Bound | H.S.

Blurb

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My fingers shook like leaves in the breeze as I raised them, my heartbeat hummingbird quick. Harry's strong hand was firm and steady as he took mine and slipped the ring onto my finger.

White gold with twenty small diamonds.

What was meant as a sign of love and devotion for other couples was nothing but a testament of his ownership of me. A daily reminder of the golden cage I'd be trapped in for the rest of my life. Until death do us part wasn't an empty promise as with so many other couples that entered the holy bond of marriage. There was no way out of this union for me. I was Harry's until the bitter end.

The last few words of the oath that men swore when they were inducted into the mafia could just as well have been the closing of my wedding vow.

I enter alive and I will have to get out dead.

I should have run when I still had the chance.

Now, as hundreds of faces from the Chicago Outfits and New York Famiglias stared back at us, flight was no longer an option. Nor was divorce. Death was the only acceptable end to a marriage in our world. Even if I still managed to escape Harry's watchful eyes and that of his henchmen, my breach of our agreement would mean war. Nothing my father could say would prevent Harry's Famiglia from exercising vengeance for making them lose face.

My feelings didn't matter, never had. I'd been growing up in a world where no choices were given, especially to women.

This wedding wasn't about love or trust choice. It was about duty and honor, about doing what was expected.

A bond to ensure peace.

I wasn't an idiot. I knew what else this was about; money and power. Both were dwindling since the Russian Mob 'The Bratva', the Taiwanese Triad, and other crime organizations had been trying to expand their influence into our territories. The Italian Famiglias across the U.S. needed to lay their feuds to rest and work together to beat down their enemies.

I should be honored to marry the oldest son of the New York Famiglia. That's what my father and every other male relative had tried to tell me since my betrothal to Harry. I knew that, and it wasn't as if I hadn't had time to prepare for this exact moment, and yet fear corseted my body in a relentless grip.

"You may kiss the bride." The priest said.

I raised my head.

Every pair of eyes in the pavilion scrutinized me, waiting for a flicker of weakness. Father would be furious if I let my terror show, and Harry's Famiglia would use it against us. But I had grown up in a world where a perfect mask was the only protection afforded to women and had no trouble forcing my face into a placid expression.

Nobody would know how much I wanted to escape. Nobody but Harry. I couldn't hide from him, no matter how much I tried. My body wouldn't stop shaking. As my gaze met Harry's cold green eyes, I could tell that he knew. How often had he instilled fear in others? Recognizing it was probably second nature to him.

He bent down to bridge the ten inches he towered over me. There was no sign of hesitation, fear or doubt on his face. My lips trembled against his mouth as his eyes bored into me. Their message was clear: You are mine.

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