Neglected Mafia Wife: Out Of Your League

Bianca POV

The interior of the bulletproof Maybach was silent.

Zeno sat beside me, his frame taking up the majority of the leather seat. The scent of his bespoke cologne was tainted by the faint, sickly sweet smell of amusement park sugar.

The odor turned my stomach.

He loosened his silk tie, his dark eyes staring at the partition.

"The park was a legitimate front. The photographs were an oversight," his voice was flat, an explanation that sounded more like a business report. "Liana is a civilian. She does not understand our world. She required guidance."

I looked out the tinted window at the blurring city lights.

"Guidance does not require a cartoon suit, Zeno."

He did not reply.

The car pulled into the subterranean garage of our high-rise. The elevator ride to the penthouse was suffocating.

When the metal doors slid open, Zeno froze.

The massive, minimalist living room was flooded with color.

Two dozen identical, fluffy cartoon mascot suits were piled on the Italian leather sofas, spilling onto the pristine white rugs.

"What is this?"

Zeno's voice dropped an octave, a dangerous vibration in the still air.

I dropped my handbag onto a glass table with a sharp clack.

"If you enjoy civilian games, you should play them with your wife. Put one on."

"Bianca."

He uttered my name like a threat. The authority of a Don being openly mocked filled the room.

He stepped toward me, his heavy shoes sinking into the rug. He reached out and grabbed my waist, pulling me hard against his chest.

His grip was bruising.

He let out a dark, humorless chuckle, his breath fanning across my neck.

"Are you jealous? I have no romantic feelings for the girl. She is under The Family's protection. That is all."

I placed my hands flat against his chest, feeling the steady, calm beat of his heart. But I knew what he wouldn't admit—Nonna Rosa's failing health had made him desperate to believe in anyone who claimed to have saved her. Liana wasn't his mistress. She was his moral loophole.

"You gave me this title. You gave me this crown. But you reserve your leniency for an outsider."

Zeno's jaw tightened. He detested these conversations, operating in a world of logic and force.

"How do I make amends? Name it."

I pointed to the pile of neon fabric.

"Wear the suit. Now."

Zeno looked at the ridiculous costumes. Two Falcone soldiers and a maid stood near the hallway, their eyes fixed on the floor, terrified to witness their Don's humiliation.

"Leave us," Zeno barked.

I stepped out of his grip.

"No. They stay. Why can you degrade your image in public for her, but not in your own fortress for me?"

Zeno's pride snapped. The rigid monster inside him rejected the demand.

He glared at me, his eyes turning to black ice.

"Enough, Bianca. This is childish."

He turned his back on me and walked toward his study.

I watched his shoulders disappear. Expecting him to bend his pride was a useless endeavor.

I walked into our master suite. The room always smelled of expensive leather and dry-cleaning chemicals, like a dust-proof glass cabinet displaying exquisite specimens.

I set my phone on the nightstand.

My eyes locked onto his personal keys resting on the marble surface.

Dangling next to the heavy fob for the Maybach was a cheap, plastic pink pig keychain.

Liana's zodiac sign.

The air in the room grew thin, each breath a conscious effort.

Zeno was an extreme neat freak. He never allowed anything unnecessary in his pockets. Yet, Liana's influence had breached his most private territory.

I picked up the keys. The cheap plastic felt greasy against my skin.

I dropped them back onto the marble with a loud clatter.

I walked into my massive closet. I deliberately bypassed the endless rows of dark suits I had worn for eight years.

I reached into the very back and pulled out a pale blue designer nightgown.

It was a color. It was a rebellion.

I slipped it on, letting the cool silk cling to my skin.

Hours later, the bedroom door opened. The lights remained off.

Zeno climbed into the bed. He reached out in the dark, his large hands gripping my hips and pulling me flush against his hard body.

He noticed the silk. He noticed the change.

His grip tightened, his territorial possessiveness flaring. He rolled over, pinning me to the mattress.

It was an aggressive, heavy encounter-a hallmark of our arranged bond. He claimed my body with a ruthless efficiency, his mouth hot against my skin, silently demanding submission.

I gave him my body, my mind detached, my gaze fixed on the subtle play of shadows on the dark ceiling.

When his breathing slowed, he rested his head in the crook of my neck.

I turned my face slightly, my lips brushing against his ear.

"Do not let me down, Zeno."