ALARIC'S POV
The formal Mafia Gala I've thrown in my estate is in full swing with everyone of the underworld life, making their needful greetings and trying to secure higher rankings in my kingdom.
However none of that concerns me, because tonight, I'm mostly showing every don, capo, and snake in the room that I rule this world.
And the one thing that I'm using tonight is letting them know I have something none of them can touch
Zariah.
She's walking beside me now in a black satin gown with a slit high enough to make grown men twitch.
Her hair's slicked back, her lips blood red, and her throat is bare—except for the thin diamond collar that I fastened on her an hour ago.
It's not jewelry, it's a warning to everyone present.
She's Mine.
She doesn't speak as we enter the ballroom; she knows the rules by now: Smile, stand still and let them look, but don't speak unless I say so.
The music hums in the background with stringed instruments and whispers around.
Then everyone turns as we descend the marble stairs of which my guards have flank the exits.
My name is burned into every guest's memory but none of them know her name.
They only know she's the woman Alaric marked.
... And that makes her more powerful— and more hunted— than she realizes.
She doesn't realise it but I'm keeping my end of the bargain by protecting her.
No one will touch her so far as I'm here.
We mingle and I nod to Niccolo del Mar then offer a handshake to the sly Russians, and even share a drink with the Serb who once tried to poison me.
... Politics before pride.
Zariah stays at my side, being very quiet and stunning, until the first round of champagne is offered.
She takes a glass and I say nothing, after all she needs a glass from how long I kept her in bed.
But then she takes a second and third, and it's not until I see her smile just a bit too wide and her eyes wide a little too recklessly— that I notice she's a lightweight.
She still doesn't speak, but she suddenly tilts her head up to look at me, completely oblivious to the several shocked gasps from everyone around at her audacity to look me in the face without permission.
However I don't mind,---- at least for her.
She's still looking up at me when Gianni Ruvello the rival don--- who's charming, vile and rich from trafficking girls and explosives, and too slick for his own good--- makes a bend towards us.
"Don Benedetti," he greets. "You've brought quite the… accessory."
Suddenly Zariah turns to him with a coy smile.
"Hello," she says and I look down at her in shock.
Didn't I tell her to keep her mouth shut?
"You must be the one with the inferiority complex."
Gianni chuckles and drifts his eyes down to her breasts. "Sharp tongue. I like that."
My fist tightens around my glass I'd been holding in one hand just as he offers her a hand and she takes it.
Gianni leans in, placing his mouth far too close to her ear to my liking, causing me to take a step forward.
However Gianni turns to me with a smirk. "Didn't mean to offend, Benedetti. I was just admiring your taste."
"She's not on display," I say coldly and he shrugs.
"She should be."
Zariah doesn't pull away from him; she fucking smiles at the bastard and he then thumbs her bottom lip.
I don't remember dropping the glass, I only remember the sound of Gianni's nose cracking under my fist.
He stumbles back, blood gushing down his face, resulting in the music screeching to a halt.
There's a scream from one of the wives of the Dons in attendance and my guards move to assist me but I raise a hand, forbidding them from doing that.
Gianni straightens himself and draws out blade, rushing at me with it.
I duck the first slash and slam my fist into his ribs and he grunts, then I grab his throat and slam him onto the champagne table, shattering the glasses and bottles around us.
Zariah gasps behind me but I don't stop.
I grab Gianni's wrist and twist until the bone snaps.
Then I lean in, blood all over my face as I look down on his screaming self.
"Touch her again, and I'll bury your head in her old wedding dress."
Then I let go of him and he drops down to the floor, curling like a dog at my feet, gasping groaning in pain.
I turn to the room and adjust my cuffs.
"Does anyone else want to admire what's mine?"
No one admits to it.
Cowards.
They always fold when you draw blood first.
I turn to Zariah, grab her arm hard and drag her out of the room.
We don't speak as I storm down the hall.
I don't care who saw and I don't care how much blood I spilled.
I only care that she let him touch her.
That she smiled and that she made me feel something.
So I shove open the door to the private lounge and throw her inside.
She stumbles, catches herself, and turns on me, already angry when she misbehaved.
"You're insane!"
I slam the door shut behind us.
So she's sober then?
"You embarrassed me," I snarl.
"You attacked a man in front of the entire criminal elite!"
"You let him touch you."
She laughs. "Oh, what's wrong? Can..."
She hiccups, "... Yo--- hic---- you can dish out the possessive bullshit but can't take it?" She blurts hiccuping again and backing away from me, but I'm on her in two strides.
I grip her throat and slam her back against the wall.
"You don't get to flirt with my enemies."
"It's my body, not yours!"
I tighten my grip on her neck.
"It's MINE! This body is mine, you are mine and you don't fucking breathe unless I say so."
She glares at me, her chest rising fast.
"You're out of your mind," she spits.
I lean in, "Then run away from here."
However she doesn't move.
She's trembling and furious but she stays.
And so do I, I'm so close that can feel her heart pounding wildly against my chest.
Then I release her throat and step back away from her.
She exhales shakily but doesn't speak and that's good.
... Because I meant every word when I said I own her every breath.