Arranged Mafia Marriage

Axel

A scream pierces through the blankness in my head. What the hell? Who’s that? I try to open my eyelids, but they seem to be weighed down. Darkness crowds in on my subconscious and I push it away. I crack open my eyes as she screams again. I turn my face in the direction of the scream, watch as the tiny dark-haired woman grapples with a man wearing a pair of black pants and shirt. The lower half of his face is covered with a mask. He has a gun.

He has a gun.

My pulse rate ratchets up. The beeping of the machine linked to me increases in intensity. The man raises his free hand and strikes the woman. The force of the blow carries her across the floor. She hits the wall and crumples there.

The beeping speeds up even further, until it’s one long discordant note. Anger slices through me and it’s not because I know her… Or do I? I am not sure, but it’s wrong to hit a woman… Especially that woman. My woman. Jesus, she’s not my woman. Where the hell did that thought come from?

I push up from the bed, only my arms give way and I collapse back. The man pulls out his gun, raises it in my direction. My heart slams into my ribcage. The beeping of the monitor linked to my chest increases in intensity, and I didn’t think that was possible.

Asshole points his gun at me and takes a step in my direction. My heartbeat intensifies and reverberates in my skull. Adrenaline floods my veins. I push over onto my side, roll away just as the pillow next to me explodes.

Fucking hell. Bastard’s going to kill me, and I’m lying here unprotected. Every part of my body screams in protest as I force my muscles to obey my commands. I roll over further, drop to the floor. The needle stuck into my arm is wrenched out and the tape rips out my hair on my arm. Fuck! Blood spurts from the wound, but that’s the least of my concerns. Pain squeezes up my spine. Another bullet slams into the floor next to me.

Motherfucker! He’s gonna take me out, and as if that’s not bad enough, when I am in a hospital gown. Nothing against hospital gowns; it’s just that I’d prefer to go without my ass on display to the world at large.

I glance up to find him standing over me. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I will not die. Will not. The skin around his eyes tighten and I know the asshole is laughing. Anger squeezes my chest. The blood pumps in my ears. Sweat pours down my face as I grab the edge of the bed. Every muscle in my body protests and my arms and legs tremble as I push up to my feet. Or try to, anyway. My biceps spasm and my body refuses to obey me.

I collapse back onto the floor and the impact knocks the breath out of me. F-u-c-k. Sparks flash behind my eyes. My stomach twists and bile sears my throat. Darkness flickers at the corners of my vision. I shove it aside, glance up and into the barrel of his gun. He depresses the trigger; I squeeze my eyes shut. Then, I hear the thump of the bullet as it embeds in the floor next to me.

I snap open my eyelids to find the man is no longer standing over me. Turn my head, lock my gaze with my would-be-assassin’s sightless eyes. Blood trickles out of a wound between his eyebrows.

The breath rushes out of me, the tension drains out, and my arms and legs tremble.

“Here, take my hand.”

I turn my face in the direction of the voice, and this time, come face to face with features which are so damn familiar.

“Fuck,” I growl. That’s when darkness overwhelms me.

When I open my eyes next, I am on the bed again and he’s standing in front of me. The intruder’s body is gone, along with the blood, and all of the pieces of glass have been swept away. I glance at the window to find the pane has been replaced. Huh?

“My men cleaned the room.” The man scowls at me, “Also, replaced your bedclothes. You’re welcome.”

“How is she?” I rasp.

“If you mean Theresa, she’s shaken, but she’ll survive.”

Theresa, so that’s her name. “Asshole threw her against the wall,” I try to ball my fists and find I am clutching something between my fingers. I glance down to find I am holding something purple in color…something that resembles a hair tie. Her hair tie? Green eyes, thick auburn hair, curves that could drive a man to madness. Anger sweeps through me as I close my fingers around the colorful restraint. “He pointed a gun at her,” I cough.

“Now, you know,” the man retorts in a hard voice.

“What the fuck do you mean by-” I burst out coughing. When the bout subsides, I sink back against the pillows.

The man, who is not me, but looks a helluva lot like me, snatches up the glass of water with the goddamn straw and holds it to my mouth. Fuck, if I don’t hate being an invalid, but the burning in my throat demands that I lock my lips around the straw and suck. The water trickles down my throat, soothing it somewhat. He places the glass back on the bedstead. “I would introduce myself, but you know me already.”

“Do I?” I rasp. My throat hurts, my head throbs, and underneath it all is a lingering heaviness, probably from whatever drugs they are pumping into me.

“You shot at me?” The man curls his fingers into fists.

“Join the queue,” I drawl. “You’re not the first man that I pointed a gun at, and you won’t be the last. But as to who you are?” I reach into my memories but a white haze engulfs my brain. “Nope, sorry; don’t remember. Clearly, you weren’t anyone of consequence, else it might have stuck in my mind?”

His jaw tightens, “To answer your earlier question, you held a gun to my wife’s forehead, you testa di cazzo.”

“Did I, now?” I pretend to think, not that it matters. I can’t remember shit of what happened to land me here in this bed.

“Yes, you did, you stronzo. You pulled a gun on her. You blackmailed her into helping you spy on me and my family, or don’t you remember that either?”

That seems about right, though I can’t say I remember all of the details. Apparently, the one time I am telling the truth, no one wants to believe me. What a fucking joke. I roll my shoulders. Hold on, do I know my name at least? “I’m Axel;” the words are out before I can stop myself.

The man scowls at me. “Evidently, you can remember your name.”

“It must be instinctive,” I say slowly. The breath whooshes out of me and my muscles relax a little. Thank fuck, I was able to remember my name, at least, but why the hell had I shot at this man, who is, clearly, related to me? Or pointed a gun at his wife.

“What else do you remember?” The man’s jaw hardens.

“What’s it to you?” I yawn, and his features grow angry.

“I should have let that motherfucker ‘s bullet take you,” he snaps.

“Why didn’t you?”

His features contort. He closes the distance between us, then grabs the front of my hospital gown. “Now listen here, you pezzo di merda, if you think I am going to let you get away with this pretense of losing your memory, then you don’t know me, you-”

“Christian, let go of him,” a man admonishes as he enters the room.

I take in his build, his features, the dark hair. He resembles the other guy, so I guess, his features resemble mine. Authority rolls off of his shoulders as he pauses on the other side of my bed.

“Let go of your triplet, Christian.”

“Triplet?” I stare between them as Christian releases me and steps back. “Did you say triplet?” I ask again.

She, too, had mentioned triplets, hadn’t she?

“Didn’t you notice the resemblance?” the newcomer asks.

“He’s nowhere as good-looking as me,” I retort.

Christian’s feature grow stonier.

The new guy chuckles, then turns it into a cough. He jerks his chin in my direction, “Good to have you back, fratello.”

“Can’t say I share the sentiments, fratello.” Christian glares at me.

“Another swear word, I take it?”

The other guy’s eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t speak Italian?”

“Not a word,” I assure him.

“We’ll have to rectify that.” His lips quirk.

“And you are-?”

“Michael,” he holds out his hand.

“Axel,” I murmur. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t shake your hand; trying to conserve energy here.”

“As you should.” He peers into my features. “That’s quite a brave thing you did back there, taking a bullet for Theresa.”

“Can’t say I remember any of it.” And good thing too, because taking a bullet for someone else? Nope, not something I’d do.

“The doc says it’s because of the bullet you took,” Michael informs me. “While it didn’t hit anything vital, it was a shock to your system, which has resulted in some parts of your brain shutting down to protect you. It’s normal to be groggy and unsettled for some time as you recover from your coma.”

“Are you siding with him on this?” Christian glares at Michael. “After everything he did to me and Aurora, you are giving him the benefit of the doubt.”

“It’s the doctor’s diagnosis,” Michael says mildly. “There’s no reason for him to lie, is there?’

“No reason to believe this stronzo when he says he doesn’t remember the events of what transpired, is there?” Christian shoots back.

“Chillax,” I tip my chin in his direction, and even that motion sends vibrations of pain thudding through my head. “I wish I were lying, but this time, sadly, I speak the truth-a first for me, I assure you.”

“At least, you are truthful about your lying.” Michael’s lips curls.

“Got nothing to lose. In fact, it’s in my interest to tell the truth, considering I am not going anywhere for a while.”

“Hmm,” Michael strokes his chin, “what is the last thing you remember anyway?”

I narrow my gaze on him. “A phone call. I had a phone call for a new assignment and then,” I shake my head, “nothing after that.”

“How convenient,” Christian scoffs, at the same time that Michael narrows his gaze on me.

“An assignment?” he asks. “What kind of assignment was it?”

“I don’t remember all the details.” I shake my head. “I’m sure it will come back to me, but from what I recall, it was related to…” I squeeze the bridge of my nose, “related to tracking down you guys.”

“You mean killing one of us? Namely, me?” Christian snorts.

“I was just obeying orders; it was nothing personal.”

“Nothing personal?” Christian’s features harden, “I almost died, you carogna!”

“From what I can see, you’re still alive.” I smirk.

His jaw tics, his nostril’s flare, color smears his cheeks, and he reaches over and grabs the collar of my gown.

“Hey,” Michael grips his shoulder, “let him go, Christian.”

His grip tightens on me. I cough.

“Now,” Michael snaps.

Christian grits his teeth, but he releases me. I collapse onto the pillows, draw in a lungful of air and my chest hurts. Fucking hell, I really am weak at the moment. No sense antagonizing these chaps when I am unable to hold my own against them. “Trust me, I have no reason to be lying about my predicament.”

Michael lowers his arm to his side, “I do believe he’s telling the truth.”

Christian turns on Michael, “So, you’re willing to forget the fact that he threatened you, as well?”

Michael surveys my features, “Only because the doctor backs him up.”

“Maybe the doctor is wrong,” Christian growls. “Maybe this asshole got to him and has been able to get him to lie on his behalf.”

Michael tilts his head and looks at me. “Have you gotten the doctor to lie on your behalf?”

“Me?” I widen my gaze, “Of course, not.”

“See?” Michael raises his shoulder.

“Fucker’s lying,” Christian tightens his fists at his sides.

“Stay back, fratello,” Michael says in a soft voice. “You’re still grieving for your triplet and seeing him is bound to trigger memories.”

“Fuck that,” Christian shakes his head as if to clear it. “This asshole can’t be my brother.”

“The resemblance is uncanny, you have to admit.” I shrug. “Not that it isn’t creepy to be talking to someone who looks very much like me.”

“The resemblance is all we have in common.” Christian widens his stance. “After what you did to my wife, I’ll never accept you as my brother.”

“Speaking of,” I glance between them, “does our triplet have a name?”

Christian’s shoulder go solid.

Simultaneously, Michael says, “Xander. His name is Xander.”

“So, when do I get to meet this Xander?”

Christian draws himself up to his full height. “You don’t.” Spinning on his heels, he heads out the door.

“What was that about?” I frown after him.

“Xander’s dead.”

I turn to Michael, “He’s…dead?” Wait, I think Theresa mentioned that…

“He was the unfortunate victim of a car bomb that our father planted in my wife’s car.”

Damn, can’t trust family these days, can you?

“So, let me get this right. You tell me that I am one of a trio of triplets, then inform me in the next breath that one of them is dead?”

“You can see why it feels to us like you are Xander returned to us?” Michael murmurs.Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

“I am not Xander, though.”

“And no one knows it better than I. I was the one who had to identify his body at the morgue.”

“It was us who buried him though…all of us.” Another man strides into the room, then pauses when he sees us. His features pale, before he wipes all expression from his face. He walks over to stand next to Michael. “I’m Luca,” He jerks his chin.

“Axel,” I mutter. “Let me guess; you are another brother?”

“The second.” His features close.

O-k-a-y, what happened there? Seems like it’s a touchy topic for Luca to be born the second. “Guess you’re the spare, huh?”

Luca scowls, “What the hell do you mean?”

“You know, the heir and the spare.” I raise my shoulder, “You’re the spare.”

His features grow thunderous. “Fuck you,” he says in a low voice.

I chuckle, then wince when the pain in my head intensifies.

“Anyone else in this infernal shit-show I still need to meet?” I drawl.

“You’re not in control of your emotions; being shot at and then attacked can do that to a man,” Michael drums his chest, “so I’ll forgive you this indiscretion.”

“Indiscretion?” I laugh. All the muscles in my body seem to seize up, pain clouds my vision and I gasp in a breath. “What indiscretion?”

“Since you don’t seem to remember, let me enlighten you. I am the Don of the Cosa Nostra.”

I furrow my eyebrows, “And that’s supposed to mean something?” Something brushes up against my mind, only to fade away,

“He’s only the most powerful man alive, this side of the Atlantic,” Luca cautions me. “If I were you, I’d be careful in what I say to him, you-”

Michael raises his hand, “You do get a wide berth in what you can get away with. After all, you are one of my brothers.”

“How many of your brothers are there?”

“Seven,” Michael’s voice softens, “we are seven again, now that you are one of us, fratello.”

Not sure what to make of that. I wait for something in my memory to confirm that I knew I had brothers, but there’s no spark of recognition, nothing that tells me I was aware of their existence.

“Gentlemen, I am aware of your importance, but the health of my patient is my number one priority.” A doctor walks into the room. “If you don’t mind, I need to ask you to leave,” he nods toward the doorway, “now.”

Michael seems like he’s going to refuse, then nods. “I expect a full report on my brother, Doc.” He turns and stalks out.

Luca folds his arms across his chest, as if settling in to wait.

“That goes for you too.” The doctor scowls at him.

“I am staying for his safety,” he nods in my direction, “so why don’t you get busy and start checking him out, because I am not going anywhere.”

“But I need to examine the patient,” the doctor protests.

“I am not stopping you.”

The doctor hesitates, then looks in my direction. I shrug, and he blows out a breath, “Fine, can you stay out of the way until I am done, please?”

I’m not sure how much time has passed, but when I open my eyes again, I spot Theresa curled up in the only chair in the room. It’s a typical, straight-backed hospital chair. The kind that’s meant to cause as much discomfort to the occupant as possible, because that’s what hospitals specialize in, apparently. Her head is pillowed on the back of her palm. Her lips are slightly parted, and the skin of her face is flushed. She’s wearing another dress, I think, also black, with black tights and black shoes. Her hair is loose and flows over the back of her chair. She seems like a princess in mourning. Is she mourning Xander? Did she love him? I raise a shoulder, then wince; doesn’t really matter.

Either way, she is not my type. For one, she’s not as busty as the kind of women I prefer. Likely, she’s also intelligent. She looks like a woman who has an above-average IQ and who doesn’t hesitate to verbalize her thoughts. I blow out a breath. Everything that makes me run the other way. I prefer my women on their knees, or on their front, or back… Doesn’t matter, as long as they have their thighs open and mouths shut-or stuffed with my cock. As long as they take what I give them, and do as they’re told, and leave when I’m done with them.

Yep, so that’s rather predictable, and perhaps, misogynistic in a man, but hey, I don’t claim to be a saint. Also, I don’t hide behind the polite veneer that society demands of you. Scratch the surface and most men will admit that they are base creatures at heart. That what they want is a woman who satisfies their desires, who does as she is told, and who, ideally, also cooks for them. See, the last… I don’t ask them for that; it’s one of the things I’m good at. I like to eat good food, and it turns out, most women aren’t that competent in the kitchen either. Why do you think there are so many male chefs, eh? And considering I have been on my own since I turned eighteen, I had to learn to cook in order to feed myself, and I’m proud to say, I’ve eaten well.

Now, Theresa, on the other hand? She seems like the kind of woman who’d probably be able to cook as well… A theory I am not going to test because I don’t want anything to do with her. Of course, if she offers herself up to me… Well, I wouldn’t say no. I mean, I could fuck her. I drag my gaze down the slope of her breasts, the tiny waist that flares into hips which are curved enough that I can hold onto them when I fuck her from behind. My balls harden. Huh? Didn’t expect to get turned on that quickly. Especially not when the rest of my body feels like I’ve crashed into a brick wall. It’s a relief to know that part of my anatomy is working, and that I, at least, recall the kind of woman I prefer. So why the hell am I attracted to her? And why can’t I recollect what went down the day I was shot?

I sit up, wince when my muscles protest, but ignore it. If I’m going to get out of here, I need to get my body moving.

Theresa stirs. She shifts around in her seat, then her eyelids flutter open. Her green eyes fix on me. She blinks, then sits up, “You’re awake?”

I take in the bandage on her temple and anger rips through my veins. “What the hell are you doing here?”