Chapter 7

                                    

                                          
                            Chiara
I was bored out of my mind.
For the past thirty minutes, Giovanni Romano did nothing except talk about himself. He talked about his family back in Italy. He talked about his conquests here in Chicago. He talked about all the girls he slept with and all the girls he planned to screw even after our marriage because clearly this was nothing but a marriage of convenience. He flirted with the waitress and the manager, and asked me all of two questions throughout the entire date. The first one pertained to my cup size, and the second was about how fast I could lose the weight after getting pregnant with his children.
To say I wanted to stab him with a fork was a very strong understatement. 
I did not realize anyone could be so tactless, so vulgar, so disgustingly annoying until I met this man.
When we were younger  and my dad would haul the whole family back to Italy so we could spend a few summers there, I had the unfortunate pleasure of spending some time with Giovanni and I did not realize that someone cannot grow up or mature at all in 15 years. He was the exact same way he had been back there as a teenager, except now it screamed of desperation. I mean, what 35-year-old man would speak about how many women he had slept with on a first date with the woman he was supposed to marry unless he was desperate to prove something?
I rolled my eyes for what felt like the millionth time that night, stabbing my fork into the stake he had ordered me because apparently, I was very malnourished according to his standards and I needed to eat more.  If it weren't for my father warning me to keep the peace before I left tonight and telling me that If I say as much as one word to piss him off, he would take away all of my credit cards, I would have splashed my red wine all over his white shirt by now. Unfortunately, I had to play nice and find a way to stomach this asshole without costing him a hefty cleaning bill.
“How do you feel about an open relationship?”  Giovanni asked, smirking at me from behind his wine glass.
“Not really a fan,” I quipped, shoving another bite of steak into my mouth to avoid cursing him out.
“That's too bad. I was hoping we could be civil about this. I can take as many mistresses as I want, and I wanted to offer you the same chance to have your happiness outside of this marriage. But if you insist on being loyal to me,” he sipped his wine again, “I'm afraid I can't do the same thing. I'm a man in my prime. You know I have to play the field, and this marriage is nothing but a business deal between our parents.  So I wanted you to know that I was completely fine with you dating other people as long as we keep it between us, of course, and as long as your children are mine.”
“And how would we make sure of that?” I quirked an eyebrow, impressed with myself for playing along. 
“That's simple, really. You can date other men but you can't sleep with them. I need you to be pure for me. I will not share you.”
“Let me get this straight. You want an open relationship in which you can sleep with as many women as you want, and you will grant me permission to go out with other men, but I can't sleep with them?”
“Exactly.” Giovanni gave me a smile that made me want to break every tooth on display. “I knew you were smarter than you looked.’
He reached his arm across the table, taking my hand in his and stroking his thumb over my skin. I resisted the urge to gag, the steak I  had just swallowed fighting its way back up my throat. Even his touch made me sick to my stomach. He felt slimy and disgusting, and for the millionth time at night, I contemplated pushing a knife into his flesh. It would make my father very angry, but it would give me some much needed satisfaction.
“Take your hand off of my wife before I cut it off.”
The voice that came from behind me sounded very familiar, and the shiver that ran down my spine confirmed my suspicions. I turned slowly to find Nico Desantis standing behind me, his eyes blazing as he stared daggers into Giovanni. The latter stood up, dumping my hand on the table as he squared his shoulders, looking at Nico like a frightened prey that tried so hard to be a predator.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Giovanni asked.
“Cutting this date short, dumbass.”
I stood up, trying to get a word between them, but to my utter disgust and horror Giovanni pulled me into him, placing one hand around my shoulders and the other one on my cheek as he turned my face towards him. 
“We are in the middle of something here,” He said, not taking his eyes off of Nico. “We're planning a wedding, so if you'll excuse us, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”
If looks could kill, Giovanni would have been six feet under ages ago. Nico unbuttoned his jacket, throwing it on the back of my chair before uncuffing his sleeves and rolling them back. Something must have been very wrong with me that night because the sight of his bulging veins and flexed muscles as he clenched and unclenched his fists made something in my core tremble.
“I'm going to give you one second to get away from what's mine before I break every bone in your body and send you home in several bags.”
I furrowed my eyebrows, confusion rolling through me in waves. Future wife? What's his? What the hell was he on about?
Before Giovanni could react, Nico had pulled him by the collar, yanking him away from me in one swift move. A resounding crack echoed around the restaurant as Nico twisted Giovanni's arm behind his back, his wrist bent at an odd angle.  With one kick to the back of his knees, he brought him down, slamming his head on the table over and over again until the white tablecloth was covered in Giovanni's blood. 
“I told you not to touch her,” Nico seethed.
“Stop!” I yelled, using all of my might to pull Nico away from Giovanni. “What the hell do you think you're doing? Do you have a death wish?”
As soon as I touched him, Nico stepped back, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me into a hug. With his left hand, he pushed my face into his neck, his nose sitting atop my head as he breathed in and out. Giovanni collapsed onto the floor,  holding on to his bleeding nose with both hands. He writhed in pain, moaning and whimpering as Nico stood there watching him with an unreadable expression.
I pulled away from him, anger replacing my confusion.
“What the hell is wrong with you? What are you doing here, and what the fuck  did you mean your future wife? Have you finally lost your mind?”
Nico smiled, his eyes trailing my body up-and-down. 
“I just came straight from your house princess. Congratulations, you don't have to marry this ass wipe.”
“What?” I asked, looking back at Giovanni who was still on the floor.  Everyone else at the restaurant was staring at us like we were some kind of freaks, but they knew better than to interfere. In Chicago, everyone knew who we were even if they never saw us in person. And while I kept a lower profile, it was evident by the presence of both a Desantis and a Romano that I could be no one but a Russo.  That kept anyone from interfering. They knew better than to call the cops or say something, but that didn't keep them from watching the show.
“I just made a deal with your father,” Nico said. “Something that will bring peace to both our families for the foreseeable future.”
“And what might that deal be?” I asked even though I knew  exactly what was coming. Dread rose through me as I figured that my father had decided to sell me to the highest bidder, and while a day ago that might have been Giovanni Romano, right now, the highest bidder was the number one Don in Chicago. 
Nico Desantis. 
“You are going to be my wife.”