Chapter 3
MATTEO
The huge garden around Ferro’s mansion also holds a small chapel.
From the outside it looks just like a frilly brick and mortar building, but inside it holds treasures.
Like the pieta over the altar, which I’m sure once adorned a much richer church in the old country before Ferro’s family acquired it.
The expression on Mother Mary’s face as she gazes at Jesus reminds me of Gianna’s pretty face and the way she used to look at me—the same shapely lips, big eyes, and gaze of devotion.
Now her face is a stone mask as she stands beside me, wearing a black sweater and skirt, her hair tied back into a bun, her face free of makeup.
No gold anywhere. Even her usually shiny golden colored hair looks dull today.
There’s no happiness or devotion on her face.
Just endless sorrow and blackness. It’s like she’s at a funeral, not a wedding, which I’m sure in her mind she is.
Her eyes are fixed on the Virgin Mary, and even though her lips aren’t moving, I still know she’s praying.
For salvation.
For her family.
For my ruin.
Most likely for my death as well.
She can have everything else, but she won’t get that. Not before I have my revenge on the man who killed my family, anyway.
An elderly priest in a black cassock, his hair plastered to his head in the back as though he was sleeping just minutes ago, is standing beside Angelo Ferro at the altar.
As many men as fit into this small space are crowded in here, leaning on walls, sitting on the wooden benches, which I’m sure have also come from some much older and bigger church.
The space is lit only by the sun coming through the tall windows, and so many candles the air is thick with the smoke they give off.
The door opens and Gianna shakes. But then she turns to the door with such steel on her face I wonder if I actually know anything about her at all. I thought I did. I thought she bared her soul to me. But there were depths of steel she never revealed. Maybe she herself didn’t know they existed.
I want my golden, innocent, and pure girl back. I want her more than ever now that she’s fading away.
Her sister appears at the door, Ferro’s second, Lorenzo, holding her arm.
She’s wearing a wedding dress with so many layers and ruffles none of her body is clearly visible.
And her face is completely covered by an opaque veil.
It must be the wedding attire of some long dead woman from Ferro’s family.
Because no modern woman would be caught dead in a wedding dress this unflattering, I’m sure.
I can’t see Chiara’s face, but I can sure sense the look she’s giving.
Hard, determined, fearless. Vengeful. Bloody Mary comes to mind.
And I can practically already see all the lace and ruffles of her dress covered in blood.
I hope Angelo knows what he’s doing marrying this one.
Because I’m sure she’s perfectly capable of slitting his throat while he sleeps.
I’m not sure he knows how dangerous she could be, because that’s a very blissful smile on his face as he watches her walk down the aisle.
From what I can see she does not even glance at him.
Lorenzo stands behind Ferro once he deposits the bride at the altar. Clearly, he’s gonna be acting as Angelo’s best man too. One day soon, I gotta figure out what their relationship is. But it’s definitely more father/son than boss/servant.
The priest starts officiating and I can clearly feel Gianna turn harder and harder with each word spoken. By the time the priest reaches the classic, “Does anyone object?” line she’s practically a piece of stone standing next to me.
And her voice is like stone speaking as she calls out, “I object! This marriage is wrong! It is a crime against our family and against God. And I curse you, Angelo Ferro. May your life be short and full of suffering. May you die a bloody and painful death. May it happen soon.”
She looks like a witch, she’s speaking like she’s made of stone, and most guys in this chapel know of her own curse, the one that kills any man who tries to marry her.
So the absolute silence that follows her words is no surprise.
Some of the killers in here with us, men who had no trouble dealing death all night last night, look as though they’ve just seen the Devil as they make the sign of the cross and clutch the crucifixes hanging around their necks like they were pearls and they old, frightened women. They’re all as pale as the walls.
Ferro throws his head back and starts laughing, the harsh, loud sound cutting through the uneasy silence.
Several of the men chuckle along while nervously looking at each other.
I don’t blame them, Ferro looks deranged right now.
I want to grab Goldie and carry her out of here to get her out of his path.
But I also don’t want to draw any more attention to her.
“A curse? I dare any curse to cut me down,” Ferro says, his laughter still echoing off the walls.
Then he turns and faces the priest, who is just as pale as the rest. “Let’s get on with this.”
The priest starts talking in his solemn voice again and I turn to Goldie. She’s still staring directly at Ferro and if looks could kill, he’d be a dead man right now.
“You will have to learn to behave now,” I whisper to her. “Your daddy isn’t here to bail you out anymore.”
She turns that killing gaze on me and I feel it like a slice across the cheek. “I don’t need anyone to keep me safe. Least of all you.”
I grin, even though I don’t feel like laughing at all. “But you do, Goldie. I’m the only one standing between you and a fate you don’t even want to imagine.”
She shakes her head. “Let it come. I don’t need you and I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
A part of me wants to stalk out of this chapel and never look back. Let her get what she’s asking for and fend for herself. See how she likes it.
But I won’t do that. No matter how much she wants me dead.
I understand that black hatred burning in her chest better than she does.
I’ve lived with it for years, having been forced to work for the man who killed my family.
I understand that hatred inside and out, forward and backwards.
I know there’s no cure for it. I know it will never wane, let alone disappear.
But despite knowing all that, I still want her close to me. Even more than before.