For the second time in her life, Liliana found herself awaking in the arms of Marcello D'Onofrio. Only this time he was no longer her fiancé but her husband.

Husband. Just acknowledging the word left a bad taste in her mouth. A metallic taste on her tongue like blood filling her mouth, had her rising unsteadily to her feet to escape him. The thin blanket that had been wrapped around her shoulder slipped and fell onto Marcello's still sleeping figure; undisturbed by her movement as he lay slumped against the swing chair.

He was undressed again, wearing only pyjama bottoms and no shirt. She could acknowledge that some people would find him attractive - but truthfully she couldn't decide whether it was nerves or her own attraction to him that had her heart racing in his presence at times. Or if it were a combination of the two. That was always the problem with men wasn't it? She knew enough dangerous men in her life to have developed an understandable fear of what they were truly capable of. Marcello was recognised to be one of the most dangerous men of their generation - operating in the same league as her own grandfather and cousins. She'd be a fool not to fear him in some respects. So what kind of attraction would that be, influenced by fear?

Years of training has hardened his body and gifted him with a muscular, sculpted figure. His Italian heritage provided him with tanned olive skin and thick black hair, a narrow nose and dark eyes that did well to hide every thought of his when he looked at her. So yes, she could admit he was an attractive man; but the prospect of some women envying her position as his wife was laughable.

She supposed she was luck that Marcello seemed to be a man who took care of himself physically, and who didn't have yellowed teeth, stunk of cigars or failed to take care of his personal hygiene. But she was lucky in that sense, and only that sense; as no woman was lucky to be forced into marriage, no matter how favourable their husband may seem.

Liliana escaped to their bedroom to shower and dress for the day, all the while entirely too aware of her new reality. This was their bedroom. And when they returned to his home in New York, would it be their bedroom they stayed in? Would it be their bathroom that they shared? Would it be their life together until death? Had she now lost herself in a marriage she did not want?

Wives to the mafia were seen as just that, wives. Wives until they were mothers.

Already her head ached from the multitude of drinks she'd had during their wedding reception last night - an attempt to drown her sorrows despite her usual avoidance of alcohol. She didn't need to be dwelling on such depressing thoughts so early in the day.

When she emerged from their bedroom to the open plan living space of their villa, she found Marcello surprisingly awake and sat by his laptop with a coffee in hand. He was still undressed, and the blanket they had shared last night lay folded at his side on the table next to him. It seemed he had not yet ventured into their bedroom while she had been in the en-suit.

"Working already?" She asked, tilting her head slightly as she observed him. He was scowling at whatever was visible on the screen, typing becoming brutal as whatever anger he was feeling overcame him entirely. "Marcello?"

He didn't answer her, lips pulled down as he continued to work - perhaps not even aware she was there as she called out to him. She felt truly invisible.

"I guess I'll just spend the day sunbathing... again." As she had nearly everyday in Belize.

When Liliana returned only an hour later - tired of of the heat and solitude - Marcello was still working silently in the corner of the lounge.

It was odd to see him in such a state of undress so late in the day without one of his many suits and brushed back hair. He looked so dishevelled - so far from the mafia don she knew he was. It was a little unsettling if she was being honest.

He didn't acknowledge her presence, didn't so much as glance up at her from the screen of his laptop. The only evidence that he had moved at all since she last saw him was the fresh cup of coffee and his mobile that now sat on the table in front of him.

As she passed by her fingers itched and before Marcello could react she had reached out slammed his laptop shut. He barely had time to retract his fingers before they were trapped beneath the sleek screen.

"Fanculo! Che diavolo?" He swore in fluent Italian, redirecting that hard scowl of his onto her. She didn't flinch under his anger, crossing her arms and standing tall in front of him.

"Sorry." Hey eyes narrowed and lips thinned. "I figured it was the only way to get your attention considering your penchant for ignoring me."

Marcello's jaw clenched, thick brows furrowing even deeper into a glare.

"I have work to do."

"Don't you dare reopen that laptop Mercello," Liliana warned in a low tone. He had one hand on top of his retched appliance as he speared her with a mocking smile.

"I see we're back to our sharp selves once again. You barely spoke two words to me yesterday, I was beginning to grow worried," he said and Liliana knew every word was coated in a thick tone of sarcasm. "Don't think now that we're married that you have any semblance of authority over me. I have work to do, so I will do it. Do not dare tell me what I can and can't do; you'd do well to remember that."

Her hands curled into tight fists as she hissed, "Are you threatening me?"

Marcello scoffed and the look he sent her nearly had her screaming in frustration. Oh, he was definitely threatening her.

She was acquainted with self-defence enough to know that if he even dared to lay a hand on her she would show him just how dangerous she could be. Her aunt - the same woman who had commanded her to never allow a man to hurt her, to never allow him to bend her to his will - had been insistent on Liliana being able to defend herself. She ensured Liliana knew self defence, and she ensured Liliana knew how to handle herself around a gun.

She may not have a number of world class killers at her disposal like her husband, but she sure as hell knew how to make a grown man cry.

"What am I meant to do with my time here, Marcello? If you insist on working, what am I meant to do here on our honeymoon?"

"Surely you don't actually want to spend time with me?"

No, not really. But what other options did she have?

"I've spent nearly my entire time in Belize alone, trying to come to terms with this marriage. Solitude is rarely fun when it's forced upon you. If we must stay here for the sake of pretences, you can't expect me to spend our entire honeymoon alone," she scoffed, and then in a quieter tone added, "I've tried calling my aunt and cousins but none of them are responding."

She saw his glare falter ever so slightly.

"They're most likely still travelling home."

"They've left?"

Mercello paused at her tone - at the disbelief behind her words - seeming hesitant as he explained, "Everyone left this morning."

They hadn't bothered to say goodbye.

She looked away from him, features hard as she muttered, "So I truly am alone. Fantastic." Her hard stance relaxed somewhat, shoulders slumping forward as whatever anger she had felt leached from her body. She didn't both to say anything more, and didn't look towards Marcello again as she stalked off towards their bedroom.

***

That afternoon, Liliana dragged herself from the bedroom to eat dinner. She didn't spare a glance in Marcello's direction, and didn't try to speak to him as she searched the kitchen for food. When she had everything she needed, she headed out to the beach again, to eat alone with only the company of the ocean and her book. She had already read it to completion once while in Belize but there was little else to do.

What she didn't expect, five minutes later, was for Marcello to join her. In his hand a plate of food and what she presumed was a glass of whisky. He didn't say anything as he sat down beside her on the blanket she had laid out, and she only glanced at him in silence, one eyebrow arched in mild disbelief.

He had finally changed now, in black trousers and a white shirt he had unbuttoned at the top and rolled the sleeved to his elbows. Even without his suit jacket and tie, he still seemed far more put together than Liliana in her comfortable skirt and vest and the large hat that shaded her from the sun. Marcello seemed like the kind of man who was always groomed to the highest standard at any occasion, and even now, out on the beach under the setting sun he upheld that image.

"And here I thought you'd be too busy to eat," Liliana said, aware of how petty she was being. But she was still bitter about their last conversation, about the day she had spent alone. Mostly she was bitter at the feeling of abandonment that came with her families departure.

Marcello's sharp intake of breath was unmissable.

A slow smirk encompassed his expression, "I've learnt how desperate my wife is for my company. I wouldn't want to disappoint."

"Don't be cruel," she sighed, averting her eyes to her plate. She didn't want to be teased right now, not when she was feeling so low already.

"I wasn't trying to be," he said.

Liliana shot him a dry look that suggested she thought otherwise. His smirk was gone now but there was a certain spark of interest in his gaze as he observed her.

"Is it usually this easy to get under your skin?"

"You seem to have a special skill of doing so," she grumbled, taking a long swig of water from her glass. Even now, when Marcello seemed so relaxed, she felt on edge beside him. How far could she push him? How far could she revolt against him without facing the consequences?

"I'm thrilled to hear it. Perhaps I should dedicate more time to getting under your skin, and make sure my wife gets the attention she needs."

"I've heard it's bad to upset an Italian wife, they can have awful tempers, and a penchant for violence," Liliana warned, a heat rising in her cheeks. "But, unfortunately, I wouldn't want to face your father's wrath."

Marcello shrugged, seeming amused as he said, "I'm not sure he would mind. He's quite fond of you."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Oh?" He lifted a brow.

"He's threatened me on more than one occasion and I always notice him staring at me with that dark look of his."

"That's just how he is," Marcello dismissed. "He's not a warm man."

"He sounds like a wonderful father figure."

Marcello didn't react. He held her gaze in silence for a moment too long before breaking the building tension. "Why are we talking about my father, when we should be talking about us?"

"And what is there to talk about?" Liliana rolled her eyes. "We're married, and we will be until we die. We'll return to New York, where you will continue with your work and I will be expected to fill the role of dutiful wife. My whole life has been laid out before me and I have no choice in the matter," Liliana recited the words as if by script, for it had been the same thoughts that had been running through her mind since she first learned of their marriage.

Marcello frowned, leaning closer on one arm. "Tell me about you. As your husband I'll need to know more about you than anyone else. I want to know everything."

Not because he had an interest in her, but because it was what was needed to keep up pretences of their fake marriage.

"And will I know the most about you?" Liliana cocked her head, already aware of the answer. His silence confirmed such. He wanted to understand her fully while she would remain oblivious to all of him. He was allowed the freedom of his secrets, while she was expected to lay out every inch of herself for him to examine. And what did he wish to gain from that knowledge? Ammunition to control her? To mould her into the perfect wife she 'needed' to be? "I'm sure you already know everything you need to about me. You have enough resources to get a thorough background check."

"Tell me anyway." There was an edge to his tone that suggested this was more than a request. Did she dare defy him in this moment? Or was it best to follow his command for now, until she could learn to assess these moods and better judge how far she could push him?

"I've lived with my aunt for the past three years," she answered simply, in a tired tone. She would only tell him the basic, surface level information he needed to know, and would pray that would be enough to satisfy him for now. "I worked in my aunt's restaurant while I finished high-school, and then I continued to work for her full time for the last two years. I had began to consider returning to school, and learning of better ways to help the family business. It's not just a front for us, you see, it's my aunt's livelihood."

Liliana kept her gaze lowered to a spot on his angular jaw, unable to meet his eyes. She cleared her throat, and glanced away for a second to stare out at the ocean as uneasiness swirled in her stomach. She had not thought about her plans for the future since she was told about this marriage.

"I suppose I won't have the luxury any more." Had she been alone she would have cried over such a realisation. But her pride kept any tears at bay.

"You know I can't grant you the same freedom you had," Marcello murmured. "As my wife your safety will always be in question."

"Many evils have been chasing my grandfather and cousins over the years. I'm no stranger to threats or attempts on my life. I've always survived." Liliana's chest was tight, like a fist gripped her heart tighter with every word he spoke. "I've been able to continue normal life with the addition of bodyguards just like the men in my life."

Liliana abandoned her dinner entirely. She had barely eaten any of it but this turn of topic left her feeling sick.

"I am not your grandfather. I am not your cousins." Marcello spoke through gritted teeth.

Liliana laughed, the hollow sound almost sharp enough to cut through flesh.

"You think your enemies are not identical? The countries may be differ, but the danger is all the same. My grandfather has been in power for far longer than you have and I guarantee he has made more enemies in his lifetime."

"I will not have you roaming around New York as you please, putting yourself in more danger than is necessary!" He berated, the volume of his voice rising.

She flinched, but fear did not stop her from snapping back, "So I am to become nothing more than your trophy wife? Locked away at home to be punished simply for existing?"

"This is how it has to be! This is what you accepted by becoming my wife."

His words hit Liliana just as brutally as a hand to her face. Tears pooled in her eyes as she glared at him.

"I didn't accept anything," she hissed.

In haste, Liliana stood to her feet, sand kicking out from around her, and stalked back into their villa.

***

No more than half an hour later Liliana was exiting their bathroom in her pyjamas, make-up free with her hair tied up, ready for bed. She didn't care how early in the evening it was. She was upset and she was exhausted.

She ignored Marcello entirely as he sat stiffly on their bed, a hard stare fixed on her, and snatched a pillow and the grey blanket they had shared before walking off and leaving him alone in the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" Marcello asked in disbelief, quick to follow her out. "You're going to sleep on the couch?"

"Yes," she bit out, shifting the couch cushions to make things more comfortable for herself. Like hell was she going to spend the night in the same bed as him.

"Liliana," Marcello chastised. "Don't be so childish."

"Don't tell me what to do!" she snapped, jaw clenching as he stepped too close for comfort.

"I will when you're acting like this! Gesù, you're behaving like a bambino," he argued incredulously.

"I deserve the right to act out when I'm only nineteen and have been sold off like cattle to a misogynist brute like you!"

A rough hand gripped suddenly at her jaw, the hold almost bruising. She winced as he pulled her face only an inch form his. Marcello's expression was frighteningly dark, his mouth set in a firm line and brows furrowed deeply.

"Come to bed," he demanded hotly.

"No."

***

Marcello had yet to fall asleep, all too aware of the furious woman out in the lounge. Anger pulsed through every inch of him at the memory of her defiance and he was one second away from storming out there and dragging her back to bed with him out of frustration.

How could such a tiny woman illicit such a violent reaction from him? She was only a measly five-four - if he had to guess - formed entirely of wild dark curls and fiery eyes and yet she was so successful in riling his anger.

Ten minutes passed and he was no closer to falling asleep than before. He couldn't explain why he was so bothered by her refusal to sleep beside him, other than to acknowledge her actions as an act of pure defiance against him. He wasn't used to people refusing him. He wasn't used to being defied to succinctly and successfully.

With an tiresome groan, Marcello rolled out of bed to where his wife now slept. The bitter scowl that captured her face in sleep was more than enough indication that she was not comfortable on the small couch that only just accommodated her small stature. They were clearly not designed to be slept upon.

Arms winding under her shoulders and knees, Marcello grunted as he lifted her body up, her head falling to rest on his shoulder as her warm, breath danced across his jaw. Even in her sleep she seemed like an angry little thing, that scowl still present. And Marcello had seen enough of her anger already as she shouted at him, hands flying and hair flailing. Any sane woman would fear him too much to speak to him in such way.

Liliana was going to be quite the handful when they returned home, of that he could be sure.





Q. How are you feeling about Mercello? Yay or Nay?