His Tesoro: An Arranged Marriage Age Gap Mafia Romance (Empire of Royals Book 1)

Mila snuggled closer to me like she had so many times growing up. She’d spent more nights in my bed than out of it. Our house was always cold—both in temperature and emotion—so we soaked up all the warmth we could get.

“Are you really going to marry him?” she whispered, sounding younger than her nineteen years.

My throat and chest were tight. My father had just delivered the news. His exact words were, “When you marry Matteo Rossi and cement this alliance with the Italians, you’ll finally be useful to me.” My mama had stood silently beside him.

“I guess so,” I whispered back.

“Do you know anything about him?”

“He’s head of the New York Mafia.”

Mila snorted as she smacked my arm. “Sofiya, be serious.”

“But that’s all I know,” I protested. My lip jutted out in a pout as I rubbed my arm.

“That didn’t even hurt,” she said, rolling her eyes as she grabbed our shared secret phone. “I’m going to look him up.”

I opened my mouth to tell her not to, but then stopped myself. Why shouldn’t I find out everything I could about this man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with?

Mila typed on the phone and then gasped. “He’s so hot.”

I grabbed the phone, biting my lip as I looked at the picture underneath an article headline that read, “NYC’s Hottest Billionaire Leaves New Year’s Eve Party Early.” It was a candid of Matteo outside a hotel. He was scowling in his perfectly tailored black tux, which stretched across his broad shoulders. His dark hair fell messily in his face, and there was a firm set to his square jaw.

I felt a tiny flutter in my stomach. “I guess he’s… fine.”

“Oh, he is fine,” Mila said, grinning widely. She’d always been boy-crazy. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d covered for her as she snuck out the window to hook up with her boyfriend of the month, whereas I’d gone to one single party last year and never wanted to repeat the experience. I shuddered as I pushed aside the memory and focused again on the picture.

“How old is he?” I asked. He was obviously older than me, since he was already the head of the Mafia. The man in the picture wasn’t quite silver fox level, but he had a maturity to him that I might have found just a little bit sexy.

Mila took the phone, her frown deepening when her searches yielded no new information. After thirty minutes, we finally had to give up. It was impossible to find personal information about Matteo Rossi.

Mila set down the phone with a huff. She turned so she was lying on her side, facing me. “At least we know your fiancé is hot.”

“I wonder if he’s nice,” I murmured. God, I felt so stupid even saying the words out loud. I’d never seen a kind husband or happy marriage in the Bratva, but I clung to the hope that Matteo wasn’t as awful as my father. Maybe things were different with the Italians. Maybe they treated their women better.

Mila’s face fell, her forehead creased with worry. “He better be.” Her voice was fierce.

As the older sister, I had always been protective of Mila, stepping in to take care of her when our parents ignored us and the nannies went home. But as my health issues grew more severe over the years, she had been the one protecting me.

“What about Dimi?” Mila asked. Our half-brother, Dimitri, lived a life shrouded in secrecy. Our father constantly sent him away to do his dirty work abroad, unable to stand his son’s presence for long. Dimi reminded him too much of his first wife. A woman, if the rumors were to be believed, he had actually loved.

I squeezed her hand. “I’m sure he knows. Maybe he’ll come for the wedding.” But my words lacked conviction. The wedding was two days from now. Dimi didn’t have a stable phone number, so we always had to wait until he reached out to us.

“Do you think Matteo knows about my—” I gestured my hand at my body.

Mila’s lips parted. “The Pakhan had to tell him, right? Matteo probably got tons of information on you before he agreed.” We’d stopped calling our father “papa” years ago. All he was to us, to anyone in his life, was the Pakhan.

I took a deep breath, relief filling my chest. “Yeah, of course.” A tiny thread of hopefulness joined my anxiety. Matteo must be a decent man if he was choosing to marry me as I was. Although… maybe an alliance with the Bratva was too good of an opportunity to pass up, even if that meant accepting a bride like me.

“I’m going to miss you,” Mila murmured.

I blinked to keep my tears from falling. Years of my father screaming at me to toughen up had done nothing to stop me from being deeply sensitive.

“Maybe he’ll let you visit,” I said.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Tears fell down my face as I pulled my little sister into my arms.