I wasn’t sure what propelled me to do it, maybe the caring way Marcella patted Santana but I pulled out the ring.
“Will you marry me?” I asked. Marcella’s head shot up, her eyes widening. I held out the ring. It wasn’t a modern piece and certainly not as expensive as most of Marcella’s jewelry, not even close, but I couldn’t imagine giving her anything else. Then I realized what a fucking idiot I was.
Marcella was still kneeling beside Santana, and before me, when it should have been me on my knees.
“Stupid idiot,” I muttered.
“What?” she asked, half amused, half confused. I got down on my knees beside her.
“I know this isn’t how it’s supposed to be done, but will you marry me?”
Marcella eyed the ring.
“Your grandmother’s?” she asked, instead of answering my question.
“Yes. I wanted to buy a new ring but none of them would have meant as much as this one does.” I felt like a fucking pussy admitting this, especially as I was still kneeling beside Marcella.
She didn’t say anything only regarded the ring and I was beginning to feel nervous. I had never considered that she might say no. Not because I was certain she couldn’t have a better husband, because she probably could. “I’ll be the best husband for you. I’ll have your back when you need it, and I’ll be at your side when you need a partner. And if you need a protector, I’ll make up your front. I’ll be your knight in dirty armor, your lover, your confidant. I’ll kill your enemies and hold your crown. I’ll give my blood, my life and anything else you want.”
Marcella shook her head, tears in her eyes, and my heart sank, but then a smile spread on her face. “You don’t have to convince me. I know you are the right man for me. So yes!”
“Yes?” I asked like an idiot.
“Yes.”
I put the ring on her finger and pulled her against me, kissing her deeply. Santana tiptoed around us, her wagging tail hitting us on occasion. She obviously thought this was a fun game. I shoved to my feet and pulled Marcella with me only to lift her off the ground and kiss her again. She wrapped her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist.
“We have to tell my parents. Dad will be furious if we don’t tell him right away.”
I pulled back. “He already knows.”
Marcella’s brows puckered.
“I asked him for your hand in marriage because I figured he was the traditional type and I knew how much your father’s approval meant to you.”
Marcella’s face morphed into a smile but then she pursed her lips. “It’s my decision whom I marry. Men making these kinds of decisions behind my back is archaic.”
I smirked. I had expected that reaction. “Your dad predicted you’d say something along the line. We both had a good laugh about it.”
“You and Dad laughed together?”
“He smirked a little. I count that as full-blown laughter where your father is concerned.”
Marcella shook her head but she looked slightly mollified. “It’s my decision,” she insisted.
“It is. Only your decision. Your father only said that he’d give his approval if you want to marry me. And you said yes.”
“I did,” she whispered, softening once more.
I couldn’t believe it.
When I returned home later with Santana, and she rolled up in the basket at the window that I’d bought for her, I felt like I was slowly arriving in this new life.
The same evening, I was invited over to dinner at the Vitiello mansion.
It still was the fucking strangest feeling in the world to set foot inside Luca Vitiello’s home. In my mind it had always seemed like the devil’s den, but this place, of course luxurious as fuck, had a homely feeling and was slowly starting to feel familiar.
It still felt surreal to be under the same roof with Luca Vitiello, a man I’d spent so many years killing in my fantasies that our sudden truce still hadn’t sunk in. Only someone like Marcella had the power to bring men like us together. For a girl like her a man would do anything. I would definitely. My father had died by her father’s hand, and my uncle had died through mine by her bidding. It spoke of my love for this woman that I didn’t regret anything. The murder of my uncle had proven my love to Marcella and I’d kill him over and over again if she asked me.
Their housekeeper opened the door. Usually, Marcella was the one to do it, probably to keep me away from her father and brother.
“I’m here for dinner,” I said simply.
The housekeeper eyed me critically. My decision to wear black jeans and a black shirt with rolled-up sleeves obviously didn’t pass her approval.
“The Masters are expecting you in the fireplace room.”