Chapter 14 – Liam
The meal was seven bleeding courses.
It was Deluca’s way to show respect to his don with the added bonus of impressing my father. But the boss of the McDonagh Clan didn’t look impressed. No, Da looked…exhausted. His smile was thin. Those strong hands shook as he held his fork. The food? He’d barely picked at it.
He’s just drunk.
But I hadn’t counted how many glasses of wine he’d had. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen him with a whiskey this whole fucking time.
Shite.
I cut a look to my mother. Her smile drooped. She cocked her head to listen to something Signora Morelli said, but her gaze kept shifting back to Da.
She was worried.
That was a knife straight to my gut.
Da started some kind of immunotherapy this week. I hadn’t gone with to the hospital. Part of me still thought it was some grand joke, and I didn’t have time to accompany my parents to hear the punchline.
This week.
This week I would go to the appointment and see if this illness was real.
I’d wracked my brains trying to come up with a reason why they would fake something like this. The only thing that made sense was to put me in the top position of authority, make me rule, while they watched. Then they would come back with notes on how to do it better.
It seemed like a cruel trick to play on me, but it was better than the alternative. Better that than Da actually have cancer.
As acting boss, I’d done a shite job of making the lads heel.
My cousin Kevin, with the stupid lip hair, was overly eager to help.
He texted daily with suggestions. It was to the point where I was ready to shove the bleeding phone up his arse.
Despite his eagerness, I managed. I pushed the lads hard while keeping an active daytime role as construction tycoon, and yet these fucking bastards showed up today acting like a pack of hounds.
Their behavior in the teeny, tiny Italian church was disgraceful.
These eejits didn’t seem to understand that we owed the Morelli Family.
But why should they? That was a problem a boss should deal with.
The lads should know only as much as was good for them to know and obey without question.
We were going to have to work on that. Tomorrow, discipline was in order for nearly every member of our crew.
And the Italians?
They hated our guts. It seemed they didn’t understand the motives of their tactician either. I shot a glance at Don Morelli. Placid smile on his lips, he held court over his underlings.
The problem was, I couldn’t find any motive for his actions or any threat of betrayal.
“Gabby! Dolcezza! I haven’t seen you in ages,” a guest cried out, coming to the head table and leaning over it. Those engorged titties nearly knocked over the candle votive.
Gabriella hugged the woman, exchanging kisses on the cheeks, and subtly tried to push her away from danger. “Zia, sta bene?”
“Si, si!” The woman gripped my wife’s cheeks and pinched them hard. “I tried to visit you in Recanati. You didn’t return your auntie’s calls! Naughty girl.”
Gabriella faltered. It was a small movement. Barely a reaction from her muscles. If I hadn’t been staring hard, I would have missed it.
“Oh, I was busy. Studying,” my wife quipped.
The words sounded hollow.
Reaching for my glass of water gave me an excuse to lean closer.
“I even popped over to the town—such a charming school! But you weren’t there. They said many of the scholars were away on an overnight excursion to the south.”
Gabriella nodded along, laughing over talk of a restaurant in that town square.
But the mirth lacked music. When the aunt finally waddled away, Gabriella reached for her wine and sipped it quickly.
She’s uncomfortable.
When her father first told me about the study abroad, it was to laud the merits of his daughter.
How great a scholar she was, even though she chose not to go to college.
I hadn’t given two shites if she was a university girl or not—I wasn’t.
But now I wondered if that adventure might not be the key to unlocking her secrets.
My little wife was undoubtably a spy, planted in my home to distract me and report back to the crafty mafia don. But that wasn’t the whole truth.
“Sláinte!” one of the lads brayed.
Guttural hoots broke the tangled black web of my thoughts. Three of our men were preparing to storm the stage, intent to take the instruments and start a jig. I looked at Connor and shook my head.
Connor wrestled the trio from the ballroom.
Not five minutes later, a portly Morelli goon swaggered to the microphone and began a rich rendition of a crooning love song. Something about the moon and pizza and amore.
It wouldn’t have been so bad….
If Gabriella hadn’t smiled.
It was real, reaching her eyes and making them shimmer. The whole fucking dinner, she’d kept a grin on her lips, but it was polished and professional. This one made her shine.
She’s never going to look at me like that.
I wanted to smash the singer’s flat face into his skull.
Plucking my goblet, I slung back the contents. It was the only drink I’d had all night, wanting to keep my wits sharp. Now my nerves needed numbing before I started carving up Italians with my steak knife.
See how the Morelli liked their desirable match.
They must like it a whole hell of a lot, because the waitstaff wheeled in a five-foot-tall wedding cake.
Next to me, Gabreilla groaned. “It’s even worse in person.”
I shot her a look. “You don’t like the cake?”
“It’s too much,” she muttered. “And it’s the wrong flavor.”
My little wife didn’t like the cake. Something tightened in my chest.
Interesting.
It would be easy to fix this for her. What was more, I wanted to fix it.
I slid my gun from the holster on my hip. If there was one thing to both assert my authority over the gaggle of mobsters and solve my wife’s disapproval of the wedding cake, it was a device action.
Gabriella caught the motion.
She dove onto my lap.
She…touched me.
Willingly.
There was no fear or hesitation. She scrambled over my legs, elbow digging into my thighs and breasts skimming against my abdomen.
The scent of sun-ripened peaches hit me again.
Gabriella struggled for my hands, not caring that a few curious glances darted in our direction. Her delicious body squirmed as she tried to pin my wrists. Hot breath feathered over my jaw as she reared up.
Fire blazed amber in those brown eyes.
My blood simmered with arousal.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, holding my hands in place.
Because I let her.
Because not having her this close wasn’t an option.
I shrugged. “I hate cake. And if that one offends you—”
“No!” she wailed softly. “Absolutely not, Liam. I forbid it!”
Those words coupled with her lithe, lean body spread over me were stronger than any shot of whiskey. I fucking burned.
“You will not—I repeat, you will not—shoot the damn wedding cake!” she continued, oblivious to the raging hardon in my pants.
Releasing the gun, I let her pull my hands back. She looked down to ensure I wasn’t brandishing my firearm.
But then, Gabriella froze.
She seemed to just realize how close we were. How she was draped over my body. That we were touching, if only our hands.
Her body jerked, and she tried to scramble back into her seat.
I wasn’t having that.
I caught her wrists.
She drew in a shaky breath. A smile tipped the corner of my mouth, and I tugged her further onto my lap. If it wasn’t for the damn white dress, I would have made her straddle my thighs. Without the frothy white material, her center would land directly over my aching cock.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze.
I stooped, bringing our faces close. “You’re very brave giving me orders.”
I was going for fear, but the throaty gasp sent another lightning bolt of need straight from root to tip. My dick throbbed painfully.
The moment shattered when a thick brogue rang out, declaring he was going to make a speech.
The drunken fool. Johny didn’t have anything good to say about me, especially in this state.
He would likely bring up his dead brother, which wasn’t wedding conversation material.
Luckily, he was close to the head table, and the crowd was too boisterous to hear his bleating.
With Connor gone, there was no one close enough to stop him.
I’m going to fecking kill him.
This piece of gobshite was going to make me get up and leave my bride to deal with his dumb arse.
Unbelievable.
I should kill him.
Before he could stagger to a microphone, I pushed Gabriella roughly off my lap, and in three quick strides, I grabbed my second cousin, letting my gloved fingers sink into his collarbone. He bowed under the pressure I applied to the nerve.
“Walk,” I barked. He was going to pay for interrupting the moment with my bride.
If only Da hadn’t repeatedly instructed me that no blood was to be unnecessarily shed.
We attracted little attention as we pushed into the hall—where Connor was in a bloody fist fight.
More of the pack had joined. A half dozen assailants swamped my best friend. Connor threw a wicked left hook, which made the eejits face ripple. The man staggered back.
I picked Johny up by the back of his jacket and tossed him forward. Pulling my gun, I pointed at the ceiling. The pop-pop silenced the lot.
“Give me one good reason not to put a bullet in each of your fecking faces?” I barked.
They deserved it too. I just needed a reason convincing enough for my father to condone the bloodshed.
“Um, boss?” One of my men pointed at me.
The skin at the base of my neck prickled. I turned, already knowing what I’d find. Wide, warm eyes stared at me.
My little bride had followed me.
Gabriella didn’t flinch or cower by the partially open door. She stood tall. Her back was ramrod straight. She scanned the scene, then slid her gaze back to mine. There was no anger. Not a drop of fear. Maybe it was mild curiosity, but that was it.
“When you’re done, we need to cut the cake,” Gabriella said smoothly.
She didn’t balk at the violence. Didn’t quake at the sight of me with a gun drawn on my men.
Fuck me.
My little wife wasn’t afraid of monsters.
Clearing my throat, I turned and gave Connor a clipped nod.
“We’ll handle it, Liam.” The brute tipped his neck. It gave a vicious crack.
On my way back into the ballroom, I flicked my fingers. A few able-bodied blokes, who I trusted enough and who hadn’t been drinking heavily, jogged into the hall for back up. The brawl wasn’t what I minded. It was the undercurrent of violence that simmered like a fog, ready to smother us.
Gabriella glided to the cake, plucked the ornate knife, and turned to look at me. The sight of her holding that blade did things to me. I was the groom. Might as well try to enjoy what little was left of this damn day.
I slid next to her, keeping her on my dominant side so she wouldn’t have to see the mask. My hand covered hers. Flesh touched flesh. Her skin was soft. Warm. Breakable. And yet she didn’t pull away or even balk at my touch.
In fact, she leaned into me.
It was the smallest motion. Quite possibly mistakable for fluffing her skirt. But I felt the intention. How her body bowed to mine.
I guided her hand, going for a middle tier on the monstrosity that was the wedding cake.
“There’s still time for me to shoot it,” I rumbled against her ear.
Her breath caught.
The sound was a bolt of lust. Pure and hot. I was suddenly starved. I wanted nothing more than to taste that sound.
“Well?” I coaxed.
Her hiss was the sound of the wind cutting through the meadow. “No! I forbid it.”
So brave. I hadn’t scared her, and she was still bold enough to give me orders. I had never been so turned on in my entire life.
The flash of the camera caught the moment.
Gabriella turned her attention to the photographer, tipped the blade against the side of the cake, and smiled sweetly for the picture.
I only had eyes for her.
Shifting my touch, I slid my finger against the inside of her wrist. I felt her pulse jump. I pressed harder, savoring the feeling of her racing blood.
“Careful,” she murmured lightly. “You might enjoy cutting into this a little too much.”
My grip tightened over hers as I guided the blade down, slow and deliberate. I leaned in, inhaling summer-ripe fruit as my mouth brushed her ear. The knife sank into the fluffy dessert. The icing split. Her elbow moved, brushing against my stomach.
Torture.
This was nothing but torment. Sweet, sweet agony.
“I always savor what’s mine,” I responded softly.
Her breath faltered.
“Especially when it bleeds a little before it gives.”
Gabriella fucking shivered.
Good.
She should. In less than an hour, I would show her exactly what it meant to be mine.
We lifted the blade, set it at an angle, and cut to create the slice. The cake parted, but neither of us moved. Her hard breath mixed with mine.
It was perfect.
Until the slice began to wobble on the edge of the tray.
I snatched the serving utensil before the piece flopped to the ground.
Applause followed.
That seemed to break her of the spell.
“Smile nicely for the camera,” Gabriella hissed. “No, not like that. You don’t want to look like a psycho.”
I didn’t change a damn thing about my face.
Because the bride was about to realize exactly what she’d married.
“Liam!”
“Wife?”
Gabriella grasped my hand. Her gaze crashed into mine. She saw the controlled violence dancing under the surface. I might wear a mask, but she recognized what was underneath.
While they clapped and cheered, only she felt the promise settle deep and dangerous between us.
Stepping back, I let her plate the slice as I plucked my glass of untouched whiskey from the head table.
Gabriella slid a fork through the fluffy dessert, lifted it to me, but I shook my head and handed the whiskey to her instead of accepting her offering.
The next scheduled event was disappearing upstairs to the bridal suite.
“Drain it,” I commanded.
It was better if she was numb.
Gabriella took it, arched a brow, then threw it back in one long swig. The lines of her throat worked as she swallowed.
I moaned softly. The beast, raging inside me, was coming for her. There would be no escape.