Strong-willed, badass and bounded by the chains of an arranged marriage, Isabela Arias dreams of the freedom to live and love as she chooses.
Being sold to the Italian mafia wasn't exactly on Isabela's to do list...
As she's forced to navigate the r...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Three weeks.
That's all I have left as a 'free' woman. So many things to do with such little time. With school exams and wedding arrangements with Damien, I haven't had the chance to plan another date with Jaxon. He's definitely handsome and sweet when he's not upset about his wrecked car, but something is missing.
It is hard to pinpoint my finger on it.
There wasn't anything inherently wrong with the date, but I didn't feel the butterflies. The surge of excitement I feel when Ju-. No. I have to forget that idea. A flash of memories from the spanks on my ass causes me to clench my thighs together. God — I feel so villainy to have a dirty little secret with my bodyguard.
I want to share more of them with him.
But I'll have to settle with Jaxon. I'm sure he will be fine. He doesn't seem like the type to be packing, but I don't shame anyone as long as he knows how to use it. Better late than never. Hopefully, after today's dance rehearsal, I can talk Damien into letting me attend Hanni's birthday bash.
Then I can complete the last three things on my list.
I groan as I look at the clock. "Ugh. What is taking Damien so long? He was supposed to be back two hours ago."
The instructor rearranges her blonde hair in a bun and yawns, covering half her mouth with her palm. "The session is up in an hour? Do you want to practice the special dance for your fiance?"
My eyes instantly want to roll. Mrs. Moltisanti came up with this terrific idea of me basically seducing her son in front of their family as a surprise dance. The plan is to have Damien and his groomsmen sitting in chairs while the bridesmaids and I give them a lap dance. Very risque. But I don't have a choice in this wedding.
"Might as well," I reply, raising up from the cushioned floor and stalking toward the barre to stretch.
My body is so stiff. I don't know why. Maybe the tension in the room. Julian lingers in the corner between the framing of the doorway with a deep frown engraved on his face. It's hard to get a good view of him from this angle because of the bandana on his face. I don't even want to look away, but a figure blocks my landscape of the other side of the room.
Lorenzo smirks, arching his half-shaved eyebrow, and struts the new stud on his nose. His skin is bright red, probably inflected. Tattoos enrich every inch of his bronzed skin, from his neck to his thighs. My eye lingers on the numbers on his arms, trimmed with large, elaborate roses. I wonder what 2010 stands for?
If Lorenzo is the psychotic brother, I wonder what that makes Damien.
How is Damien the saner one?
Lorenzo wiggles his eyebrows, lapping his tongue across his lips. "What do you think?" He twists his face from side to side, showcasing his piercing. "I got shitfaced, and my buddies dared me to get a piercing. It was either my nose or my dick."
