I had seven days of freedom before I found myself standing in a church, the roar of a crowd outside the double doors hovering just on the edge of obscene. There must be tons of people out there, all ready to see me marry Alessio De Luca.
I thought destroying his car would be the last straw before this marriage. I thought it couldn’t hurt, taking one last dig to break this arrangement.
But then he sent me flowers.
Why would he send me flowers? Why wasn’t there a torn-up contract, or a bill for the damages on my doorstep?
I expected a reaction, maybe even a violent one. Pops always had a reaction when I stepped too far out of line. My cheek still stings from the repeated slaps.
This man isn’t like other men in this world. He’s not like Pops. He’s different. Confusing.
I don’t want to be confused by him. I want to be out of this arrangement, out of this contract. Away from him.
Easier said than done. Especially with how drawn to him I am. How I constantly want to fight him, defy him, see how far I can push him.
Because he’s still here. He still wants me.
I glare at the card on the vanity, like it’s the card’s fault.
I can’t believe he sent me flowers to commemorate me busting up his car.
Next time you want to be on camera, I’ll be sure to make it a private audience. I would love to record you when you’re screaming my name.
I have his message memorized. The fucking audacity of this man, to flirt, to say such things after what I did. Was he a masochist?
Zia Maria, Alessio’s aunt and Nico’s wife of almost forty years, flints behind me like a buzzing bee. She fluffs my skirts, adjusting the straps on my shoulders, fixing my pearl teardrop earrings so they lay just right.
Pearl teardrop earrings, inherited from my mother’s mom, who gave them to her for her wedding. I don’t know where they’ve been this whole time, but Collins gave them to me when I woke up.
It’s a silent truce for our last fight, even though neither of us apologized. As is the way with sisters.
“Bene.” She nods once, pushing a stray curl back into the updo my hairdresser finished. My makeup is polished, my nails painted a fresh shade of burgundy. I can feel the excitement in the church, the atmosphere full of expectation with dozens and dozens of family members waiting to see me walk down the aisle.
My stomach twists with nerves as bile rises fast up my throat. My knees rock together as my blood pumps in my ears.
This is it. I’m getting married.
Something I thought I’d never say.
Especially to Alessio De Luca.
I can’t deny how my body seems to respond to him. How easily I allowed him to touch me, how I almost begged for it.
I’ve been finger-fucked before. But that? His words, his gloved hands which made everything feel dirtier, more erotic, was something else. No one had compared to that high. To that explosion.
Which deepens the confusion. He said he was my equal, he said he wasn’t walking away from this—that I wouldn’t be able to walk away from him. I’m starting to think he might be on to something.
I can’t focus on that right now. My last attempt to end the contract didn’t work, so now, I’m forced to go through with the marriage and aim for a divorce. That’s the only way I can get my victory.
“You look…” Collins beams coming into the bridal suite, her locks hanging over her shoulder in cascading curls. She’s in my bridesmaid outfit, a powder pink dress with capped sleeves which hits just below the knee in a demure way. Just the way I knew it would look on her.
I see the tears behind her glasses, the clumping of what little mascara she wears and the sad smile that makes my heart ache.
I know she thinks this should be her role—taking one for the clan while I get another path. God, I wish she could. I’d willingly let her marry in my place while I continue to do… well. I haven’t thought that far ahead.
But she can’t.
“That’s a lot of… white,” Maeve says behind her, voice dry. I didn’t bother asking her to be in the bridal party; she would have declined. It’s not proper for the Captain to be up there with the bride, she’d say.
At least Zia Maria said so when I mentioned it to her. The Captain stands apart, looking for trouble, protecting the family.
Maybe for the De Luca family. Here, in our clan, I’m not so sure.
Dressed in a simple black dress with thick straps that hits mid-thigh, she looks more done up for a funeral than a wedding. Her dark locks hang in straight strands across her back, a pair of gold earrings glinting in her ears, matching a chain down the front of her dress. I don’t bother to ignore the gun at her hip. She never goes anywhere without it.
If I’m going to be a Capo’s wife—for how little time that is—I better get used to it.
“It’s a Vivienne Westwood,” I pout, twirling in front of the mirror.
The dress is a beauty. Long, full skirt, made of heavy fabric with a cascading cowl neckline that shows off my cleavage, it’s exactly what I wanted. It doesn’t deter from my earrings but still has enough daring to cause heads to turn.
Zia Maria walks over to the table, grabbing Collin’s bouquet and mine; dusty pale pink roses, baby’s breath, and white calla lies with soft green accents.
Being a quick wedding, I was surprised at the ease we were able to get everything. I used my parents’ wedding album as a guide, not having my own ideas of what kind of wedding I wanted. I didn’t exactly grow up dreaming about it.
Maeve steps in front of me, seemingly unsure. “You’ll need this.”
Brow quirking, I open the black velvet box without taking my eyes off her face. She’s nervous, which can’t be a good thing.
When Collins gasps at my side, my eyes dart down, mouth dropping open.
Our mother’s diamond tiara.
It shines as if just buffed, catching the setting sun by my right, highlighting it with blazing oranges and red. White gold of an intricate setting, small and large pure diamonds sitting in every crevice. They remind me of balls of fire, lining the black setting, simmering and burning.
I try to say something—anything—but my words are lodged in my throat behind a ball of emotion.
I’ve never seen the tiara in person. It’s in all of Pops and Mama’s wedding photos, lining the family room. Where did she find it?
It’s the final piece to make this day that cracks my heart and solidifies what is happening. I’m getting married.
Maeve lifts it and gestures to my head. Wordlessly, I drop on to the vanity stool, letting my big sister place it onto my skull. It’s heavy, full of happiness and sorrow, or idyllic dreams and long forgotten strife.
At least, it feels that way.
I glance back into twin cool eyes, seeing the tiny scar above Maeve’s eyebrow, hidden by the thin dark hairs.
“Why?”
Her fingers hover over the metal as if she’s afraid to break it.
“I knew from the moment that you were born, that this tiara would go on your head,” she mumbles, seemingly lost to thought. “It was always going to be yours, kid. I was just waiting for the right time.”
The day that would signal my end as an O’Brien and the beginning of my life as a De Luca.
I don’t know if this is a way to appease me for her decree or truly what she thought, but I’m too overcome with emotions to ask. For the first time in a long while, I don’t feel so unseen by my oldest sister.
Holding up a pale pink corsage, Maria pins the bright flowers against Maeve’s dark clothes, ignoring her annoyance.
Standing, I pat my sides, avoiding eyes with my sisters as I fight back the tears. It’s my last chance before the ceremony, before I’m truly married.
The numbness that usually strikes, the depression that hits is absent now, leaving just a pit of nerves in my gut. It’d be easier if I was numb.
Turning toward the church doors, my stomach clenches. Fear, anticipation, and dread swirl together into a terrible cocktail that causes my pulse to skyrocket and my eyes to dart to any available exit. An escape route, something, to get out of here.
“Don’t think about it,” Maeve says slowly, standing at my side.
I smile innocently, which comes out more like a grimace. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I know exactly what she’s talking about. She knows that I’m three seconds flat from running in these sharp heels into the city and praying a bus takes me out.
She grabs my wrist, locking eyes. “Here.”
The solid pearl inlaid handle falls into my palm, her cool fingers pushing me to grab it until the edges mark my skin.
I frown. “A knife?” Odd wedding present.
Those indifferent eyes narrow. “No one should be completely weaponless.”
“Says the woman who never let me shoot a gun.”
She raises a brow. “I had my reasons. Now.” She taps my hand twice. “Use this for when you need help, and I can’t be there.”
Cryptic much? “Right. When have you ever helped me, Maeve?” I mutter, placing the knife on to the vanity table, ignoring the pang of loneliness as I say my next words. “You actually have to care about someone to help them. And you’ve never really cared about me.”
Maeve’s mouth opens, wrestling with an unknown thought. Whatever it is, it’s biting, and I steel my spine, waiting for her razor-sharp words.
But it doesn’t come. She locks it down, turning her emotions off and going back to the aloof older sister who never rescued me. She doesn’t wait for me to say more, slipping through the doors, taking her place in the church.
Maria levels a hard, motherly look on me that I can’t quite place. Reprimand. Pity. I’m not sure.
I don’t care either way. She’s never had a sister be her leader. Never had a sister choose everyone, everything over you. Because that’s what this is. Maeve choosing the clan over her little sister. Choosing to do right by them, before choosing to do right by me.
She tossed me out as soon as she took the reins from Pops.
It shouldn’t sting as badly as it does. But it does, God, it does.
“It’s time,” Collins says, kissing my cheek softly. When she departs, it leaves just me and the matron.
Maria smooths her dark hair, tugging on her dress into place. “You’re a stupid, silly girl, piccola.”
The same priest who laid my father to rest says the prayers that give me to my husband.
Ironic.
I barely listen. I’m too focused on the beating of my heart, the pounding pattern in my ears. Panic claws at my throat and the urge to run, to flee, is so strong, my foot twitches to go.
No one breathes as the priest finishes his prayers.
Collins stands next to me, a quiet presence that irritates me. Even she hasn’t stopped this sham of a wedding to help me. Because she thinks this in my best interest, the traitor.
On Alessio’s side is his cousin, Dom, Nico’s only son. A man who is only a year or two older than Alessio, he looks like a younger version of his father. Slicked-back black hair, small statue, and square palms clasped over his front. They have the same brown eyes, the same wide nose. The suit he wears is clean but he’s uncomfortable in it, unused to looking nice.
My eyes avoid Alessio. I can feel his smugness rolling through the small space between us. He clearly thinks he’s won. I want to punch that cockiness straight in the nose and see him fall to my feet for thinking he could own me.
He can’t control me. He can’t have me.
Before I even realize it, my eyes land on my sister. She’s at the very back, posted right by the only exit. And she’s guarding it like a dragon, poised to snatch her next meal.
She won’t let me leave.
The same man from the night of my engagement leans next to her, most of his body covered by the shadows. I don’t see who he is, but he’s saying something to Maeve, his lips near her ear in an intimate way. Luckily for him, she doesn’t respond. She just watches me.
Me, the sister she has to make sure doesn’t bolt.
“If anyone should object, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
I turn hopeful eyes to my sister, begging at the last minute she’ll save me from this mess. It’s misplaced, though. She stands there, a ghoulish, terrible statue who wants to make me suffer.
“If you’re looking for your sister to stop this,” Alessio whispers. I shiver at his nearness and the rolling of his tongue against my ear. “She’s not going to.”
I glance over my shoulder, accusations dancing in my eyes. “And why not?”
He looks innocently to my sister and back. But it’s the smile. That wicked smile that tells me he’s not at all sorry to be up here, with me.
“Did you know your sister decided to stand at the entrance because she thought you’d run away before the ceremony?”
I had a feeling. “Did she?”
“I reassured her that wouldn’t be the case.” He runs his hand along my hip, softly, completely at odds with the hard edge to his words. “Do you want to know why?”
“Please, do tell.”
He grabs me closer, chest pressed together. “Because I told her, if you left, I would hunt you down, bring you back to this church and marry you even if you were barefoot and bleeding. I said you wouldn’t escape me, Sloane. I meant it.”
Alessio De Luca is a bastard.
“You may now kiss your bride.”
“You know,” he drawls, finger lifting my face to meet his. I hate how easily I submit, how my body hums while he touches me. It’s never been like this before—with anyone. “I’m starting to understand you now. Understand this cunning mind. No one has ever seen this side of you, or if they have, they’ve ignored it as a fluke. But I see it. I understand it. You might want to try different tactics.”
Warm sure hands run over my curves. I don’t know if I should melt into his hands or be repulsed by it.
“Careful. I bite.”
That grin turns excited at the prospect. “Oh, I hope so, little menace. It’d be terribly boring if I didn’t like my women fighting.”
His lips are firm as they press into mine. It’s brief, the rubbing of flesh that’s meant to be clinical but it steals my breath, robbing all logic. It takes away my fight and leaves only a wake of intense desire so strong, I nearly fall.
I sway as he pulls away, the sudden movement reminding me that I’m supposed to do something. So, I clamp down, raking my teeth into his sensitive bottom lip and pull. Hard.
He winces, blood staining the side of his mouth. Victory flares in my chest at having taken him down a peg.
“That’s my girl.” He dabs his handkerchief to his mouth before holding our joint hands over our heads.
The crowd cheers, clapping loudly to see our union solidified.
I hate how a thrill of pride shoots through me at the simple praise.
