Chapter 13 – Liam
Gabriella was a soldier in battle. She stood at my side, waiting for the band director to announce us.
Stiff and polished, with her chin tipped up, it was easy to admit she was the most beautiful woman in the room.
Not that I was looking in the space beyond the doors for another pretty face.
I only cast cautious glances to assess for threats. There weren’t any.
The guys who led our crews had been chewed out after the ceremony. The number of black eyes decorating the ugly mugs as they drank out of cut-glass goblets was striking. While I didn’t blame them for their feelings, I was appalled at their behavior.
Maybe that is what the Morellis want.
If we caused a fight, they could take us down. They’d already proved they were cunning. They didn’t need manpower to end a conflict. They did it by stealth and primed targets.
Were their assassins here tonight? They had to have more than one.
When the conflict with the Black Stag Clan was at its height a few weeks ago, Vincenzo Messina showed up in the aftermath.
He was the one who’d warned us about the attack in the first place.
Then once we bested our rival, not an easy feat, V showed up and said that our rivals’ leadership were dead. Which meant we owed the mafia.
And I just paid.
My fingers itched for my gun as the music faded. Walking into that grand ballroom was a mistake. Something didn’t sit right in my gut. It would be all too slick to wipe out the lot of us while our guard was down, plied with the good food and drink.
Gabriella took a deep breath. “Here we go.”
Those words were spoken softly, and I almost didn’t catch them.
Take her and run.
Except…that was what cowards did. And I wasn’t raised to back down from a fight.
I clasped my fingers around hers. They were hot and damp. A quick look showed that she was breathing fast.
“I’ll lead, you’ve only to follow.” I meant it to be kind.
She rolled her eyes. Rolled them. At me.
“That’s the typical way a dance goes,” she drawled. “I swear, the patriarchy invented waltzing to show off a trophy.”
What an odd thing to say. I was talking about entering the room. It was a remark on the combat situation…not our first dance.
Still, her words stuck in the back of my mind.
I reached out, sliding my knuckles down her arm. Was there gooseflesh under the lace? She didn’t shiver. “Do you hate dancing, little bird?”
“Wouldn’t know,” she quipped as the singer shouted our names.
“Raise your glasses to the new Mr. and Mrs. McDonagh!”
A few guests clapped. Cackles whispered in the background as mockery. The room should be filled with craic. It was a bleeding wedding reception after all! But it was malice that seeped from the space, covered by polite smiles and careful glances.
They wouldn’t be that bold if I aimed my pistol in their direction.
“Sláinte!” Connor boomed.
A few of the lads joined in the toast.
“Let me show you how good it can feel,” I coaxed.
Gabreilla’s eyes flashed. Those whiskey irises were warm. Filled with whatever that intoxicating energy was that I’d tasted in the church.
I only meant to kiss her quickly. Check the formality off the to-do list and wrap up the ceremony. But then she’d looked at me.
The same way she looked at me right now.
No, if I had any plans to grant her the mercy of escaping my touch, those were long gone. I’d had a taste, and now I was hungry for more.
The music began with a deceptive calm. It was the same way bloodshed started. I’d been in enough conflicts to know the comparison. The first soft strains felt as though they could be ignored until the next notes forced the fight from our very nature.
It was a death march. Both of us powerless to escape the music’s summons.
Gabriella had quipped about the lunacy of a waltz, but I was the poor sap who had to act like I knew what I was doing.
I wasn’t some classically trained aristocrat who knew the proper steps.
I led her to the floor, my inner voice yelling at me not to fuck this up.
Violins melded with the deeper tones of the celloist. The keening sound was lonesome.
It called to a primal, ancient part of our being.
Their notes floating beneath the raised ceiling like a promise no one believed.
Chandeliers burned overhead, crystal dripping light onto marble floors that had been scrubbed until they gleamed like ice.
Everything about this wedding was meant to look pure.
Untouched. A lie wrapped in finery and extravagance.
The moment our feet hit the polished floor, I gave Gabriella’s hand a sharp tug and brought her body flush to mine.
I felt her before I truly looked at her.
Warmth pressed against my chest as my hand settled at her waist. The dress was thinner there, delicate fabric stretched over heat and life.
A woman. My wife. The word tasted strange, bitter and sharp on my tongue, even as my pulse betrayed me.
I began to move our bodies in time to the beat, keeping her caged in my arms.
Eyes were everywhere.
I tracked them all. The men from her father’s organization lingered too close to the exits. My own soldiers stood relaxed but ready, hands loose near their suit jackets. I counted blades I couldn’t see. Guns hidden behind smiles. I waited for the moment when the music would fracture into screams.
It didn’t.
Instead, Gabriella danced.
Her body followed mine as if she’d rehearsed this with me a thousand times. Her palm rested against my shoulder, light but steady, fingers solid against the fabric of my suit. I wanted to tear the fucking thing off, feel her skin against mine.
I’d expected fear and resistance.
I got none of it.
Such a willing little sacrifice. I wondered if she’d be this calm behind the closed doors of our bridal suite. The plan was to take her fast and hard, from behind. The Italians wanted the traditional bloody sheets. Providing those was my sole duty tonight.
Her scent reached me when I drew her closer.
Something soft and subtle beneath the sharper tang of nerves.
Peaches, summer-warmed and ripe. It curled low in my chest, distracting in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
I breathed it in despite myself, slow and deep.
The scent grounded me to the blistering truth.
We were married.
I found myself rethinking my plan. I wanted those eyes on me tonight—and not filled with fear or loathing. Gabriella wasn’t looking at me now, eyes staring off into the distance. That was fucking unacceptable.
Tapping my fingers against her side, I broke through her thoughts. “Have you eaten today?”
She tilted her face up just enough for me to see her expression. “I had a sandwich.”
“That’s it?” I demanded.
Gabriella simply shrugged. “It was enough.”
Hardly.
I would fix that as soon as this charade was finished.
Wide, brown eyes shone beneath the lights. The little actress, playing her part for every watching enemy in the room. If I hadn’t been holding her, feeling the tension coiled beneath her skin, I might have believed it.
Her heart beat fast.
I tightened my hold slightly, not enough to bruise, just enough to remind her—and myself—who controlled the pace.
“You’re holding me too tight,” she said as we swayed in an arch.
“I know.”
One dark brow rose. “Afraid I’ll slip away?”
I barked a rough laugh. “You can try.”
Those sharp brown eyes narrowed, golden flecks crackled through her irises, making them seem full of fire. “Is that a challenge?”
“Know this, little bird, I will hunt you down to one of the four corners of the earth if I have to.” My hands slid up her spine, caught the back of her neck, and pressed hard in warning. “There is nowhere you can hide from me.”
The soft hitch of her breath sent a bolt of heat straight to my groin. Fear washed through her features confirming what I already knew. Gabriella was a runner.
In another situation, I might have let her go. It was criminal to force a beautiful woman like her on a burnt, jaded fucker like me.
But she was mine now. And I didn’t hate the way she fit against me.
That realization struck harder than any threat in the room.
Her waist curved perfectly beneath my palm. Her back was warm, pliant, and real. When her fingers flexed against my shoulder, it sent a sharp line of awareness through me. I was supposed to be thinking about ambush points. Escape routes. Which man would try something first.
Instead, I was thinking about her mouth.
About the way her lips parted slightly when she breathed. About how they’d felt beneath mine—soft and yielding. Hungry and defiant. I wanted to taste her again. And not a man in this room could stop me from taking what was mine. The thought fueled something dark and possessive in my chest.
Gabriella leaned in closer, trying to escape the heavy hand that I kept on her neck. She gasped. For a split second, her composure cracked. Her eyes flicked past my shoulder, toward the doors. Toward freedom she wanted to take.
I lowered my head, my mouth close to her ear, my words meant for her alone.
“If you’re still thinking of running, don’t.” My voice was low and steady despite the storm beneath it. “I will find you, and I won’t be gentle when I bring you back.”
Her body shuddered. Heat flared where our bodies met, sharp and unmistakable. My thumb brushed deliberately along her skull.
I felt her swallow. There was a tremor she couldn’t hide. The music crested, a perfect cue, and I tilted my head.
I didn’t give her time to prepare for it.
One second her breath was warm against my jaw, the next my mouth crashed down on hers.
The kiss was hunger. Our teeth grazed first, a warning before I took more. Her lips parted for a sharp inhale, and I seized the opening, tasting the peppermint, her nerves, and something sweeter underneath. She made a small, startled sound that vibrated straight into my chest.
I felt it everywhere.
My balls were heavy, and my dick ached to sink into her. To feel her warmth flush against me. That body would yield as it did now.
That did something vicious to me. I broke the kiss to whisper against her lips, “Fight me all you want, Gabriella, your body already knows who it belongs to.”
Her pulse fluttered wildly beneath my palm.
I stroked the vein in her neck with my thumb, pressing on it in the smallest warning.
Not giving her a chance to respond, I covered her mouth with mine again.
As I inhaled her, the ballroom ceased to exist. There was only her mouth, her breath, the way she trembled when I deepened the kiss.
I tilted my head, angling her where I wanted her, and she followed—too easily.
Her fingers fisted in my jacket, nails scraping lightly, not pushing me away.
She fucking clung to me.
The knowledge that she wanted this as badly as I did turned me savage.
My gloved fingers dug harder into her back, anchoring her there as I cradled her head and kissed her like I meant to devour the lie she’d wrapped herself in.
Like I wanted the truth of her—fear, fire, defiance—all of it bared for me alone.
I felt the heat of her desire, felt the soft give of her mouth as she responded despite herself.
Applause roared around us. For the first time all bleeding day, both sides came to an agreement. Their voices rose in unison at the crass display.
I broke the kiss only when I had to, when the need to breathe outweighed the urge to take more. My lips lingered near her mouth, and my forehead nearly brushed hers. I stared at her.
Her eyes were dark now, molten honey and full of a temptation I was powerless to resist.
Something feral settled in my bones. We were only staying for supper, because my little bride needed the sustenance for what was to come.