The Mafia Romance Mini Big Bundle

Brutal Kiss
Chapter One
Isabella

Sometimes it feels as if my entire life has been nothing but a series of instructions.

Stand up straight! Sit like a lady. Chew more quietly! Don’t curse. Get better grades. Don’t wear that, it’s not proper. Don’t talk so loudly. Don’t talk so much. 

Most of it has been in regards to the mysterious future husband I’ll have one day. I’m told that he won’t like a girl who is too wild, too bold, too brash, too smart. He won’t want a wife who dresses immodestly, or who makes demands, or asks too many questions. Definitely not a wife who argues, or has her own opinions, or her own ideas.

In fact, from what I can tell, I’m supposed to be a beautiful, silent broodmare for some man who will improve my father’s fortunes. No one has ever asked me what I want or how I feel about it. It’s been very clearly communicated to me, in fact, that it doesn’t matter. My job is to stay as beautiful and pure as possible—both of which are things that aren’t really accomplishments, so far as I can tell. My thick black hair, deeply tan skin, mahogany brown eyes, and full lips, as well as my slender figure, are all gifts from my parents. My sister looks very much the same, only a little shorter than I am. As for the other—

I’ve been so sheltered from other men that I don’t think I could have done anything about it if I wanted to. There are a few young and handsome guards and many handsome soldiers working for my father, but none of them would dare even look at me for too long. My father would kill them on the spot if he thought they’d so much as flirted with me, and they all know it.

My younger sister, Elena, doesn’t seem to mind as much that we’re rarely allowed to leave the sprawling grounds of our family mansion, which is surrounded by high walls and security guards to keep our enemies out. My father has more than a few enemies—primarily the Gonzalez family cartel, and all our lives, we’ve been told that the walls are to keep us safe. We only leave with one or both of our parents and armed guards, but I privately think the walls are as much to keep us in as to keep others out.

Our house is a gilded cage, and I am its most prized bird.

Now my wings have been clipped even more. Today’s instruction was, do not leave your room, Isabella, not for anything. Normally I like being in my room. It’s a beautiful space, with a carved four-poster bed made from native zapote wood and a matching desk, wardrobe and vanity, thick woven and tasseled rugs on the floor, and an arched grey-blue stone fireplace. My desk is covered in books, both language books from my tutor and my own reading material. Most days, I’m more than happy to curl up in the leather armchair under a soft woven blanket or sit out on my balcony in the sun and read. 

Today, though, I find it irritating—mostly because I’ve been ordered to stay inside. My whole life, I’ve been the dutiful and obedient eldest daughter, minding my manners, learning all the lessons about charm and elegance that my mother and tutors have had to teach, and avoiding all the things I’ve been told to avoid. Elena has been subject to a lot of the same rules, but they don’t matter nearly as much. I’m the oldest, and it’ll be on me to make the best marriage—a union that will strengthen our family and bring my father more wealth, and in turn, means a better marriage for my little sister as well.

A sharp, small knock comes at the door, startling me out of my thoughts, and I fly towards it. I’m hoping it’s my mother or father or a guard coming to tell me that I can go downstairs, but instead, it’s Elena, standing there with a small, mischievous smile on her face.

My sister is every bit as beautiful. She has a sweeter, rounder face than I do, her hair usually kept on a braid back around her head, her dark eyes full of sweetness and the tiniest bit of mischief. She’s not only my sister, but my best friend—our whole lives, we’ve lived in this house, privately tutored, kept tucked away from the outside world. So we’re each other’s closest and only confidantes. We never leave this place alone, only occasionally on outings with our mother or to Mass with the whole family. 

“Let’s go out to the garden,” Elena says, grabbing my hand. “The flowers are just starting to bloom. It’s beautiful out there.”

“I’m not supposed to leave my room,” I tell her flatly. “Papá said—”

“As if you care.” Elena wrinkles her nose. “I know you’ve been sitting here all morning thinking of how to sneak out. José just went to make another round. We can get out there if we’re quick.”

It’s impossible to say no to my sister. Three years younger than me, she’s shy with others but lively and outgoing when it’s just the two of us, as if I’m the only person she can truly be herself with. The thing that hurts the most, that I dread the most, when I think of the looming marriage that I know my father is planning for me, isn’t the idea of being married off to someone I don’t know and might even hate, it’s having to leave my sister.

I’ll be able to visit home, of course, and Elena will visit me. There will be dinners, holidays, gatherings, festivals, and celebrations of all kinds for me to see her at. But I won’t see her every day, as I’m used to, and just the thought makes my chest ache with loneliness.

With that thought in mind, it’s even more impossible to tell her no. I let her drag me out of the room and down the tiled hall, the warmth of the day shining through the windows as we hurry towards the back entrance that leads out into the gardens, looking around for any guards that might catch us.

This house is a beautiful prison.

It’s not the first time I’ve thought that, although it feels ungrateful every time I do. I have everything I could ever want—beautiful clothes, the best food, the most skilled tutors, all the books I can read, and the most gorgeous mansion to live in. One day I’ll be married to someone who will give me all of those same things. I’ll spend my entire life in unimaginable luxury, all because of the family I was born into.

I can’t help wishing, though, that I could taste freedom. Real, unfettered freedom. That I could have a chance to discover who Isabella Santiago is, outside of my family. It feels spoiled, considering everything I already have, but I can’t ever fully shake that desire.

Even as impossible as it is.

Elena drags me all the way out of the high arched glass doors that lead out into the garden and into the riot of greenery, color and warmth. The path is terracotta stone, winding through the shrubs and flowers to a huge fountain with a rearing horse spilling water from its open mouth, and past that, more flowers and bushes and climbing vines. Farther down, there’s a greenhouse, and Elena skips down the path ahead of me, her rounded face shining as she turns it up to the warm sun above us.

In March, mornings and evenings are still cold in the desert, but midday can be beautiful. Not too hot yet, but pleasant, I breathe in the scent of flowers and bask in the sunshine, feeling the tiniest hint of rebellious freedom. It’s not being away from the compound, but it’s a little rebellion, all the same, being out here in the gardens instead of locked away in my room like my father wants.

“Come on!” Elena calls. “There are new plants in the greenhouse and butterflies. I want to see.”

I follow her, shivering as a cool breeze passes through the garden, only to come up short when I hear a deep voice behind me.

“You’re supposed to be in your room, Miss Isabella.”

I flinch, turning around slowly. Standing on the path behind me, a few feet away, is José, the guard assigned to keep an eye on the floor where my bedroom is. He’s wearing black cargo pants and a tight black t-shirt that does nothing to hide the broad muscles of his chest or straining biceps. His black hair is buzzed short, his strong jaw clenched with irritation as he stares me down. There’s a gun on his hip, and an assault rifle slung across his back, but they don’t scare me. No one here would dare lay a hand on me. 

I am, for all intents and purposes, a princess.

A cartel princess. 

I’m the eldest daughter of Ricardo Santiago, and that has always offered me protection. Too much protection, even, for my liking. 

I let myself look at José for just a second, curiously. He’s one of the younger men in my father’s employ, probably not much older than me, and one of the most handsome. It’s clear he spends most of his free time in the gym—his arms are huge, and even his fatigues that are meant to be loose-fitting cling to his thighs in a way that suggests the size that fits his waist can barely contain the muscles lower down. And as for anything else—

I don’t actually know what a naked man looks like. I know some of the terms—cock, for one, picked up from filched Harlequin romances that my mother and grandmother read, the ones with shirtless pirates or rakish lords and bodice-ripped women on the covers. I’ve eagerly read the descriptions of what men and women do together in bed. Still, I have no idea what a cock might look like outside of a diagram in a biology book that didn’t look all that attractive. But those women in the books are always going on about how desperately they want all that straining, throbbing flesh, so there must be something to it.

One day, not too far in the future, I’m going to be required to hand over the oh-so-precious virginity that my parents have prattled on about all these years. And it won’t be to a ravishing pirate or a handsome lord. It’ll be to some man who benefits my family, probably a son of another cartel, maybe even Diego Gonzalez’s son, as much as that idea horrifies me. But it would create an alliance that my family very much needs. 

The most I can hope for is that the man I’m handed over to won’t be too old or too ugly or too offensive or cruel. But for just a moment, as I let my gaze linger on José for an instant too long, I let myself imagine what it would be like to give my virginity to a man like him instead. Someone young, gorgeous, fit—probably passionate, too. I imagine myself teasing him over a matter of days, flirting, pushing him to the edge until one night he snuck into my bedroom, unable to control his desire any longer—

“Miss Isabella.” His voice cuts through my thoughts, thick and accented, sending a shiver down my spine—unsurprising, considering what I was just picturing. There’s an unusual flush to his cheeks and a tightness to his jaw that makes me think he’s not entirely unaware of what I was envisioning, and it sends a small thrill of excitement through me. That flicker of danger gives me a rush of adrenaline, something I’m wholly unfamiliar with feeling and already crave more of.

“You’re not supposed to be out here right now, and neither is your sister. Miss Elena!” He calls out her name loudly enough for her to stop mid-skip halfway down the path to the greenhouse, turning around to face us with a guilty flush on her cheeks. “Your father is in a meeting with some very important and very dangerous people. It would not do for them to see his prized daughters at all, let alone running around like this.” He pins me with a disapproving gaze, which seems faintly ridiculous to me, considering that he can’t be more than two or three years older than I am. “This is not appropriate.”

I let out a long, huffing sigh. I’m so tired of being told what’s appropriate. I feel like my entire life has been bookended by that one stupid word. But I don’t really have any option but to obey. José wouldn’t take me back bodily to my room—he wouldn’t dare—but he could go get my mother…or worse, my father. I can’t imagine my father’s rage if he were interrupted in the middle of an important meeting because I’m being disobedient—a thing that I’m usually very careful not to be.

Rebellion has no place in my life. But lately, with the specter of marriage looming, I’ve felt more trapped and restless than ever. I can hear the clock ticking, warning me that time is running out, that all my chances for anything other than exactly the life that was planned for me are growing thin.

“Fine,” I snap, tossing my long black hair back with an attitude I don’t really feel. What I feel is defeated—but I don’t want to let it show. If this is how my life is here with my family, how much more trapped will I feel when I’m with my husband? How much less freedom will I be given?

“Come on, Elena,” I call out, seeing my sister’s disappointed face. “We’ll hang out in my room until Papá is done with his meeting. I’ll show you the new book I got.”

She purses her lips, but nods, pushing past José to join me as we head back towards the glass double doors that will lead us back into the mansion. She doesn’t look at him the way I did, and I wonder how my sister feels about her own marriage prospects in the future. We don’t ever talk about it, in the same way we don’t talk about our Abuela passing away or the danger of the neighboring cartels. Some things are too upsetting to talk about, so we pretend they’ll never happen. I handled my future nuptials much the same way for a long time.

But it’s rapidly becoming impossible not to think about. Elena and I pass the next few hours in my room, reading and chatting and looking out the window, wondering when we’ll be allowed to roam around the house and grounds again. It feels like forever, and I wonder what on earth could take so long in any meeting.

Until finally, there’s a heavy knock on my door, and I open it to see José standing there.

“Miss Isabella,” he says, his voice cool and flat. “Your parents would like to see you downstairs.”