Chapter 5 Cassio #2
"Dario," I say softly, tasting the bile in the back of my throat. "Does it break your heart, Noemi? Knowing he didn't have the balls to claim you? Instead, your father passed you off to me like a used car."
Her eyes flash, a spark of genuine shock and pain quickly smothered by absolute fury. "You are a disgusting animal."
"And you are a leftover," I counter ruthlessly. I shift my grip on her hand, my thumb pressing down hard enough to leave a deep bruise on her pale skin. "Don't think for a second that this dress fools anyone. I know exactly what you are."
"You know nothing about me," she hisses, her nails biting sharply into the meat of my palm.
"I know enough," I reply coldly.
The priest shifts, transitioning to the vows.
He prompts me first. I stare into her eyes, those dark, defiant pools of hatred, and I recite the ancient words.
I promise to love, to cherish, to honor.
Every single syllable is a lie, spoken with a dead cadence that sounds more like a death sentence than a vow.
When it's her turn, she hesitates. For a fraction of a second, I see the sheer terror lurking beneath her iron armor. She is standing at the precipice, staring down into the abyss of a life chained to a man she despises. I almost dare her to say no. I almost want her to scream, to break the ceremony, so I have an excuse to draw my weapon and put a bullet between her father’s eyes right here in the house of God.
But she doesn't.
She lifts her chin, her throat working as she swallows her pride and her fear. She repeats the vows; her voice is completely devoid of emotion.
"The rings," the priest prompts gently.
Matteo steps forward, his face carefully blank, placing the small platinum band on the velvet pillow. I pick it up. It’s a flawless, three-carat emerald-cut diamond. It cost a small fortune, an expensive shackle.
I take her left hand. Her fingers are trembling now, just a little. The first sign of weakness. I relish it. I slide the heavy ring onto her finger, pushing it past her knuckle with a harsh, unyielding force.
"Now I own you," I whisper, though it’s not a declaration of love. It’s a declaration of ownership.
She picks up my ring, it is a thick band of brushed platinum, and shoves it onto my finger with far more force than necessary, nearly scraping my knuckle.
"I pronounce you husband and wife," the priest announces, raising his hand in blessing, sealing my fate. "You may kiss the bride."
The cathedral holds its breath. Hundreds of eyes are locked on us, waiting for the final seal of the treaty.
I look at the woman standing in front of me. My wife. The word tastes like poison. I am a man who prides himself on total control, on seeing three steps ahead of my enemies. Today, I was blinded, outmaneuvered, and publicly humiliated by an old man who thinks I’m nothing more than a dumb brute.
Orlando thinks he has won. He thinks he has secured his borders and protected his precious Lucia by sacrificing his damaged, unwanted daughter.
He forgot one critical detail.
I am a monster. And he just locked his daughter in my cage.
I step into Noemi’s space, crowding her, forcing her to tilt her head back to look at me.
I slide my hand around the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in the intricate, pinned updo of her dark hair.
My grip is not gentle. It’s a possessive, commanding, physical reminder of exactly who holds the power now.
Her breath catches, her lips parting slightly in surprise at the rough contact.
I lean down, my mouth hovering a fraction of an inch from hers. I can smell the faint, citrusy scent of her perfume mixed with the metallic tang of fear.
"Listen to me very carefully, moglie," I whisper, my lips brushing against hers with every venomous syllable. "Your father thinks he's clever. But all he did was hand me a pawn."
Her eyes widen, the defiance finally fracturing to reveal the sheer panic beneath. She tries to pull back, but my grip on the back of her neck tightens painfully, holding her captive.
"You belong to me now," I murmur against her mouth, making sure my words brand her. "You live in my house. You eat my food. You breathe my air. But do not ever, for one goddamn second, mistake this charade for a marriage."
I feel the erratic, frantic pulse beating at the base of her throat against my thumb.
"You are nothing to me," I whisper, twisting the knife as deep as it will go. "A filthy, unwanted complication. You think I’m going to share a bed with Dario Lombardi’s used trash? Even he dumped you when he was done with you. Well, you can sleep easy, Noemi. I will never touch you if I didn’t have to. "
Before she can react, before she can formulate a single word of her sharp-tongued venom to strike back, I crash my mouth down onto hers.
It’s a punishment.
It’s a brutal, bruising clash of teeth and lips, entirely devoid of warmth or affection.
I dominate her mouth, taking it by force, demanding her submission not out of desire, but out of sheer dominance.
She tastes like expensive champagne and bitter resentment.
She whimpers, a tiny, frustrated sound in the back of her throat, her hands coming up to push uselessly against the solid wall of my chest.
I break the kiss just as abruptly as I started it, leaving her lips red and swollen, her chest heaving as she stares at me in shock.
I turn my head and look out at the congregation. My eyes find Don Orlando Genovese in the front row.
I give him a slow, chilling smile.