. “Go get something to eat, Tony. I’ll replace you later.”

The guy nods and leaves without question.

“I hired him specifically for today. The young ones are expensive, but it’ll be so worth it. Bruno is going to lose it.” She smiles widely, and I’m not sure that she’s not a little bit nuts.

Bianca takes out her phone, types, and gives it to Giulia, who looks at the screen, then up at Bianca.

“Of course. Why, do you have something against gigolos? It’s honest work. Oh, there is Luca Rossi. It’s too bad he’s already married. Such a fine male specimen.” She narrows her eyes. “Is that Franco with him? I hear he divorced his wife last month, so it’s open season. I have to go.”

I look down at Bianca, who is shaking her head as she watches her grandmother rushing toward the man, presumably Franco.

“She is just fooling around.” Bianca signs. “Let’s go replace a place to sit.”

We choose one of the miraculously free tables on the side, and watch the crowd in silence. The waiter brings our drinks, and Bianca reaches for my glass, moving it from my right side to the left. I don’t think she did it consciously, because she looks too focused on picking out a canapé from the plate in front of us. She must have noticed that I don’t keep drinks on my blind side. Strange how she doesn’t seem to care that her husband only has one eye. I know very well what a mess my right eye is, so I still expect her to recoil when she wakes up in my arms and looks up at me. But she just smiles and goes back to sleep for a few more minutes. My Bianca is not a morning person.

There are a lot of men around, and Bianca looks especially desirable in that dress today. And with nothing underneath.

I grab her chair and pull it closer to me. “Baby,”—I bend to whisper in her ear—“come sit on my lap.”

Bianca

I look up at Mikhail, raise an eyebrow, then get up and stand between his legs. He taps his left thigh, and looks at me pointedly like he is daring me. Mikhail never does anything without a reason, and I’m curious what he has in mind, so I turn and sit down on his leg.

“Quite a crowd. Your nonna is popular,” he says.

His hand replaces the slit of my dress, and the next second, there is a touch of a finger on my knee, then it slowly travels higher over the inner side of my thigh. It lingers there for a moment, then starts going up. He’s crazy. I blink and turn my head to look at him.

“Something wrong?” he asks, his face the embodiment of calm and innocence, as if he doesn’t have his hand buried between my legs.

I take the side of my dress, throw the length of fabric over his hand and forearm, and look back toward the mass of guests. Two can play this game.

“I wonder,” he says quietly as his finger reaches my naked core and presses onto my clit. “Will they replace our sitting arrangement proper?”

I take a deep breath and open my legs slightly, thankful for the table hiding us from view.

“You know, I’ve noted at least twenty men undressing you with their eyes since we got here,” he whispers, and suddenly, his finger enters me. “I don’t like that, Bianca.”

As his finger deftly plays with my pussy, my breathing gets faster, and it becomes harder to keep my face expressionless. I can’t believe I am sitting in front of two hundred people with Mikhail’s finger inside me. Or how damn good it makes me feel. Oh God, a waiter with a tray full of dessert arrangements is coming in our direction. I grab Mikhail’s forearm and start tugging at his arm, but he ignores me completely and teases my clit with his thumb.

“I am a very jealous man.” His finger curls, causing me to bite my lip to suppress a moan. “I don’t deal well with other men ogling my wife.”

The pressure building between my legs skyrockets.

“No one is allowed to look at you, Bianca. Just me.” He pinches my clit, buries a second finger inside of me, then moves it deftly in a stroking motion against my walls. The waiter is getting closer, but instead of stopping, Mikhail picks up the pace. Just when I think I’m going to lose it, he presses firmly onto my clit and I come all over his hand.

I am still feeling the aftershocks when the waiter arrives at our table.

“No, thank you,” Mikhail says nonchalantly and looks at me. “Do you want something?”

I quickly shake my head. The moment the waiter turns his back to us, I grab my wine glass and empty it. I can’t believe he did that. Here.

“We should go to parties more often,” Mikhail says and takes a napkin from the table. Reaching under my dress, he starts cleaning me up.

“You are insane,” I sign.

Mikhail only shrugs and nods toward the entrance. “Your family is here.”

Mikhail

I watch the group entering the garden. Her father is first, with Bianca’s mother on his arm. They are both impeccably dressed, and the only thing that stands out is a bandage around his right hand. That letter opener obviously did significant damage since it’s been three weeks. When Bruno notices us, his steps falter for a second, and he sends me a look that could have scorched the grass under my feet. I lift my glass in his direction, enjoying the angry look that spreads over his face. Bianca’s older sister, Allegra, follows behind her parents with her spine ramrod straight, and her head held high like she owns the place. Milene is last, walking hand in hand with another girl her age. They are laughing, whispering, and ogling Tony, who is leaning on one of the pillars next to the dance floor.

“Your baby sister is ogling your granny’s date,” I comment.

Bianca’s eyes go wide, and she jumps up from my lap, grabbing my forearm.

“I’ll wait here. It wouldn’t be wise for me to go near your father.” I run my hand down her arm and lace our fingers together, then look up into her whiskey-colored eyes. It’s still puzzling me, how much I enjoy touching her. “I may decide that he doesn’t need his other hand, either.”

She huffs and scrunches her nose. “I’ll be right back.”

I watch Bianca hurry toward her sister, signing with her hands even before she reaches Milene. Her moves are sharp and agitated. She’s so cute when she’s mad.

“She’s really something, isn’t she?” Nonna Giulia says as she takes a seat in Bianca’s chair next to me.

“Yes.”

Milene is whispering something, and I see Bianca slap herself over the forehead, then she signs to her sister, looking very annoyed. Looks like Milene wants to hire Tony for her birthday, as well.

“You two are a strange pairing, my boy,” Giulia says. “I always expected her to end up with one of the dancers from her company, or maybe an artist. Someone . . . easygoing. I thought that she would need someone less . . . hard.”

I don’t comment, because I’m not sure she’s wrong.

“I married six times, you know?” she continues. “Everyone thinks I’m a little bit whacky in the head . . . the crazy Giulia who changes her husbands like they are socks. But I was just trying to replace a man who would look at me the way Vitallo, my first husband, looked at me.”

“And how would that be?” I ask.

“The way you look at my Bianca. Like you would lay your body over a field of burning coals, so she could cross it without burning her feet.”

I appraise the woman silently. Nonna is not as crazy as people think, and much more attentive than I gave her credit for.

“Bianca is different around you, you know,” she continues. “There were only two boyfriends before you. She was never really into dating, even when she was Milene’s age. But boys were always drawn to her like crazy. Allegra hated her for that.”

“She’s her sister, how can she hate her?”

“Never underestimate the power of woman’s vanity. It got worse after Marcus. Oh, Allegra really lost it. She had her eyes on him for years. He was a good catch, the son of the real-estate mogul. But Marcus only had eyes for Bianca. He and Bianca got together, and not even a month later he told Bruno he wanted to marry her.”

Deep anger starts building inside of me just with the barest idea of Bianca being married to someone else.

“Bianca said no and broke up with him.” Giulia shrugs. “I didn’t understand it then, they seemed like a nice couple. But I understand now.”

I turn toward her and cock my head. “What, exactly?”

Nonna sighs and shakes her head. “He still has one eye left, but he’s blind as a bat anyway.”

I see Bianca signing something to Milene. When she kisses her sister and turns to walk in our direction, a man approaches her and starts telling her something. He’s in his late twenties, blond, and based on the way he’s speaking to her, they know each other very well.

“Speak of the devil.” Giulia tsks next to me. “Marcus Kuch himself. He never really got over Bianca rejecting him and . . .”

I don’t hear the rest, because the moment I see that bastard put his hand on Bianca’s upper arm, I spring to my feet and head toward him while a murderous rage starts consuming me.

Bianca

I manage to convince Milene that she cannot hire Nonna’s gigolo for her next birthday and head back to our table when Marcus appears in front of me. We didn’t break up on the best of terms, but I have nothing personally against him, so I stop for a moment, intending to be polite.

“Is that him? Is that the monster they married you off to?” He gets in my face. “Is it true that he bought you from your father, like the people are saying?”

I am so shocked by his words, I can only stare at him.

“Allegra told me he’s keeping you like some prisoner in his home.”

What the fuck? I’m going to kill her.

“Is it true that he’s beating you, Bianca?”

I can’t listen to this shit anymore, so I turn to leave only to see my husband coming toward us with murder written all over his face.

Mikhail passes me, wraps his hand around Marcus’ neck, and yanks him close enough that they’re nose-to-nose. “How dare you touch my wife?” he sneers through his teeth.

I groan inwardly and duck under Mikhail’s arm to insert myself between them, placing my palms on my husband’s chest and shaking my head. Mikhail looks at me, then at Marcus, and starts squeezing his neck. He’s going to strangle him. I try pulling on Mikhail’s arm, but he tightens his grip while Marcus tries to pry his fingers away and fights for breath. Everyone stares. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I raise onto the tips of my toes and hook my hands around Mikhail’s neck.

“Mikhail,” I say, hoping that hearing my voice will shake him from his anger. “Please.”

He looks down at me and holds my gaze for a few seconds, then looks back at Marcus. “If I see you near my wife again,” he barks and lets go, “you’re dead.”

As expected, Marcus turns on his heel and runs off, coughing. He was always a coward. I am so angry at him, and if I see Allegra, I’m going to strangle her on the spot for spreading those lies.

“What did he want?” Mikhail asks.

I am not sure if I should tell him. He already looks half-mad, and even though he’s speaking to me, he follows Marcus with his gaze, as if he plans on going after him. The crowd around us has gone utterly quiet, and everyone is looking in our direction, whispering to each other. Dear God, could people be thinking the things Marcus said? I place my palm on Mikhail’s cheek to bring his attention to me.

“He just asked about some gossip. Forget it.”

Mikhail throws a look at the people staring at us, some of them even within listening distance, who are visibly eager to overhear our conversation.

He looks down at me. “What gossip?” he signs.

I grin. “You are so sexy when you sign, husband.”

“Don’t change the subject. I know you two were engaged.”

Oh, Nonna Giulia and her big mouth. “We were never engaged. He wanted to marry me. I said no.”

“He touched you.” Mikhail is signing so fast, I am barely able to follow. “If he touches you again, I’m going to end him.”

“He will never make that mistake again.” I touch his chest before continuing. “There is only one man I want to touch me. No need to be jealous.”

I see a corner of his lips lift a little. That’s good.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

We should put a stop to the idiotic rumors that Mikhail is keeping me against my will. Right away. I raise my eyebrows, grab a fistful of his shirt, rise onto my tiptoes, and lift my chin. Mikhail regards me. He is still angry. I see it in his eye, and the way he is gritting his teeth. I sigh and place my palms on either side of his face. My beautiful, dark husband. Can’t he see how crazy I am for him?

“Kiss me,” I utter.

His nostrils flare, and the next moment, he crashes his lips to mine. Someone gasps behind me, but I just wind my arms around Mikhail’s neck and block out everything, and everyone, else. Let the fuckers watch, we’ll give them better material for the rumor mill.

“Get a room, you two,” Nonna Giulia says, passing us by.

I smile against Mikhail’s lips.

“Good advice.” He bends, scoops me into his arms, and carries me away from the crowd.

As we reach the gate, I look over his shoulder and replace most of the guests watching our retreating forms. Allegra’s face is among them, horrified. I smile and wave at her.

When we get to the car, Mikhail opens the passenger door, places me on the seat, and then just stares at me. Based on his white-knuckled grip on the door with his right hand, he is still furious. His arm shakes with the strength of his hold, and I can almost imagine the metal cracking under his grip.

“How many men have asked you to marry them so far?” he asks through clenched teeth.

I bite my lower lip, wondering how to reply. If I take his question literally, then none. But if he means how many men asked my father for my hand in marriage over the past two years, he won’t like the answer. As a capo’s daughter, I was considered quite a catch. I did say no each time, of course. Half of them I haven’t even met, and most of them were Father’s business associates. Father wasn’t pleased when I systematically rejected each of his partners, but Milene was still a minor then, so he couldn’t use her as blackmail.

Slowly, I lift my right hand with three fingers up, and Mikhail’s eye widens. I bite my lip harder, then add my other hand, all five fingers splayed wide.

“Eight?” he inhales and closes his eye.

I lean forward, wrap my hand around his arm and place a kiss on his tightly pressed lips. He’s hot when he is mad.

“Make sure you never slip and tell me any of their names,” he says against my lips, then grabs the back of my neck and devours my mouth angrily, and I feel myself getting wet again. Drenched and ready. I slide my hand down his chest until I reach his crotch and feel his hard cock under the fabric of his pants. Smiling against his lips, I stroke him lightly, enjoying the strangled sound that leaves his mouth.

My fingers replace the top button of his pants and, without breaking the kiss, I undo it and pull down the zipper. The parking lot is empty, everyone is still at the party. But just in case, I throw a quick look over Mikhail’s shoulder before pulling out his cock. His lips go still against mine, but when I move forward on the seat and hook my legs around him, he growls.

His hands land on the inside of my thighs, then slowly move up my legs and around to grip my ass, and pull me forward the last few inches until I feel the tip of his cock at my entrance. If someone told me only a month ago that I would be having sex in the middle of a parking lot, not fifty feet from two hundred people, I would have deemed them crazy. I guess I didn’t quite know myself then. Taking Mikhail’s lower lip between my teeth, I wrap my hands around his neck and tighten my legs around him. A moan escapes my mouth when his hard length thrusts inside me, stretching me in the best possible way. Filling me completely. I place another kiss on his mouth, grab at the side of the seat, and lean back without removing my eyes from his.

What if someone comes by? Yes, that would probably create a scandal of epic proportions, but it only makes me want this more. I smile and open my legs wider. Mikhail doesn’t look even marginally disturbed by the possibility of someone coming upon us as he withdraws and then buries himself inside of me with such force that all breath leaves my lungs. I moan and throw my head back, gripping the seat with all my might as he pounds into me again and again.