The Return Mafia Bride

Her phone vibrated on the table, but she ignored it. Another reminder from her ex, Will Thompson, whose frantic attempts to maintain her in his life only served to heighten her disengagement from her own life. While Cathy had previously decided that some things, including her past with him, could never be corrected, he still wanted things mended. She placed the phone aside and turned to study the lovely, velvet-covered book before her. Though she never understood why her foster parents kept it secret, it was a family heritage of type from her upbringing.

Lost in ideas of a life she could not remember, her fingers softly followed the edges of the old pages as she turned them. A little picture slid off the pages as they turned. Cathy stopped the instant it touched the table. She could not identify the picture of a younger version of herself standing next to two strangers. The woman exuded royal dignity and confidence, but Cathy's eye was drawn to the archaic crest carved into her jewellery. The same symbol she had seen years ago, dim and far-off, buried in a neglected box her foster father forbade talking about.

Her breath stopped in her throat as she leaned forward to examine it, but before her eyes, the picture started to blur. The same crest, the same family emblem she had spent her whole life trying to forget suddenly stared back at her, dragging her towards something she couldn't describe.

Her mind racing with questions, she reclined in her chair and fixed on the picture. The woman's name was... Why seemed the crest so familiar? She only felt that something deeply buried was starting to surface; she had no answers. She was supposed to forget about this as well.

But Cathy couldn't get rid of the sense that this birthday, this moment, was only the beginning of something far darker as the shadows of the city spread longer outside her window.

She turned the picture over, but before she could make sense of it a shudder shot her spine. Once more buzzed the phone, this time with a single, eerie message: I know you are.

Cathy's shaking hands let the phone fall from her grasp; the terrible message still flickering on the screen. Her heart accelerated, and she got to her feet walking across her apartment's spotless floor. Once consoling in their cleanliness, the walls now seemed to be closing in on her.

Cathy had always pondered why she felt like an outsider here, why nothing ever seemed to fit exactly. Even in the glittering field of interior design she worked in, she had never really fit.

She picked up her phone once more and swiped over the screen as though under the direction of some invisible power. She had registered a flight within minutes. Venues, Italy; Venice She had never gone there, but she had always been pulled to. She prayed she might flee the gnawing emptiness engulfing her here. Perhaps she might release the weight of the message, the picture, of her past in a city of canals and history.

A few hours later Cathy was standing in queue at the security checkpoint at the airport. The surge of the throng around her did not help to conceal the sensation of something hovering about. She looked at the faces, then paused, distracted. Someone just outside the security queue, partly hidden behind a column.

Though she couldn't see his face, something about the tall, strong man's silhouette felt oddly familiar. Cathy shook her head, trying to concentrate on the present work. She was not here contemplating unusual interactions. She couldn't get rid of the feeling though, that the man was observing her from behind dark sunglasses as she passed him.

Her chest thung with her heartbeat. Her movements were nearly frantic as she hurried towards her gate. Like a cool hand stroking the rear of her neck, her sense of following grew more intense. Her ideas flew all around. Could this man have any bearing on the message? Regarding the secrets she had never known?

Cathy left the Vaporetto at her stop and experienced an odd sensation, something more than just city appeal. The setting seemed familiar, as though she had been here in another life. Her own ideas, the message, the picture, everything was drawing her towards some invisible thread she was unable to flee.

Attracted by the centuries-old architecture of the city, she meandered aimlessly. She could not help but find beauty in the meandering walkways and the complex architectural designs; nevertheless, the sense of déjà vu troubled her. The stones under her feet seemed to whisper the past.

The canals shimmered in the last of the evening, their smooth surfaces reflecting the majesty of the old structures. But she was also drawn to the architecture. She was walking along the small streets when she noticed an antique building with an elaborate stone façade with sculpture. Her pulse thumping, she moved closer to find the identical crest she had seen in the picture carved on the stone haunting her mind.

Her breath stopped and she felt a flash of identification. She had seen this emblem before, carved into a location she couldn't recall, linked to a past she did not own.

Her chest started to hurt, but she couldn't take her eyes away from the symbol. There, in the centre of Venice, it seemed to mock her, as though urging her to dig beneath the surface of her life.

Stalls loaded with vibrant fruits, glittering scarves, and shining trinkets seemed to mix into a wash of reds, oranges, and yellows. Cathy couldn't, however, really concentrate on the deals, the laughter, or the conversation. Her urgent sensation of being watched hung around like a dense cloud.

Her eyes strayed back towards the throng as she ran her fingertips over the cool metal at a stall showing glittering golden jewellery. Two men walked across the market with startling accuracy, their eyes gliding over everything but seemed to be disconnected from the vibrant spectacle all around. One was tall and broad-shouldered, his black, fitted coat shadowing his sharp jawline. With his eyes riveted on Cathy as if following her every movement, the other, shorter, moved with a smoothness almost predatory.

Cathy's stomach grew tighter. She cannot recall the last time she had been this uncomfortable. She moved and they moved every time. They slowed down every time she stopped, and Cathy couldn't get rid of the persistent feeling they were trailing after.

She accelerated her stride and turned down still another row of booths, fingers automatically touching the hem of her coat. Her emerald green eyes flew to the right, where a gathering of old lace lay, its delicate threads seemingly whispering to her, yet the towering man was still there, not far behind. He looked at her, no, across her, with eyes so icy they seemed to freeze the air between them. Her chest squeezed with every instant, so she pushed herself to turn aside and concentrate on a Grand Canal picture.

There was another male present. Right now she could feel him behind her. As his footsteps neared her spine, a shudder crawled there. She refused to turn around. Then he passed her, his coat brushing her arm, and a low voice with terrible clarity entered her ear.

Cathy tried to keep as much distance as she could between herself and the unpleasant experience, so her heart hammered as she left the store. Her breath came in short gasps; the heaviness in her chest only got worse as she hurriedly searched for a path out of the maze of streets. The noise of the market disappeared behind her, replaced by a terrible silence hanging thick in the air.

She had vanished now. She had not intended to stray into the tangle of little, poorly lighted streets, but the anxiety, the terror, had pushed her ahead without thought. She peered about, but the meandering passageways all seemed the same. The buildings loomed above her like silent sentinels, their black windows tracking her every step.

She suddenly turned a bend, looking for her way back to the main road, but she came across a dead-end alley. Her intimate proximity to the stone walls pressed in from all sides. Under her breath, she muttered and turned back to walk. She froze, though, as she did.

Behind her, the two men from the market had shown themselves to block her only exit.

First to say was the tall man with the ice-blue eyes. His voice was low, like dark velvet rubbing across her nerves. "No need to run, Cathy," he murmured with a fluid, disturbing calm. "We are not here to damage you. Not now.

The shorter person stayed silent. Rather, his eyes sparkled and his mouth opened to something between a sneer and a smile. He stepped forward, his hands laid sloppily at his sides, but Cathy couldn't get rid of the sensation that they were predator claws ready to attack.

She pushed herself to breathe even though panic shot through her. She refused to let them notice her level of anxiety. Seeking some sort of escape, she stepped back and her fingers stroking the cold stone of the wall behind her, found no use.

The lane was quite small. She got caught.

With his eyes fixed on hers, the towering man moved another step forward. Though the words were anything but comforting, he muttered, "You don't need to be afraid." "We are here for answers only."

Cathy's throat closed as she understood she lacked any answers they sought. Her mind ran for a way out, but before she could act the short man moved in front of her, his hand deliberately sluggish.

Her chest contracted, and eyes wide with terror she staggered back into the corner. The planet had reduced to only these two guys, the alley, and the unsaid menace hovering between them.

The voice of the tall guy was a subdued murmur, but it sliced through the quiet with great accuracy.

Cathy, please don't make us bring you. If you come voluntarily, that is better.

Maximo's lips curved into a subdued, knowing smile-the kind that made her shiver. It was not comforting, not friendly. solely chilly certainty.

"Cathy Simmons," he whispered, his voice deep and soft, like dark velvet, giving her an electric jolt.

Her pulse thung in her ears as she looked at him. His chilly, calculated eyes lacked blink action. They seemed to chew her soul apart. An odd, foreign sensation swept over her. She was not staring solely at him. She was experiencing him, the dark force emanating from him like heat.

Her instincts shouted that every inch of this man contained danger. She was fixed to the spot, nevertheless, for some reason that defies explanation and enthralled by his weight.

Then Maximo turned, his motions fluid like a shadow pulling back. "Get in the car," he said with relentless clarity. "We're heading out."

Cathy sat across from him, her body stiff and gaze concentrated on the road ahead, defying his frigid look. Her heart raced, and her ideas flew in a mess searching for something to say. All things. But nothing felt right given the man seated a few feet away.

Maximo's presence seemed as though it were a weight pressing on her chest, the air heavy with unsaid conflict. His jaw was hard, his face enigmatic, but more than anything the intensity in his eyes, the calm he projected, unsettled her.

She aimed to pay attention to everything except him. Under her was a soft leather seat. The lights pass outside. Still waking and alive, the city. But every time she turned to face him, her eyes landed on the exquisite cut of his suit, the sharpness of his features, the slight but clear sense of danger clinging to him like a second skin.

"Why are you pursuing this?" Though she tried, her voice came out shakily and less than she wanted.

Maximo kept his eyes fixed on the road, his hold on the steering wheel constant. "Because you need it," he said in a flat, unassuming tone devoid of explanation. That was the most basic response. The kind of response suggested he knew more than she did.

Her throat tightened as her pulse sped. Though she couldn't, her fingers yearned to ask questions and demand responses. The weight of the moment anchored her. She switched her gaze back to Maximo, but his face stayed blank, his concentration fixed on the road forward.

Was he even aware she had seen?

"Is this... protection?" asked. Fear and incredulity mixed as she spoke, and then she couldn't stop herself.

Maximo avoided her a glance; his eyes frigid but something more, something deeper, flickering behind them. His jaw tightened just so slightly. He said, "Protection," his voice low. Soon enough, you will understand.

Cathy's eyes strayed to the soaring stone walls ahead, casting out the hum of the city. With its large doors gently swinging open to greet them inside, the villa resembled a black sentinel. As the tyres stopped, the gravel driveway cracked under them.

As Maximo got out of the car, his form sliced across the night like a shadow and he said nothing. Cathy stepped out with reluctant legs as well. Her cold night air enveloped her, much different from the heat Maximo appeared to emanate. Every movement he made was deliberate, and controlled, akin to the predator he was.

Maximo motioned towards the large wooden doors of the villa and whispered, "Come inside," his voice low and nearly a command.

Cathy looked back. The villa's austere harsh, forceful design stood in sharp contrast to the beautiful beauty of Venice she had just left behind, almost frightening. But right now there was no choice. Her sneakers resounding on the stone sidewalk, she moved ahead, trailing him into the large entrance.

Though it held an unusual, dead silence, the interior was as majestic as the outside. Under the low illumination of chandeliers, high ceilings, soaring columns, and polished marble flooring shined. The air itself seemed heavy, as though secrets permeated everything. She felt uncomfortable, a tiny person in a room too big and too chilly.

Maximo brought her to a guest room, its simple design providing nothing except chilly, perfect luxury. The bed was big, covered in white linens, and a little sitting space at the window peered into the dark, quiet courtyard.

Maximo's voice burst through her ideas, "Rest here." His voice was so quiet, so under control that it simply made her more uncomfortable. "We will talk in the morning."

Cathy halted in the doorway, her fingers tightly curled around the doorknob. The room seemed to be closing in on her, quietly pressing against her skin. Though the words stuck in her throat, she wanted to ask him about the gun and about why she was there.

Maximo turned to go, his motions repeating. But Cathy saw something through the window as the door snapped closed behind him.

a statistic.

Outstanding outside.

Near the tall iron fence enclosing the villa, a shadow indistinguishable from the gloom of the grounds remained motionless. The man was tall, skinny, and armed. She could see the faint gleam of something metallic in the moonlight-perhaps a weapon?

Her heart missed a beat.

The guard stilled himself; his presence was a subdued threat.

Maximo moved with flowing ease, each step intentional, his presence dominating. He seated across from her, the distance between them hardly sufficient to keep the intensity from smothering her. He was an invisible force, relentless, unboundedly dangerous.

The clink of cutlery seemed to heighten the suspense in the room as the first course was set in front of them. Cathy's fingers hung over her fork; her appetite vanished. Though it was excellent, the meal seemed like the last thing she could be thinking about right now. She kept thinking about the pistol she had seen earlier, about the guard outside her window, about the grip of authority Maximo had over everything here.

Maximo looked never away from her. On her skin, she could feel it as though an unseen hand were dragging her towards him. Her anxiety was exacerbated by his calm demeanour; his dominance was evident, and for the first time in her life she was unsure of how to play the game.

"Eat," he said gently, the words as much an invitation as a directive. His voice was low, silky like the fabric of his suit. Though his tone was not demanding, there was no space for rebellion.

Though her tummy turned over, Cathy nodded and chewed. Though it tasted great, it had little effect to calm the tempest developing inside her. She felt more than just a guest here. something else as well.

Their eyes locked momentarily, the least movement in the air between them. The electricity was tangible, as though the simple act of their looking at each other would cause her to feel simultaneously vulnerable and exposed.

Maximo exclaimed, his voice shattering the quiet, "I'm not one for small talk." Still, I guess we ought to reach some understanding. He slanted back in his chair, perfectly. You are here, Cathy, for protection. That is it. Make sense?

His gaze fixed hers, probing, searching. She was unsure about how to answer or express the questions raging in her chest. Was this genuinely defence? Alternatively, may she be only a pawn in his universe?

Cathy reached for her wine glass and her fingers shook just slightly. Maximo's eyes tracked the movement, a minute change in his face suggesting something darker.

She dropped her hand down on the table without thinking; her fingertips brushed his edge.

Following their little conversation at the dinner table, Maximo had gone quiet. He had withdrawn into the shadows, his presence still felt in the room, but he no longer talked. His silence ate at her; it was a statement in and of itself that she could not understand. Maximo was different; she had always been able to read people and grasp their motivations. A maze of paradoxes, every more elusive than the previous.

Rising, she aimlessly wandered the room attempting to shake the discomfort crawling under her skin. She left this room unable to stay. Not when everything seemed overly weighty, too much. She had to get moving and think.

Her eyes strayed to the room's corner, though, as she walked the floor. Maximo watched her with the same fierce, impenetrable stare as his figure was just partially hidden by the darkness. Her breath seized in her throat as the room seemed to contract.

He had not gone anywhere. He had not said anything. Still, it seemed as though the silence had gotten more profound. Every inch of the villa felt as though it was closing in on her, his presence was overpowering and undetectable.

Fear mixed with something else Cathy couldn't describe as Cathy sensed the storm building inside her. She wanted to challenge him, demand the truth, why had he brought her here? Really, what was he looking for?

Her voice stammered, though, before she could say. He overreached himself. Too demanding.

Maximo forward then, his motions purposeful and fluid. She could see the rigidity in his features as he came into the light; his jaw closed ever so gently, as though he were suppressing something. something risky.

His voice was low, "You think you can keep your distance," he murmured. Still, you cannot. Not from myself.

Cathy stepped back attempting to keep some sort of control, her pulse accelerated and her hands shook. He approached too closely. Extremely risky.

He fixed his gaze on hers. Cathy, you will learn soon enough. This, us, has already begun, you will find. And it ends only when I say it does

"What would you like from me?" Her voice was confused and frustrated as the words flowed out before she could stop them.

Maximo's lips curved into a small smile, but it was hardly comforting. He moved slowly, his big frame throwing shadows across her. With every stride he made, the distance between them seemed to shrink.

"I told you already," he continued, his voice calm and low. "Protective."

But his eyes carried something deeper, something more that would chill her. Cathy stood rapidly, her chair dragging across the floor. Her heart hammering in her chest, she retreated. She responded, "I don't believe you," the words cutting even if the vulnerability was starting to show in her voice. Maximo, you are not only safeguarding me. You are keeping me here, near for another purpose.

Maximo did not falter. Stopped just inches from her, his presence overwhelming. She could feel the heat emanating from his body, his scent-a concoction of pricey cologne and something deeper, more lethal.

"You think I keep you here for my benefit?" he questioned, his voice a whisper but it slashed across the air like a razor. "You believe I am using you?" He moved nearer still, his breath warm across her cheek. "No, Cathy," I am presenting you with a choice. Still, you haven't yet worked that out.

Her pulse surged as she moved reflexively back, but Maximo moved faster. His hand rushed out, grasping her wrist with startling force before she could respond. His body pushed against hers as he drew her back towards him.

Her breath stopped as the shock of his touch shot through her. Neither of them moved at first. Time itself seemed to have stopped, leaving just the sound of the storm outside and their hearts pounding fiercely. The tension was intolerable, poised between them like a taut wire just ready to break.

Trying to release herself, she pushed against his chest, but his hold tightened and he drew her in. Cathy felt it, the heat between them, the unquestionable force drawing her towards him as his eyes met with hers.

Then Maximo kissed her, as though motivated by some unsaid directive.

Cathy's body shook as her mind spun with Maximo's kiss deepening. His hands went to her rear, dragging her closer as his heat seared her flesh. Just as much as the storm raging outside was chaotic, furious, and all-consuming, she could sense one roaring inside her.

She wanted to retreat from the intensity, but something prevented her. Her body deceived her while her intellect shouted for reason, for control. She melted into him, the heat between them a magnetic pull she was powerless to resist.

Maximo's hands slid to her waist, dragging her into him while his lips worked with a desire she had never imagined was feasible. Her hands found their way to his chest, grabbing his suit as if she needed to hang on to something real, something substantial, and her vertigo set in motion.

The room appeared to shut in on them, the flickering candles creating wild, untamed shadows on the walls that matched their intensity. The world outside seemed so far away like a far-off recollection lost of relevance. Now, the storm between them one that had been gathering since their first meeting-was all that counted.

Cathy's heart surged faster as Maximo's kiss slipped down her neck and his breath scorched her skin. She lost her ability to reason. Not breathed at all. He ate everything, including the lightning arcing between them with every touch and every kiss.

Then Maximo withdrew, his eyes black with longing, his breath laboured, as if the world had suddenly come back into focus.

Shaking, Cathy stood there trying to gather her breath. Her lips still throbbed from his kiss, and she struggled to gather herself. She turned to face him, the man who had carried her off her feet into this whirlpool, this anarchy. What recently occurred? Was that merely a moment of weakness? Was it something more, then?

Her body begged for more as her brain spun. Though her heart felt something deeper, the want flared through her veins. Inguilt? Contusion? She was unable to discern.

Maximo backed off, his eyes never leaving hers. "I warned you," he continued, his voice rough-a challenge in the words. "After this, you'll never be the same."

Her eyes lowered to her hands, quivering slightly as she struggled to calm her anxiety by fumbling with the buttons of her blouse.

Her gaze drifted to the bed, where Maximo had left his coat haplessly thrown. She suddenly caught the glitter of something on his hand.

The ring here.

It was clear, a complex pattern, the crest from her childhood house, the same emblem she had observed before. She had seen it in that vintage picture and the corner of her memory, buried for years. She was struck with awareness like a flashbulb.

Her fingers quivering, she grabbed for the ring and grasped it. Now imprinted in her brain, the symbol under the skin was a part of her past she could not avoid.

Uninvited and unexpected, her childhood house, the same crest, the same emblem hit her in a flashback. Memories washed back, confusing and overpowering.

Cathy lay fully awake, the weight of the night crushing down her breast, the silk sheets twisted about her body. Though lovely, the estate seemed stifling; its large, empty rooms were a sobering reminder of her solitude. Outside, the storm had passed into a gentle drizzle; the eerie soundtrack to the solitude within came from the rhythmic sound of raindrops pounding against the glass.

Maximo slept next to her, his deep, steady breathing. His body, a silent power next to hers, still felt too near and too strong. Cathy felt as though the shadows of his universe were engulfing her. She had come here for solutions, but all she had discovered was more ambiguity, more questions hovering like ghosts in the margins of her consciousness.

Her pulse accelerated, and she slid the blankets off, silently leaving the bed. Maximo had not moved; his strong form remained calm under the covers. Barefoot across the frigid marble floor, Cathy went quickly, trying not to make noise. She wanted distance from him, from the weight of his presence, room to breathe, to think.

The villa was dark; only the dim light from the corridor gave her enough sight to lead her towards the door. She stopped down the corridor to listen. Apart from the distant buzz of the storm outside, the home was calm. Turning the corner, Cathy saw she was in the study. The room was darkly lit, with hefty leather chairs strewn all around a big oak desk.

Her gaze looked about the room, but she was drawn to the sound of a subdued voice. The phone is used. Still lying on the side table in the living room, Maximo's phone

Her fingers shook slightly as she went over to grab the receiver, her heart racing. Though the tone was clear, with a subdued urgency, an edge of anxiety in the air, the talk was low and too delicate for her to completely hear.

Though his voice was subdued, Maximo's voice came through clearly and she might be the one. "There won't be any turning back if we play this right."

Cathy stopped, her breath seizing in her throat. She could be the only one. The words tasted like a smack. Whose was he referring to? The only sound filling the room as the silence stretched was her fast heartbeat.

Maximo's voice fell to a still lower mutter. Verify that she is kept close. She is too vital to lose right now.

Not with the questions chewing at her, not with the mysteries she could not escape, she could not be here. Maximo had kept her near for reasons she did not know, and the closer she approached the truth, the more deadly it felt.

She headed towards the door and her heart thumped in her chest. She had come to her decision. She did not yet trust him. Not sure what more he was hiding, she also couldn't stay at this villa. The door creaked softly, and she entered the hall, the frigid outside air calling her towards freedom.

She pulled her bag off the chair, just stuffing the basics. Her hands moved quickly; every second that passed thumping in her chest. She wanted nothing except for Maximo to wake up and discover her gone, but the idea of facing him once more-of confronting whatever this was intolerable.

With light but quick feet on the chilly stone floor, Cathy grabbed the remainder of her belongings and headed for the rear exit. She lacked a destination or a strategy, yet it made no difference. She owed it to get away.

The cool air struck her like a slap as she passed the rear door into the night, the villa silent. She could go free. For now at least.

But the heavy door behind her opened just slightly as she reached the grounds of the villa, and in the distance, someone moved among the shadows. Her imagination flashed Maximo's face, his icy eyes, his smile, the force in each of his every movement.

She raced but could not get away from the sudden tug of something deep inside the villa.

The door to her release smashed wide.

Inside Maximo woke with a start, his eyes opening to the vacant room next to him. His face was a mask of frigid wrath, and his eyes strayed to the door.

She had left. And every solution he had wanted to come upon with her.