Living in this life, you've never gotten to have much say in anything. What you wear, who you hang out with, and now, who you marry and you're dreading your arranged marriage to the Italian mob boss, Chris Evans. Expecting to suffer through a life o...
Series Summary: Living in this life, you've never gotten to have much say in anything. What you wear, who you hang out with, and now, who you marry and you're dreading your arranged marriage to the Italian mob boss, Chris Evans. Expecting to suffer through a life of abuse while being kept under lock and key, you're pleasantly surprised when Chris is nothing like you expected. He's the most feared man on the East Coast, only brought to his knees by one thing and one thing only. You.
Warnings: language, alcohol, arranged marriage (Chris's family signs contract with readers family that promises their firstborn daughter to their firstborn son), parental abuse mentioned, age gap. Reader is 25, Chris is 35. Reader is threatened with guns. Violence and blood are mentioned. (18+ only, please)
W/C: 8.5k
Italian and Italian translation in italics. This is a work of fiction.
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The next few days somehow flew by while also dragging on at the same time. Probably thanks to your new routine, which gave you structure, but also had you repeating the same few things throughout the day.
You were bored.
You woke up around 5:30 every morning, enjoying a cup of coffee in the kitchen before getting yourself ready for the day and then making breakfast for you and Chris. Neither of you really said more than 4 or 5 words to each other throughout the day.
He would mumble something to you about needing to work and then he would disappear for hours. You hadn't even eaten dinner together yet. But still, you made something nice, waited at the table for an hour before eventually wrapping his plate in foil and placing it in the fridge. You'd leave a note on the door of the fridge that dinner was in there and the next morning, the note and the plate would be gone. So, he was obviously getting the message.
You kept to yourself, excusing yourself back to your room after breakfast or sitting in the living room and diving into one of the many books Chris had. His library was something that would put the public libraries in Boston to shame.
Chris was gone all day, so it wasn't really like you needed to entertain him or act busy. Your presence in the house didn't seem to bother him or change the structure of his day-to-day routine. You felt like a houseplant.
Like he'd gone to store, saw something in a pot that looked okay, and stuck it on the windowsill to be cared for and looked after by his staff.
It's been 3 days now since the wedding. 3 days since you've talked to anyone besides yourself or Chris. Right before you left the house for your ceremony, your father felt the need to confiscate your cellphone, stating that if Chris wanted you to have one, he'd give you one. He hadn't. You searched high and low for a landline the day before and came up empty-handed and you weren't entirely sure how to broach the subject with Chris.
