Chapter 4

★ZAVARELLI★

Angelita...

She was as beautiful as her name, perhaps even more. She had wild, long, curly mane of blonde hair reaching her waist. She was dressed in a beautiful flowery yellow sundress that outlined the curve of her breasts but hid her lower curves. She wore black heels and carried a black purse. Overall, she looked like a pretty princess who lived in a locked tower.

"Angelita, this is De Luca." Romano continues with his introduction, one which I know that is highly unnecessary because who the fuck doesn't know Zavarelli De Luca?

Angelita slowly comes closer to stand before me, outstretching her tiny hand for a handshake. "Uh... Hi, Sir De Luca." She bit her plump pink lips, and I could tell she was a nervous wreck.

I smirk, raising my hands; but instead of taking her hands in mine, I pull her flush against my chest. "Nice to meet you too, Angelita." Her eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed red—oh, how I loved the sight.

Someone cleared his throat from behind, and I could tell that wasn't Romano. I let go of my future wife and stared at the younger Romano son. He was handsome with his tousled blonde hair but still young—not to mention the way he was glaring at me like I was about to steal his favorite candy. In this case, the candy being his sister.

"Nice to meet you, De Luca. I'm Gerard, Angelita's brother," the young man says, and I nod.

"Gerard, we must've met before." We haven't, and I at least know that little detail. "Well, Romano. I should take my future wife to meet her future in-laws," I say with an unnerving smile and outstretch my hands for Angelita, who placed hers atop it without hesitation.

Interesting. She might be a little too eager for this marriage, but I'm not. I'm not typically husband material; this marriage is just for the sake of my family and some business associates—not to mention how old I am. It's a shame to be thirty-four and unmarried in Italy.

"Uh... See you later, Gerard," Angelita squeaked to her brother and nodded to her father before turning back to me. I clasped her hand in mine, and together with Dante, we left the Romano mansion.

★ANGELITA★

My heart was thumping a bit too loudly; I was fairly certain Zavarelli can hear it. I clutched my bag resting on my lap as I looked outside the right-side window. Zavarelli sat on the left, and since we entered his monstrous vehicle, we haven't spoken a word. Father had money and drove rich cars, but Zavarelli's Mercedes G-Wagon was something else—not to mention the sound it made.

"Don't be too nervous. This is fake anyway."

Yeah, fake—and I'm about to be bound to you forever.

"It's not fake if it doesn't have a time limit." I sighed as I turned to face him only to find him staring intently at me. My face heated up.

"True that," a smirk curled his dark red lips. This man was handsome. His long black hair was slicked back to rest on his neck. His eyes were slanted with the most beautiful shade of green I'd ever seen. His skin was olive rather than dark, and he had freckles—oh lord, freckles had always been a must on my list of attractive traits.

No. He wasn't just handsome; he was deadly gorgeous and hot as hell. I'd always liked men in suits, but Zavarelli is different. He was dressed in a dark green cashmere sweater and black suit pants with black socks and loafers.

God, he wears loafers.

"You actually don't have to care about their opinion or try to be on your best behavior; it's none of their concern," he said coldly, sending a clear message.

I nodded slowly. "Seems like you're not really a fan of your own family." It wasn't a question, but he answered anyway:

"My parents—to be precise. I don't have a problem with my older brother." He sighed and leaned back in his seat.

"Oh. Okay." I nodded again and turned to face the window.

"You're stunning." My face flamed up in all shades of red at his compliment.

I whipped my head to look at him; he was staring at me with an intensity that could give Lucifer a run for his money. "T... Thank you."

He nodded slowly, his smirk still in place. We didn't speak again for the rest of the drive. As the driver—or likely Zavarelli's assistant since he's way too fashionably dressed to just be an ordinary driver—pulled up inside the magnificent ancient-looking mansion, my heartbeat kicked up. It was then that the reality of my situation really settled in.

I was getting married to a man I knew nothing about. I was meeting his parents. I will soon be a wife—it all felt surreal and unbelievable.

The good-looking driver parked in the garage; Zavarelli got down first then outstretched his hand to help me down. I clutched my purse and smoothed my dress before looking up at him—he was way taller than me, probably six five or six seven.

"Do we... uh... need to behave like a couple in love?" I asked, heat creeping up my neck.

"No. My parents could care less if I married for love or not. Just be yourself and answer questions you can," he said while pulling us away from the car and walking toward the entrance. The men in suits we passed bowed to Zavarelli—and then me.

"If I can't?" I asked as we climbed the few stairs to the main oakwood door.

"And if you can't..." He turned and tilted his head so that he looked at me properly. "If you can't, Angelita, you ignore the questions; no one will do anything to you," he drawled—the tone of his voice spiking something deep inside me.

The door before us was pulled open from the inside; when we turned in sync, we met the gaze of a man in a grey suit.

"Welcome, Mr De Luca."