#mark strong

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Carmine Falcone was hardly the kind of man who wore his heart on his sleeve. Even as happy as he claimed you made him, you could still count the number of times on both hands that you’d actually seen him smile—a real one. Not the slightest hint of change on his lips that told you he was in a good mood for the day, but an actual full on smile that lit up his whole face.

With that being said, you could tell he was unhappy before he even opened his mouth.

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

Both the question and his tone had you doubting yourself, looking down at the dress you’d put on his card before looking back up at him with a slight frown. The question was obviously rhetorical, and so your silence—along with wearing said dress—was answer enough, and you swallowed at the way he exhaled through his nose.

“Absolutely not,” he told you, making your heart sink. “You look like a piece of meat with a bow tied around it.”

You blinked at that, lips parting as he pointed at you.

“Go put on something with some fabric.”

“Luca’s girlfriend wore something just like this at the last party,” you defended, and Carmine was speaking again before you barely finished.

“Luca’s girlfriend is a whore,” he swiftly replied, not even looking at you now as he put on his suit jacket. “So, unless you’re trying to sell something tonight…”

The door was shut in your face before you could even process that, his harsh words lingering in the air as you turned around. His disgust at the dress had stumped you, you couldn’t lie, so excited to wear it tonight and so sure he’d love it. Garnering the complete opposite reaction from the older man had you pulling your lip between your teeth, angry tears kissing your eyes at his words.

Sometimes you really hated Carmine Falcone.

…and other times you swore he was the best thing to ever happen to you.

Your relationship was so far from perfect, and if your mother was alive, she would've had a heart attack all over again to see you involved with the likes of him. But you were in Gotham and the pickings were slim as is and catching the eye of Carmine Falcone was just as much of a blessing as it was a curse. Between the fighting and the fucking, no one knew that better than you.

“What is this? What’s going on?” Sofia wondered half an hour later after being sent to check on you. “Where’s your dress?”

“Your father said it made me look like a whore, so…” you shrugged at her, completely at ease as you sipped on a glass of champagne.

You heard her sigh as you took off your lashes, robe tight around you as you sat at the vanity. You heard her mumble something you didn’t catch—something profane no doubt—before she approached you, her heels loud against the floor.

“It’s a stressful night for him,” she told you, grabbing the same lash strip you’d just removed. “So what if he didn’t like the dress? You have plenty here.”

“No, I’m not going,” you told her, making her kiss her teeth. “The whole family’s down there, half of them think I’m some golddigger anyway, and he basically just called me one with less clothing.”

Sofia started to say your name when the door was harshly opened. Your gaze found the table interesting all of a sudden as familiar footfalls reached your ears. You could just barely make out Sofia gesturing to him in the mirror, the other woman swiftly leaving and you removed your other lash. A heavy silence filled the room from the moment the door was shut, and you pretended as if he wasn’t there.

Unsurprisingly, that was the wrong thing to do.

The gasp that you let out was loud and sharp as his hand found it’s way around your throat. He was pulling your head back so that it leaned against him, keeping it straight and forcing you to make eye contact with his reflection. As best as you could anyway now that he’d donned those familiar shades that always served to hide what he was thinking.

“What’s the matter with you? Huh?”

You knew he didn’t actually want an answer, and your lips trembled as he tightened his hold on your neck.

“The family’s flown in for this and you’re supposed to be on my arm, but instead you’re up here throwing a tantrum like some childish brat.”

He spat the words at you, harshly letting you go, and your gaze fell to your lap just as a few tears spilled over. You could hear him moving towards the closet, and you weren’t surprised at all when a dress landed on the vanity followed by another at your feet, making you flinch.

“There’s no shortage of dresses in here,” he said to you, moving towards the door. “Pick one. Ten minutes.”

Carmine didn’t need to elaborate, and ten minutes later—and not a second over—you were joining him with a smile, his hand taking yours as he introduced you to an unfamiliar face. Your smile didn’t budge once as he led you around the mansion, warmly greeting some of the same people who swore you wouldn’t still be around a year ago. Although, you supposed you were being a bit harsh considering even you didn’t think you’d still be around a year ago

That was through no fault of your own though, and you lightly rubbed your neck.

“Go to my office,” the dark-haired man quietly said to you halfway through the party.

You started to question it before thinking better of it, allowing him to press a gentle kiss to your cheek before letting you go. You could feel his eyes on you as you weaved through the sea of bodies, making your way to those familiar dark doors. You suspected that this conversation wasn’t going to be pretty, and you hated that you were already crying before he even joined you.

It was the first thing he commented on.

“Whats the matter with you?” he demanded in that gruff voice of his the moment he shut the door, quickly moving towards you.

“Nothing,” you choked out.

“Nothing? Don’t treat me like I’m stupid–what are you crying for?”

You pushed his hands away when he reached for your face, turning away, but he was fed up it seemed.

“Cut it out,” he evenly said, making you freeze. “Now.”

The office was quiet and the sounds of the party reached you through the thick doors. His hand was tight on your chin, making you face him, and you sniffed as he took a deep breath. His other hand came up to gently touch your cheek, and when he leaned in enough to graze his lips against yours, you closed your eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t like my dress,” you eventually whispered, voice shaky. “...and…you basically called me some hooker.”

When Carmine pulled back enough to look at your face again, you couldn’t stop it from crumbling.

“I thought you’d love it,” you tearfully told him. “...and I was so excited to wear it and…”

Your words died in the air when he brought a single finger up to his lips, and you defeatedly leaned against the edge of his desk. A moment of silence passed between you, and you heard Alberto’s drunken laugh from another room. Carmine let your chin go, hand falling to land on your arm, his other thumb brushing along your lips.

“I didn’t hate the dress,” he confessed, and your brows drew together. “...but let’s save that dress for you and me.”

Understanding dawned on you, and you swallowed, face heating up.

“I can’t have you walking around in something like that…especially around the likes of Luca.”

He leaned in again, lips grazing your ear as he spoke.

“It’s a gorgeous dress, but it’s for my eyes only, understand?”

When you nodded, he pressed a kiss to your cheek, and when he pulled back again to look at you, he tsk’d.

“Look at you,” he gently complained, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re going to ruin your makeup.”

“Sorry,” you apologized, and his only response was to pull you into his side as you straightened.

As he guided you back to the party, you wondered if any of your fights would ever not end in a kiss or relaxing into his waiting arms or opening your legs for him as he had his way with you. When you were mad at Carmine, you were so mad, and every time you were convinced that this would be it, and you’d leave him for good.

…but it never turned out that way.

Even on those rare times you actually did leave him. The shady businessman always found a way to pull you back in and sweet talk his way back into your life and convince you that not being with him wasn’t what you wanted. He never showed up empty handed—a necklace, an anklet, earrings. He always came with something beautiful and expensive to soften your resolve, and every single time it worked.

The one and only time it didn’t was the first time you ever left him, a time when you weren’t even officially together funny enough.

It was all so new and exciting—and sometimes it still was—and you were drunk on the affections of Carmine Falcone…until you learned Carmine collected women like he collected business ventures. The new furniture and diamonds and shoes meant nothing to you when the thought of sharing him with anyone else absolutely disgusted you, and you knew he thought you were bluffing.

Until that same furniture and those same diamond necklaces and shoes were sent right to his doorstep.

The fight that eventually followed left bruises on your arms for weeks.

“Do you have any idea how that made me look?”

His voice had deepened with anger, and he’d leaned over you as some ploy to scare you, and you had only blinked at him.

“Give them to some other woman.” you’d replied. “You have no shortage of them.”

He hadn’t responded right away, but his silence spoke volumes.

“This little act is beneath you,” he said, and you’d laughed.

“You don’t know what’s beneath me,” you’d told him, turning away. “...and there’s no act. I don’t want to be one of the many.”

You could hear him slowly following you around your charming apartment.

“You think you’re special?” he’d deeply asked, and you’d sighed.

“I don’t care if I am or not,” you’d continued, collecting everything he bought you. “I don’t want this.”

When you looked at him, you were unable to tell what he was really thinking, those dark shades hiding his eyes from you.

“See as many women as you want, but I won’t be one of them.”

You’d foolishly thought that was the end of that and thus the end of you and Carmine, but you turned out to be sorely mistaken. Having you followed was one thing and even leaving disturbingly out of touch gifts inside of your apartment was another, but you only truly started to feel fear when the first guy you proceeded to date was found floating in the river somewhere. That should’ve been the moment where you moved to a different place altogether and changed your locks and maybe even bought a gun.

Instead, the next time you came face to face with Carmine ended in his hand around your throat and his cock inside of you.

You’d pressed the palm of your hand against your kitchen table to keep from falling back, Carmine’s other hand tight on your waist as he fucked you. The weak wood shook beneath your movements, and tears kissed your eyes from both the tight grip on your neck and the rough feel of him thrusting into you.You had barely looked through your peephole when Kenzie had forced your door open, your wide eyes taking in the sight of Carmine stepping through moments later.

There’d been a lot of yelling on your part, even more so when he got his hands on you. He was never a man of many words—at least not around you—and you’d only screamed and screamed when he manhandled you. The dark-haired man hadn’t cared though, only forcing you down against your table with a hand on your back.

“What are you doing, huh? Trying to get a rise out of me?”

Those were the first words he’d greeted you with as he tore at your clothes.

Of course he’d assumed you’d started seeing some other guy just to get a reaction from him. Of course the great Carmine Falcone hadn’t been able to fathom that you were over and you had every right to move on. Of course he could have a line of women on rotation but God forbid you go on one date with one guy.

“It’s not fair,” you’d whispered hours later, gently licking your bruised lip. “I’m allowed to not want to be with you anymore.”

He hadn’t responded, fixing his hair in your narrow mirror, but you knew he heard you loud and clear.

“You can’t break into my house and follow me around and hurt every guy I touch,” you’d continued, frowning at him and hating that he was ignoring you. “Carmine!”

“They’re gone,” was all he’d said.

He still wouldn’t look at you, and your frown had deepened, confused by his response. When the silence continued to stretch, he’d finally elaborated.

“The other girls…they’re gone.”

You hadn’t believed him, of course, just looking at him from your place on your bed with the most skeptical gaze. It hurt your face to frown at him, but you wouldn’t stop doing it, and you blinked a few times when he finally looked at you again.

“I’m not going to repeat myself,” he’d said to you. “...but if I see you with some other man again, you’re going in that river with him.”

There’d been no mirth in his tone and not a hint of humor in his gaze, making you swallow, and your fearful eyes never left him once as he approached you. You’d watched him reach for you, hand gently resting on the back of your neck as he leaned over to press a light kiss to the top of your head. Carmine lingered for a moment, he breathed you in, and then he was gone.

He’d shown up on your doorstep a few days later like nothing happened, and you supposed in his mind, nothing did happen. 

You picked up right where you left off only this time, there were no other women, and you weren’t even glancing at other men. Carmine was as gentle with you as he was the first time you met, sliding a diamond choker around your neck, his fingers softly brushing over your skin as he clasped the ends together. You’d felt like you were selling your soul as you reached up to touch the expensive piece of jewelry.

“Why do you always have to pout? Hmm?” he wondered hours after the party, gently kissing your discolored throat as he hovered over you. “Speak up.”

You let out a shaky breath beneath him, toes curling as he slowly pushed into you, stretching you with his cock and apologizing in his own way for his earlier behavior.

“You made me mad,” you murmured, lashes fluttering. “You know half of your family thinks I’m after a spot in the will.”

“The spot’s yours, baby,” he mumbled against your skin.

You weren’t able to tell him for the umpteenth time that you didn’t care about a stupid will, too distracted by the feeling of his cock dipping into you. You mewled beneath him as you threw your head back, baring your neck to him for more than just his lips. Carmine loved to choke you, he got an unshakable thrill from it, and you loved to let him, surrendering yourself to him every time.

You swore that you never came as hard as you did in your life than when he’d had his hands snug around your throat the first time he fucked you.

He once confessed to you that was the reason for the other women in the beginning—the violence. They were faceless girls from the club and from rough corners of the city. Most of them had the pleasure of getting paid for their time and efforts, some accepting his attention for the fun of it all. You had swallowed when he told you, hesitantly lifting your gaze to meet his.

“You can’t do those things with me?” you’d quietly asked him. 

You swore that something passed through his eyes that both excited and terrified you, swiping your tongue between your lips as he leaned in closer. Silence had followed your question as you slowly and hesitantly grabbed his hand, keeping your eyes on his as you brought it up to your neck, pushing your hips against his as you silently encouraged him to do what he so clearly wanted.

Carmine was equal parts loving and violent, kissing every bruise and gently rubbing away every ache. The piles and piles of jewelry represented every apology, the larger the carat, the larger the bruise you’d long forgotten about. They always served to remind you that your moments of unhappiness were far outnumbered by the absolute bliss that being with him gave you.

Even when members of his family didn’t approve and suspected that you would’ve been long gone by now. It rarely bothered you as much these days, especially since Sofia was really the only approval you desperately wanted, and she’d long accepted that Carmine was crazy about you in his own way.

The same could not be said for Alberto, but one conversation with his sister had you long abandoning any desire for his approval.

“He’s just bitter,” Sofia finally admitted one night, waving her hand about as she sipped on some champagne.

You frowned at her, head tilted just a tad as you failed to understand. She’d stared back at you for a minute before clearing her throat and looking around. It wasn’t until her next words that you realized she was looking around to make sure that Carmine wasn’t close by.

“Alberto…struggles seeing you with our father…”

Your frown deepened.

“Let’s just say that if you and dad ever split up—God forbid—don’t be too shocked if Alberto comes knocking on your door.”

The confession surprised you, making you raise your eyebrows, and it even—dare you say it—made you lose what little respect you had for the other young man. You didn’t know why, but somehow it disappointed you to know that his aversion to you wasn’t rooted in somewhat understandable or honorable reasons.

Instead it was because he couldn’t fuck you.

The thought that he and his father were a lot more alike than either of them wanted to admit almost made you chuckle. Carmine also didn’t have the best reaction when he was denied access to you, evident in how he’d fuck you after a particularly long night at work or the club. Hands so tight on you that it hurt and hips slamming into yours so harshly that it made you wince. You’d long stopped trying to get him to stop when he got like that, accepting that he didn’t care.

He only cared about losing himself in the feeling of you coming around him.

It was why any and every fight eventually ended the exact same way.

Carmine Falcone would not be denied.

Another visit to his club had sparked yet another argument. It was why you didn’t make it a habit to show your face at the 44 Below, but Carmine had never said that you couldn’t. Although, you both knew that some part of him wanted to forbid you from coming to the club, evident in the clench of his jaw every time some man even so much as glanced at you. You were positive that if he could—and he could—Carmine would lock you up in a tower to hide you away from the rest of the world, saving you for his eyes only.

The truth though was that the Falcone patriarch got some sick pleasure from parading you around. The part of him that wanted to hide you away from the world was constantly at war with the side of him that wanted to parade you around on his arm, a barely noticeable hint of a smug smirk on those lips of his every time you drew attention. He never needed to say it because you knew what he was thinking—she’s mine and you can’t have her. You would be lying if you said you didn’t get some twisted excitement out of it too.

Except, of course, when it forced that green monster to rear its ugly chauvinistic head.

“You picked the dress out, Carmine, do you remember?” you stomped up the stairs. “You were standing right there waving your shiny black card around when I put it on the counter.”

He was following you at his own pace, completely silent as you ranted about his behavior.

“What was the point of buying it if you were just going to lose your mind the moment I step outside wearing it?”

Again he didn’t answer, and you rolled your eyes, thankful that he couldn’t see. 

You closed the door behind you the moment you stepped inside of the bedroom, uncaring as to how petty that was. It was times like this where you were so grateful you never let him talk you into completely moving in here, relieved that you could just grab your things and haul ass back to your apartment anytime you wanted.

You were already grabbing a few things you wanted to take with you when he finally walked through the door, watching you with that look on his face that often made you feel like a child. You pretended like he wasn’t there, face twisting as you thought about how he acted tonight, tears kissing your eyes as you recalled his words.

“You’re with me but you insist on dressing like one of these girls at the club.”

You weren’t in the mood to hear about yet another dress he only wanted you to wear around him. It was silly and unnecessary, and truthfully, he was only acting this way because Alberto stopped by. You didn’t know if Carmine never noticed the way he looked at you before or if tonight just seemed especially egregious in his eyes, but you weren’t about to sit here and let him take it out on you that his son wanted to fuck his girlfriend.

“I think you like it…”

That was what he finally said to you, his deep voice just loud enough to make out in the quiet room. You blinked at his words, and when you looked over your shoulder you noted that he’d shut the door. You watched him make his way to the bar and fix himself a drink, blinking again as his words really sank in.

“Excuse me?” you quietly wondered. “Like what…?”

Your tone should’ve been hint enough to stop whatever he was about to say, but unfortunately, Carmine had never been afraid of you a day in his life.

“The attention,” he waved his drink at you. “I think you like when they look at you and undress you with their eyes and think about the things they’d do to you if you were theirs…instead of mine.”

Your mouth fell open as you watched him take a swig of the brown liquid.

“...and you know how I know you like it?” he continued before you could speak. “...because it makes me angry.”

You pressed your lips together.

“...because it pisses me off, and you know it, and despite what you say…”

He set the glass down, and it wasn’t lost on you how loud it sounded.

“You like me when I’m angry. You must.”

You roughly exhaled, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Say his name, Carmine.”

He raised a dark brow at you, and you continued anyway despite knowing that this was a bad idea.

“Don’t say they…their…them,” you whispered. “When you really want to say he and his and him.”

You scoffed, moving to grab some more things you wanted to take back to your place.

“I don’t know if it just dawned on you or what,” you continued, grabbing your favorite setting spray. “...but yeah your son is attracted to your girlfriend, and he’s so pissy every time I’m around because he can’t have me.”

You went on at his silence. 

“So, I’m sorry that you had to find that out in the low neon lighting of the 44 Below when he refused to take his eyes off of me, but do not take that out on me–.”

You barely got the words out when he had his hand around your arm, yanking you away from the vanity and making you drop whatever you’d grabbed. You tripped over your feet, but that didn’t stop you from shoving against his chest, huffing in frustration when he still managed to force you towards the bed.

“No,” you spat, resisting his movements. “You acted like a complete asshole tonight!”

You bounced against the bed, attempting to crawl back but Carmine was faster and stronger.

“...and you always do this,” you cried, pushing against his hand as they reached for your dress. “I’ll be so happy and I’ll feel so good and then you ruin it–Carmine, stop!”

He didn’t listen to a word you said.

Carmine was in one of his moods where he only cared about burying himself inside of you—to release his anger, to shut you up, to make you forget how angry you were. Sometimes it was a combination of all three. Although, tonight you got the impression that it wasn’t primarily about any of those things. Any doubts that you had were squashed when he was finally inside of you.

“You’re mine, beautiful,” he gruffly said to you, pinning you between him and the bed as he had his way with you.

The dress you loved so much was ripped beyond repair and haphazardly thrown across the bed and floor. You had an inkling that the once beautiful piece of fabric was forever linked to Alberto for him, and he would rather buy you a new one entirely. Parts of your body still stung from where his blunt nails had broken skin in his haste to get you naked, and you winced every time they brushed against the sheets.

“I know that,” you choked out, digging your nails into his back.

His skin harshly slapped against yours, and the plush bed shook from the force of his thrusts. One of his hands was gripping the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling so hard that it made tears spill over, and his breathing was harsh in your ear. Despite the pain of it all, it didn’t prevent you from dripping around him, and you acknowledged on some small level that maybe Carmine was right.

Maybe you did like it when he was angry.

You moaned his name as you held onto him, lashes fluttering and lips parted as he fucked you. An hour ago you were so angry with him and so determined to spend a few nights at your own place before he inevitably showed up with flowers and some shoes or a tennis bracelet that cost more than your whole apartment. Now, though, you were clinging to him and keeping your legs parted for him and fighting the urge to scream his name for the whole house to hear.

You felt like you were losing a little more of your sanity every time he sank into your walls, cock sliding between your folds. Your chest arched up into his, shuddering at the feeling of his weight pressing down on you. You came around him once, and you saw stars, but when you eventually came around him for a second time, Carmine finished inside of you and gripped your thigh so tightly that it made you cry out, but it only prolonged your flutters around his cock.

You hadn’t even realized that one of his hands had found it’s way to your throat until spots appeared in your vision, and when you came to, you were lying on his chest.

The silence between you was heavy, and you fought to catch your breath, gaze landing on your things that you’d dropped. Your breathing was choppy, and your body was so sore in places that only painkillers and a hot bath would fix, and still there was only one thing on your mind. One thing you prioritized above all of that.

“I don’t want Alberto.”

You knew he knew that, but you still felt the need to make it known.

He didn’t respond to your whispered words right away, instead giving the top of your head a gentle kiss.

Though you were also somewhat wrapped up in the crime world, you weren’t quite as a mess as him, ironically emulating the same traits of his sister Sofia. You were the daughter of an underboss of a different Family, one that had become an ‘ally’ to the Falcones. You had been to college, had a successful job in real estate and walked around with an air of dignity, one that had charmed Alberto into relative commitment.  

Of course, it wasn’t without its ups and downs; and in Alberto’s case it was undeniable that there would be considerable lows. There were indeed times where he’d been better, whether it was a couple weeks or a month, and it looked like he was heading in the right direction – only for something to come up and send him spiralling even further than before. It was a hellish circle, one that had been going on for the two years you’d been together. 

Throughout it all, Alberto had faith in you completely. According to him, you ‘helped keep his head on straight’, even when he was pouring himself another drink or wiping his nose clean, for which he always apologised, no matter how increasingly empty you felt they were becoming. 

You understood completely, this world – all of it – was unpredictable, onerous, and as a lover you empathised when he’d admit he was scared and insecure about it all. Confessions always came when you were alone; mostly during those quiet moments after you’d slept together, lying on your backs staring absentmindedly at the ceiling. If a drink wasn’t within arm's reach, then he’d instead place an arm around your shoulder, stroking your skin absentmindedly as he voiced his dilemma. ‘You think I can be as good as Pop?’ he’d say, and you’d do your best to quell his thoughts. In truth, it was a bit silly to think he could be anything like his father, even with your influence. 

Time passed, and here you were, a heavy diamond on your ring finger, wrapped around one of your fiancé's arms, whilst he held a drink in the other. The Falcone mansion was gorgeous, equal parts modern and rustic, and even though you were increasingly spending more time there, it lacked the ability to feel like a home. Perhaps it was because you were an outsider, but even the various characters populating the house felt hollow. 

All except for Sofia, your saving grace. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but I’m taking your bride off your hands,” the dark-haired woman smirked. Playfully rolling his eyes in response, Alberto downed the remainders of his drink before he slinked off, giving you a knowing look as he did.  

Watching him disappear, she quickly linked her arm in yours and took you in the other direction. 

“Thank God, I thought he’d never come off you,” she said knowingly. “Never took my brother for such a Loverboy. Dare I say it’s cute.” 

“Well, when the drinks are free flowing…” you chuckled dryly, picking up a canapé from a table as you walked along. Who were you kidding? He'd probably been drinking all day. 

“He’s been on his best behaviour too. You’ve got the magic touch,” Sofia remarked, raising her brows as she did. She’d taken you to the kitchen, where the party was within an earshot. The background swirled with the warm hum of classical Italian music, one that you’d become accustomed to ever since. Unlike your previous home, the place was virtually spotless; a given considering that it was hardly used, if ever. It was just for show, as was many other things in the house.  

Sofia sighed and turned to face you, placing her glass on the counter before she spoke. 

“I just wanted to give you a break. Even I tend to get sick of these things.” 

“Well, it’s certainly appreciated,” you replied, briefly glancing around to assure no one had heard you.  “I forget how taxing these things are. To be honest I don’t remember half of anyone’s names.” 

She grinned and waved a hand in the air. 

“Just put names and faces to the presents, that’s what we did.” 

You both laughed, taking a sip of your drink as you enjoyed a brief silence, finding yourself distantly staring at the embellishments of the building yet again. This was real. 

Goosebumps peppered your arm. Perhaps it was a little chilly. You forgot how much warmth came from body heat. 

“I’m really happy you’re joining the family,” Sofia finally perked up, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she did. “I told ‘Berto I’d smack him if he fucked things up with you.” 

“Hold that until after the wedding,” you said, raising an eyebrow pointedly. “How long do you think it’ll be until the goomah’s come into the picture?” 

She pursed her lips. 

“It’s a possibility, but there’ll only be one name to the estate.” 

You smiled and bit your lip, briefly glancing down at the ring on your finger. In truth you hadn’t thought of the mistresses until now – yet another burden that was possible you were going to have to carry – and it only filled your stomach with dread even more. Alberto had the occasional wandering eye and the vivid imagination, but infidelity was the least of your worries when it came to your imminent marriage.  

“For what it’s worth, I think Dad’s quite proud too. I saw him pull Al to his office. God knows what he’s thought of him in the past…” Sofia mused, and you took an angsty swallow of your drink, this time feeling every inch of the liquid as it burned. Carmine Falcone was a formidable figure, one who wasn’t easy to impress or delight, so his approval, to anyone, meant a lot. He’d been accommodating enough during your relationship to this point, even extending you warmth (dare you say it). 

“You’re lucky,” you sighed wistfully. “I wish my dad was here to see this.” 

Your father was currently locked away in a prison cell upstate, slowly wasting away to signs of cancer. He’d always been too proud for his own good. 

Sofia twitched. 

“I’m sure he’s happy for you.” 

You hummed, your absent gaze broken by the sound of commotion back in the main area. The pair of you exchanged a worried glance, glasses clinking as you discarded them on the counter, and hastily made your way back.  

Pushing your way through The Family, you noticed some of them flashing you concerned looks, whilst the other kept their faces to the ground. Following their gaze, your heart sunk in horror at the sight before you. 

Alberto was flat on his back; the collar of his white shirt covered with a pale-yellow colour as remnants of vomit sat dotted around his lips and on the fabric. His skin was now bluish, and his lips ivory, all the while wearing a blank expression.  

Racing towards his side, you hardly had time to process the unfathomable fact that everyone had decided to stand and watch. The room gargled; feeling as if you were underwater, and you barely made out Sofia ordering someone to get him to a hospital.  

With your mind on autopilot, you hastily pressed your hands to his forehead and chest, feeling that he was clammy. His breathing was shallow, and you hoisted him to his side, causing him to choke before catching his breath. It was an unsightly act, with your perfectly manicured hands brushing against his sparse bits of puke, coating the ring in the process. 

You held him like this – you weren’t sure how long, really – all the while you tried not to pass out yourself. Faces merged like a kaleidoscope as they looked down on you, almost certainly in pity, to which you couldn’t help but feel like a fool. 

It was supposed to be your crowning moment, yet all that became crystal clear was the fact that you were peeking into the beginning of the rest of your life in this family: a husband who would lose himself to addiction, and a family that showed solely for positive appearances. What good was a life where your husbands waking day could be his last? Minutes ago, they were praising you for ‘turning him around’, and now you were a pariah. 

With your eyes focused on the man below you, you felt the room getting hot again, to the point that it felt as if your skin was swelling and your jewellery was fused to your body.  

If you didn’t get it off soon, you’d burst. 

Hours later, and the Family had retired to their respective rooms for the night. You’d seen Al off to the hospital (he was in a protected ward, apparently), and had returned to a quiet home, almost as if there hadn’t been a party to begin with. Taking your aching heels off, you padded through the halls, carefully trying to make your way to the back door to get outside to the greenhouse. You really couldn’t stand to be in those four walls for much longer. At least then you could leave immediately the next morning. 

You were quick to pass the lounge, almost making it past Carmine’s office when he stepped out. 

“You’re up late.” 

His voice broke the silence, and suddenly you felt like a teenage girl sneaking back from a party. There was a soft glow coming from inside the rounded room, to which he nodded you in. He had a small, but certainly potent brown drink in his hand, and he’d removed his tie and blazer, leaving the top button of his shirt opened.  

“I made a stop on the way back,” you said, watching as he closed the door behind you. “It feels wrong to sleep.” 

He paused.  

“Given the circumstances, I assume this is about Alberto?” 

You nodded, smoothing your dress before you perched yourself on the edge of his desk, subtly slipping your heels back on before looking back at him. You were more presentable this way. 

“You’re a good soldier for waiting around,” he mused, beginning to pace around the desk. “The doctors called, it was just a case of alcohol poisoning – it happens all the time. He’ll be fine.” 

He waved it off, just like everyone else. You supposed as his father he was used to it.  

“I know,” you said, initially relieved before pausing for a moment and repeating yourself defeatedly. “I know…” you murmured, swallowing a lump in your throat as you resisted the urge to cry. 

Carmine lowered his tone, one that you only assumed was supposed to be soothing but could easily be interpreted as mocking. He walked over, close enough so that there was still a comfortable gap between you, and placed one hand gently on your cheek, lowering his head intently. 

“What’s the matter?” He cooed. “You didn’t like the party?” 

“No,” you insisted, shaking your head as you composed yourself. “It was lovely, thank you Mr Falcone —“ 

“You know to call me Pop, Doll.” 

Pop. Right, this man was going to be your father-in-law. There was basically wedding vows that placed him as your caretaker should anything happen to your husband. 

After your apparent silence, Carmine withdrew his hand and shoved them in his pockets. 

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet already.” 

You felt the air practically being vacuumed out the room at the statement. 

Taking a breath, you bravely replied. "I worry about him. I knew who he was when we were dating, but tonight…” you blinked, casting your eyes to the floor as you instinctively wrapped your arms around your shoulders, “h-he could’ve died. I try, but – what if he doesn’t get his act together? I can’t keep running in these circles…”  

Your voice tuned out, and you were met with a heavy silence. Carmine was indeed looking at you; disappointedly, confusedly – something. Pursing his lips, he took another sip of his drink before he spoke. 

“I’ve been at a loss with him for years,” he shrugged. “I was ready to give up until you came along. The only time he’s been halfway competent is when he’s with you.” 

“Repeating it doesn’t make it anymore true,” you frowned. “I feel like I’m getting nowhere. He should see someone, like a therapist. I can’t fix it all.” 

The admission felt like a weight off your chest, but you grew less confident with each second that he remained silent. 

“…It hurts me to think that you don’t have any faith in my words.” 

You blinked, throat dry as you tried to swallow the implications of his statement. He began circling you again, shoes heavy on the wooden floors. 

“Do you remember what I did for you? After the Feds apprehended your father and raided your home? That was long before you started seeing Alberto. Didn’t I help you get those outstanding payments from that conman who owed him?” 

It was true. You remember the day as if it were yesterday, getting a call from your hysterical mother about how your father had been caught on a drug deal and cornered, and was now sat in a sterile investigation room. It wasn’t long before the FBI, IRS – all the acronyms – swiftly moved in, tearing up your family’s home in the search for evidence and taking it with them. 

It was then that you were left with solely your own income, which quickly dried up once you were randomly terminated from your job over a month later. After a year and a half’s wait, your father final went to trial, but having poisoned most of the lawyers in town against him, was sentenced, and had been in jail ever since, leaving your family with a bleak future. 

That was where Carmine had swept in, claiming that he was doing this out of respect for your father’s loyalty to him throughout the years. He’d helped you get back on your feet, and had indirectly driven you into Alberto’s sight, having met the son after selling one of his fellow dealers an apartment.  

“Look at me,” Carmine stated, his gravelly voice breaking you from thought. He tenderly placed his index finger and thumb on your chin, angling you to make eye contact. “Have I ever given you any reason to think that I won’t take care of you?” 

“N-No…I’m sorry, Pop –“ you whispered, voice breaking.  

“You’re wearing her ring, you know,” he continued, glancing down at your fingers by your side. “It’s an heirloom. Whether you realise it or not, you took an oath. You’re part of us now, and where there’s a problem in the family – any problems between you and Alberto - we deal with it. We don’t run. There’s no escaping this thing.” 

Through the illumination of the warm light on his red shades, you could see that his gaze was fixed on you; lips slightly parted as he scanned for any hint of a negative reaction. It wasn’t an easy pill to swallow, but considering your father had done what he could to keep you away from mob life, you hated the fact that Carmine was pulling you back in. 

You knew that shouldn’t have been so fickle; brazenly disrespecting the Family’s honour by questioning everything, but you simply didn’t want to accept that this was your future. Perhaps things would improve? If Carmine’s words were to be believed, perhaps Alberto would learn from his mother and seek help? 

“I understand…”  

“Good,” he nodded, dropping his hand from your chin to take a swig of his drink. “Alberto needs you by his side. Someone strong, like us. You’ll be an excellent mother.” 

He lowered his head at that final statement, as if to figuratively place the offer on the table, though something in his words seemed like it was non-negotiable. Perhaps you would’ve been more comforted with the idea of parenthood if Isabella had still been around. There was something about the idea of Carmine ever being a grandfather that didn’t feel the slightest tangible, and suddenly the feeling of dread began to swallow you up again. 

“I —“ 

“Whatever thoughts you’re having…I suggest you let go of them,” he said forcibly, pointing a finger at you with his glass, tutting as he put it down again to walk over to you, this time leaving far less of a gap. He cupped one cheek in his hand, cautiously brushing a stray eyelash off your cheeks. The act was uncharacteristically intimate, dre you say fatherly, but his words were cold. 

“What’s the matter with you? I never expected such a bright, beautiful girl to lose herself to nothing more than inklings.” 

Your chest constricted, leaving you gasping for air, body shaking as you tried your best to control your breathing...all the while trying to ignore his growing erection pressing against your thigh. Folding your lips together, you glanced wistfully at the door before looking back at the man. 

“I-I’m going to go to bed.” 

“I don’t mince my words, sweetheart. You are beautiful.” 

“Carmine –“  you mumbled as he began to slide his hands up the underside of your dress, your skin breaking into goosebumps as it reacted to his fingertips.

“Alberto did well for himself...he’s lucky to get to you before I did.” 

He was being oddly gentle about this, but you knew by this point that he wouldn’t be above using force. 

You were just another pretty possession in the Falcone empire, and that made you squirm. 

“Remember what I said, sweetheart,” he chided, fingers tracing the outline of your panties. “Alberto’s time will come, but right now I’m still the Boss.”

He needn’t elaborate. You knew what he was implying.  

A meek ‘ok’ was swallowed by his lips on your own, the skin of your back digging into the edge of his desk at the sudden force of his body against yours. With his index and middle finger, he pushed your panties to the side, swiping them along your slit, leaving them wet with your juices. 

Carmine positioned you on the surface before sliding between your legs as he skilfully unzipped his trousers. You were under his prolonged watch and eager grip, and other than his actions something was telling you that he’d been wanting this – you – for some time.  

And he always got what he wanted. 

You arched your back as he pulled you towards him, desperately gripping the edges as you tried to find something to hold on to. As you did, your chest and neck was offered up to him on a silver platter; something he’d certainly take advantage of later. 

It was apparent to you that your legs were shaking; somewhere out of nerves, anticipation or something else. 

Your mind spun as he entered you with a groan, indulgently holding you in position for a moment, savouring the moment as you adjusted around him. Soon enough he began to fuck up into you, causing the furniture to shake with every intrusion.  

Your knuckles tightened on the edge of the surface, desperate for some grounding as he sandwiched you between him. Glancing at the unbuttoned top of his shirt, his exposed chest painfully reminded you of Alberto. 

Biting your lip, you did you best to suppress a moan, unwilling to give the man any more gratification. Instead, your noises came out more of a mousy whimper, which seemed to satisfy him. 

“Gorgeous…” he groaned, lowering his head ever so slightly and giving you a brief glimpse of the eyes behind his shades. “You’re gorgeous, honey.” He repeated, and for once, you didn’t wish to look beyond them, aptly aware of how your body was responding to him. 

Moving one hand off your hips, he instead snaked it around your throat, rutting into you as he chased his orgasm, breasts brushing against his forearm with every stroke. 

You half expected him to choke you, but it didn’t come. 

He was gracious. Just like he had been from the start. 

“You didn’t even have time to open your presents,” he lamented. “I had mine hand delivered to your room, straight from Italy. I think you should wear it to dinner tomorrow.” 

That night, you plucked a sparkling diamond encrusted choker from a velvet box. It was only the best for his daughter in law. 

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