19. Dante
Dante
J uliette was a fucking sight to behold.
I couldn’t look away from her as she walked down the makeshift aisle. Toward me. The dress hugged her curves that I couldn’t wait to explore. I couldn’t wait to lay claim to every inch of her body and hear her moans. I wanted to own them all and make her forget everything and everyone before me.
Juliette’s gaze met mine. She chewed on her bottom lip, and with each step, her complexion seemed to pale further. If I were a decent man, I’d put a stop to this. But I wasn’t. And I’d waited too long for this.
For her.
Juliette stopped beside me and I took her hand into mine. It trembled. It was cold as I gripped it gently, hoping to reassure her. For all her sassiness and bravery, this woman sometimes reminded me of a scared little girl hiding under her tough bravado.
I’d seen it enough to recognize it.
The priest spoke wedding vows while she avoided my eyes for the duration of the ceremony. Her bottom lip was raw from her chewing on it, and when it was her turn to say “I do,” I half expected her to say “no.” Not that it would make much difference since we were married already.
Thank God she didn’t and a relieved breath left my lungs.
It was time to slip on the wedding ring and I held her trembling hand firmly, noting her shivers. I wanted to assure her she was safe. Maybe the knowledge of the DiLustros and the fear of the Syndicate was ingrained so deep inside her that she was terrified of us.
Though it made no sense. Her cousin was married to my cousin. They’d had a few hiccups along the road, but they were happy. Couldn’t she see that we could be happy too?
“You may kiss the bride,” the priest announced, interrupting my internal monologue that pretty much resembled rambling. It was what this woman did to me every-fucking-time.
I didn’t hesitate. I cupped Juliette’s face and pressed my lips against hers.
She stiffened but didn’t pull back.
And I… I was done the second her lips touched mine. My fingers gripped her nape, pulling her closer to me. I swept my tongue along the seam of her mouth and her lips parted with a gasp. It made me groan. She tasted better than anything on this fucking planet.
Sugarplums. Christmas. Home.
All fucking wrapped in one. Too sweet. Too perfect.
My heart thundered so hard, it cracked my soul and clung to this woman. I’d lock her inside me and throw away the key. I bit her lower lip, then eased the sting by sweeping my tongue over it.
Then she pulled back. Abruptly.
Her lips were swollen. Her face was pale. My wife met my gaze head-on. It was full of defiance and something else.
Something dark.
* * *
The ballroom of the hotel hosted the reception.
I had no idea who pulled this off or how in such a short time, but they’d done it. Maybe it helped that a lot of the visitors were already here for Emory’s birthday party.
Like the Morrellis. Or Cassio King and his family. The Nikolaevs. And then there were the Ashfords. There were a few that weren’t here. Not that they mattered. The only woman I cared about and the only family I needed were here.
After we’d accepted congratulations from our guests, the buffet opened up.
Juliette and I sat down together at the table.
Her father, aunt, and my own father sat along with us.
Everyone chatted, trying to keep the atmosphere light, but Juliette was tense throughout the meal.
She hardly ate anything, her eyes darting longingly to the exit.
“No more running, Juliette,” I said softly into her ear so only she could hear it.
The look she gave me resembled that of a deer in the headlights. She looked terrified. It was the last thing I expected from someone like her.
She stood up, excused herself, and walked over to her friends. My father’s eyes followed her, then returned to me.
“This was rushed,” he said, sounding less than impressed.
“This was two years in the making,” Liam shot back. “Didn’t your son tell you he asked for her hand?”
I didn’t tell my father I’d asked to marry Juliette.
It had hardly been the time since Basilio lay in the hospital and Priest was still coming to grips with learning who his real mother was.
Besides, Juliette’s message on my antique car was received loud and clear.
She’d refused me, therefore there was nothing to talk about.
Killian rolled his eyes. “You Italians,” he hissed. “Always looking for trouble.”
My eyes tightened, but I decided to ignore him. It was my wedding day. No sense in starting my union with bloodshed. With my brother-in-law, nonetheless.
“Very much like the Irish,” I drawled. I got up and buttoned my suit before another smart-ass comment came my way and this wedding turned bloody. “Excuse me.”
I grabbed my scotch, moving toward my cousin and brother standing close to the buffet.
“Is it all that you imagined and more?” Priest asked dryly. I narrowed my eyes on him. He was being as annoying as Killian. Maybe he should find himself a spot at my table and the two of them could be cranky together.
“What’s up your ass lately?” I hissed.
Priest shrugged but didn’t answer. His eyes darted to the red-haired woman who he’d claimed as his a long time ago. I pondered what held him back.
My eyes found my wife, talking to her friends, Ivy included.
“You two look like lovestruck puppies,” Basilio muttered, taking a swig of his drink.
“You fit right in during those crazed months you hunted Wynter,” I muttered under my breath. He just about killed every Russian in New York’s vicinity. As if remembering that feeling, he headed toward his wife who was standing with my own and wrapped his arms around her growing belly.
The look Wynter gave him, full of love, had something twisting inside my chest. I didn’t care about any of that. What the hell would I even do with all those damn emotions? They were messy; they complicated things.
Yet, the idea of never getting that was physically abhorrent.
I’d make her love me. Need me. Adore me.
Just wait and see.
“There’s the groom.” My head turned in the direction of the voice, and it was only then I realized my brother had left too. My gaze traveled the room, but he was nowhere to be found.
“So, you and Juliette, huh?” Sasha Nikolaev asked sarcastically, his wife on his arm. I groaned, wishing they’d say congratulations and get moving. No such luck. He remained glued to his spot. “Good luck with her. Hopefully she doesn’t rob you and then leave you stranded on an island.”
I gritted my teeth. Sasha was the fucking worst. Of all the people in this world, I could have done without him at my wedding.
“I’m surprised your wife tolerates your annoying old ass,” I remarked, bringing the glass of scotch to my mouth and swallowing it in one gulp.
Branka chuckled. “Barely said ‘I do’ and already so cranky,” she teased, her eyes sparkling.
Jesus, it would seem Sasha was a bad influence on his wife.
The chick was reserved from what I had heard and yet here she was fucking with me.
I should have made a better deal with her brother, Alessio, and had him hand over Philly, all Canadian business, as well as a clause to stay away from us DiLustros.
That would at least give me a break from this shit.
Too fucking late.
“Well, thank you for coming,” I said, grabbing another drink from the tray as the waiter passed us by.
“Ah, so eager to get rid of us,” Sasha remarked. “The pressure of marriage has barely begun, you young stud.”
“Jesus, don’t you have someone else to harass?” I grumbled. “Go nag Wynter or Cassio. Anyone. Just move on.”
Branka chuckled, while Sasha slapped me on the back, causing my drink to almost spill over. Fucker.
“She looks beautiful, Dante,” he finally said. “Congratulations.”
“Yes, congratulations,” Branka chimed in. “You’re a lucky man and Juliette’s a lucky woman.”
“Not as lucky as me,” Sasha said with vehemence. His wife’s gaze darted to Sasha and something about the way she looked at him made my chest squeeze.
This fucker kidnapped his bride and she was all goo-goo eyes, swooning over the unhinged bastard.
You did worse , my mind whispered, but I promptly told it to fuck off. I didn’t need my conscience kicking in now.
The two of them finally made themselves scarce—thank fuck—and I searched around, finding Juliette standing with her friends and her family.
I watched from where I stood as they all chatted and laughed while she kept a feigned smile on her lips.
Killian didn’t even attempt a smile, feigned or not.
He stood next to his sister, shooting glares my way.
“That fucker wants you dead,” my brother remarked, showing up out of thin air.
Of course, Basilio was right behind him. “Of course he does. He’s losing another woman in his family to the DiLustros. The fucker can’t stand it that we are irresistible.”
First Wynter and her mother and now his sister.
Priest followed my gaze toward the girls. “So you plan on having your wedding night once you get back to the hotel room or back in Chicago?”
I didn’t answer him.
The chemistry was there, there was no denying it, but my wife wouldn’t make it easy for me and give in to it. I didn’t know how I knew it but I’d stake my life on it. That look after our kiss haunted me, and each time I thought about our wedding night, that image flashed in my mind.
My hands curled into fists and frustration bubbled inside me.
“You think she’ll fight you?” Basilio asked, his eyes x-raying me and probably cataloging all my thoughts. I shrugged. His eyes took in my balled fists, then returned to my face. “You insisted on having her.”
Priest snickered. “Got us all in on his scheme. If Dad finds out, there’ll be hell to pay.”
I glared at him. “Shut up,” I muttered. “Don’t ever mention it again.”
Priest didn’t even miss a beat. “Emory’s already regretting her role in it all.”
All our eyes flicked to her. She stood in the far corner talking to the Nikolaev psycho, of all people.
“She shouldn’t be talking to that devil,” I hissed. I didn’t trust Sasha as far as I could throw him.
Just as those words left my mouth, Royce and Byron Ashford joined them, almost as if they thought the same thing. Royce had a beer in his hand, rolling his eyes at whatever Sasha was saying, while Byron kept his face a blank mask.
“It seems the Ashfords agree,” Priest remarked. “I’m surprised they showed.”
“Well, Kingston and Winston didn’t come,” Basilio said. “We’ll probably never see Kingston, and Winston… well, who in the fuck knows what he’s doing? Probably making some poor woman miserable.”
Priest chuckled. “Kind of like our Dante here.”
I shot him a glare, my first instinct was to punch him. I counted slowly in my mind, and by the time I got to four, a voice came from my left. Right between Priest and I.
“Juliette’s ready to cut the cake,” Ivy uttered, her eyes focused on me and Basilio. It was way too obvious she was trying not to look my brother’s way. If I weren’t feeling so frustrated, I’d fuck with him, but be that as it may, I didn’t have it in me. “Are you ready?”
I noticed Priest’s body angled toward Ivy, crowding her. She took a small step away and he took one in. Almost as if he were protecting her, his eyes shooting around the room, looking for possible threats.
Interesting.
I’d hate to burst his bubble, but I didn’t think Ivy was the type of woman with a rough-sex kink. She seemed more of a romantic type and my brother didn’t do romance.
“Well, are you ready or what?” she said, her voice too soft, too meek. The girl should grow some balls if she had plans to handle my brother. Otherwise, he’d smother her.
“I was born ready,” I answered confidently. Ivy must have found it unoriginal, because she rolled her eyes right along with my brother and cousin.
“Yeah, you and Juliette,” she muttered. “We see how that worked out for both of you.”
My cousin snickered, and rather than punching him, I stepped hard on his foot. “Cake time it is.”
His hiss and curses sounded behind me, and I couldn’t help but feel slightly better. At least there wouldn’t be a fight at my wedding.