15. Gianna
CHAPTER 15
It’s been so long since I’ve visited the monastery that I expect some great change when we arrive, but there’s nothing. I could be seventeen years old heading to church like I had my whole life. Great pine trees line the drive, interspersed with some smaller maples. The grounds are green and lush with the inevitable summer encroaching.
We sit beside each other in an SUV with windows so darkly tinted God himself would have trouble seeing inside. Niko said something about military-grade bulletproofing, but I tuned him out, not really caring about the fine details of his fifteenth car. His left hand rests lazily on the steering wheel, and his right one holds mine. I haven’t decided whether it’s an intimate gesture or a game of chicken.
He gave me an engagement ring this morning. And it sits on my finger, shining. With one giant diamond and a halo of rubies, it’s so distinctly Niko and so beautiful it seems a shame to replace it in a few minutes when we say I do. He already informed me he had wedding bands for us. The collar has also been removed, but I suspect he’s still got it on him, and in its place sits a delicate golden chain with a heart-shaped lock.
“I will be putting this back on you,” he told me when he slipped off the leather and replaced it with the lovely jewelry I’m quite fond of.
It’s all the same, except I’m in a simple white summer dress rather than my church clothes, and Niko’s dressed in a suit that says business more than marriage. Oh, also all our parents, aside from his mother, are dead, and nothing is the same, but the monastery is untouched by all our problems.
The thought of his mother surprises me. I knew she was alive, but with everything going on, I haven't given one bit of consideration to how she might feel about this union. Niko hasn’t mentioned her once, so I can’t imagine they’re close these days.
“Will your mom care that we got married without her?” I ask, breaking the silence for the first time in a while.
“Yes,” he says, offering no further explanation or comfort. Will I ever get used to how direct he is?
“And you’re not going to elaborate on that?”
“Whenever my mother stops long enough to notice what’s going on with me, she will likely be upset that she wasn’t invited to the wedding.” He says it slowly as if it’s obvious, and maybe I’m irritating him. I’ve noticed the thicker his tone, the more upset he is. It’s a defense mechanism.
“Will that be a problem long term?” I ask, really hoping that if we have kids someday I don’t have to deal with someone undermining my parenting. The thought surprises me, but I meant it when I agreed to marry him, and I plan to have children.
“Likely the two times a year we’ll visit with her. I’ve never known her to let something go.”
“So your mom is going to hate me before I even have a proper conversation with her?”
“Oh, honey. She already hates you.” He pats my knee like that solves everything. “Your last name is Gemelli.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“She’s Sicilian.”
No further explanation needs to be given. My father and the Sicilians have a long history, and he’s personally responsible for removing their stake in the ports. But of course Niko’s mother has separate reasons for hating me from his father. One family feud would be too boring.
We reach the top of the hill where the cathedral, convent, and rectory all sit, giving us a stunning view of the grounds and river. Foolishly, I expect to park the car in the parking lot for the cathedral, but I suppose it would be pretty obvious if I just walked across these grounds. I’m well-known here, or at least I used to be.
Niko drives past the pull-off I know and down a road I’ve never followed. We take it all the way around the property to a side I’ve never seen before with sheer cliff faces that lead to much more direct access to the water below. The dirt road is edged with grass, kept in place only by what appears to be steady travel; lines of tire tracks that lead right off the side of the cliff.
As we come to that spot, I’m about to have a heart attack when Niko doesn’t hit the break. I expect the free-falling sensation of a drop and then our inevitable death, but instead, there’s a slight whoosh of falling and entire darkness for one heartbeat. We’re slipping underground.
Industrial lamps light the tunnel placed every ten feet. They're permanently installed, but they look more like something a construction crew would use rather than real infrastructure. Water drips down the stone walls, which are so closely pressed to the car that I’m not sure we’ll fit.
“Tell me this is only the entrance.” I don’t like tight spaces.
“Sorry, princess, exit too.” His voice is entirely nonchalant.
“And if someone else is coming?”
“Someone will have to reverse, but it won’t be me.” He winks, and I try and fail not to smile back.
“It will only be a few more minutes.” He squeezes the hand he’s holding.
My nerves sing as we wind deeper into the cliffside, but I’m excited too. I’ve never done anything this interesting, and it's amazing and depressing to think how much more vivid my life is since Niko took me. I’m playing a game by marrying him, but I’m not sure which one of us will be more wrecked for it.
“Is something wrong? Other than the tight space, I mean,” he asks me a few minutes later. “You’re unusually quiet.”
“Niko, what would you say if I told you I’m marrying you for my own nefarious reasons? Would you still go through with this?” Only a faint outline of his face is revealed in the light from the dash and the lamps beside us. He’s pensive for a minute and bites his lip. I’ve never seen the action before, but I’d like to try it. He has the softest mouth.
“Your reasons can’t be that nefarious if you’re asking me that question. A true villain would just act.”
“Just answer.”
“Gianna, I would have to be a hopeless fool to think you had anything other than nefarious intentions in mind when you offered to marry me. Sadly, I’ll take you however I can, scheming and all. I will warn you, though, if you’re planning to stick a knife in my back, I really am your best option.”
He sounds like he’s joking, but the look in his eye tells me he’s desperately serious, maybe even afraid of what might become of me without him. Maybe what I said at the house last night about his men struck a chord.
“I think I expressed my understanding of that when I suggested we get married.”
As much as it hurts to admit, the past week with him has been better than the previous six months. My parents’ murder is the one glaring exception.
“One of the best moments of my life, wicked woman and all.” I look over, finding him calm and sincere.
“You’re serious?”
“I’ve spent half my life in love with you. I can wait for whatever you think you need to do.”
“And if I kill you?” I ask him, wondering where this trust came from when I don’t have any of the same for him.
“Then I don’t have to live without you.”
I digest his words for the final few minutes of our journey. What must it feel like to be that sure of anything? Or is he full of shit and just that convincing? Before I fully understand what’s happened, Niko slows to a crawl, and the tunnel shifts into a long stone room, kind of like a parking garage but far older.
Niko pulls off into a narrow spot in the corner. We must be directly beneath the monastery. I look at the tunnel we entered through, and even in the dim light, I can see the marks where they blasted the wall to make the connection to the tunnel.
“Is this a secret mob entrance to the monastery?”
“Cathedral and nunnery, though I won’t scandalize you with why mobsters need private entrances to either.” He shoots me a wink, and he’s so damn handsome it hurts.
“Who said I don’t want to be scandalized?” I challenge, finding it hard not to flirt with all this giddy nervousness.
“You did.”
“When did I say that?”
“Last night when you wouldn’t let me fuck you because you’re Catholic, Gi.” He sounds far too petulant for someone who came twice anyway.
“Somehow, I think what we did was worse.” I roll my eyes, but my heated cheeks betray me. It certainly was filthier than the majority of the sex I’ve had in my life.
He gets out of the car first, opening my door for me and taking my hand again. It’s been so long since someone touched me with casual affection that it unnerves me. Even though years have passed and things couldn’t be more different, it still feels like I’m not allowed.
My heart is in my throat at being caught here with Niko. So much like when we were teens. This is Niko’s territory, and I’m about to be his wife, so I am more than welcome. But how often do things work out how they should? What if someone sees me? Niko’s plans all center around securing our hold before revealing our hand, and I actually agree.
He opens a door for me and leads me down a hallway. It’s built from the same ancient stone, but the fixtures seem more modern. I stare at his broad shoulders as he walks ahead and leads me to a narrow staircase with my hand still in his. The lights barely illuminate the space, and there’s a haunting sense of timelessness.
He’s a step above me when he turns. We can only just discern each other's features.
“I know we’re not here for any good reason, but you’re the only person I’d want to be here with.”
And he kisses me, soft and deep but painfully sweet.
The kiss ends, and he opens a door leading into the chapel. As I step inside, time rewinds—the wet stone smell, the old carpets, and the wooden pews so old the wood is soft. My breath leaves my lungs, and tears fill my eyes. The last time I visited, my family was beside me. Now I have no family, and I’m about to replace them with my parents' killer and make him my husband.
I don’t understand how things have gone so wrong since they were all alive and we had each other. Were things ever really better, or was I just too young and naive to see the truth? Did I ever have a real place with them, or were we always doomed?
“You okay, Gi?” Niko asks, pulling me closer to his side. “You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll keep you safe.”
It’s a reasonable assumption. So many bad things could come from me being discovered, but it’s not that. It’s the fact that I want him. I’m excited. And I’ll hate myself until the day I die.
I always dreamed I’d get married in this chapel, but reality often differs from our dreams. The chains barring the cathedral door against entry are too stark a reminder of our recent history and possibly our present.
“Am I still your prisoner, Niko?”
“You never were, princess. My dad was going to see you dead one way or another. If I didn’t follow through on the hit, the next guy would have killed you too. I have always done whatever I’ve needed to keep you alive.”
The weight of that takes a while to sink in, and part of me is floored because I know it’s true. If Niko said no or if Niko failed, the next guy would have killed me. He didn’t know his brother was going to murder his father, and could I really ask him to choose my father over his? If I was in his position, I would have done the same thing. Saved him and obeyed my father as best I could.
My world spirals on a newfound axis.
“So I’m not your prisoner?”
“Won’t be letting my wife go any time soon.”
Something else he said sticks out to me.
“When else have you needed to keep me alive?”
“Right here.”
Is he referring to when he dumped me by shaking his head and then never speaking to me again? But apparently stalking me once a year thereafter.
“Why—”
“Let’s talk about the past later, Gi.” He traps my face between his hands, then slips one around my neck, holding me gently. His kisses are electric sparks dancing across my lips.
“We’re going to,” I insist as I push him away, but I don’t think he looks as nervous as he should.
Candles dance in their red votives, and I take a few steps away from Niko to light one for each of my family members. He seems to think better of crowding the activity and begins inspecting the space, searching for bugs.
As the one for my baby cousin Sofia sparks to life, the side doors open. The lit taper hits the floor as I jump, an echo of years past when Pax dropped the candle on Estella Medeiros. I turn to Niko for protection but relax when I see it’s one of the priests.
He’s an older man with dark eyes and gray hair. It takes me a second too long to realize I recognize him.
What the hell is going on here? My great-uncle Marco stands in front of me wearing full priest gear and a hell of a lot more wrinkles than the last time I saw him.
He’s got the same features, though, and I see his resemblance to his older sister, my grandmother, more plainly now than ever. I last saw him fifteen years ago, here in this chapel, when he told my family we were no longer welcome. No one ever spoke of it or would ever explain, but I now realize why.
The Bouchards don’t know who he is, but why don’t they?
“Wh—”
“Good afternoon, Mr. and soon-to-be Mrs. Bouchard.” He cuts me off, sweeping into the room with a flourish of his robes. He stares at me intently, looking me up and down for only a moment before flitting to Niko, but I’m used to silent communication from aggressive men, and I know how to read “shut the fuck up” in body language.
I’m not the last Gemelli.
The truth of that statement is surprisingly freeing. Perhaps I was attributing some kind of magic to an almost dead name and the power of all that loss. Now that Marco is in front of me, real and alive, some of that mystique is gone. Should I want to jump into his arms? I don’t. All I want to do is figure out what he’s up to.
While Niko’s back is turned, he shakes his head at me, quick, small, definitive. It’s almost the exact way Niko broke up with me, except it says we both know but don’t dare reveal me, and for right now, I don’t see any reason to. Other than the nagging in my heart that tells me not to lie to the man I lo—. I hate him. I can lie to a man I hate.
“Nikolai.” His voice holds more gravel than I remember. “You didn’t tell me you were marrying the Gemelli princess. This certainly complicates matters. Won’t her father want to be here? Since yours can’t.”
There’s definite judgment in his tone, and the look he gave me a moment before is a distant memory. He’s regarding me as an oddity, something perhaps not worth all the effort.
“No, Stefan has nothing to do with this.” He tucks me even tighter to his side like he’s wary of my uncle, and I’m not sure I disagree with his assessment.
“What about when Stefan finds out you’ve run away together?” He watches my reaction, not Niko’s. I’m not stupid enough to trust him just because he’s my uncle, so I don’t react in any way.
This man is probably the last person on earth I’m blood-related to, but I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. I’ve been a valuable pawn long enough to know when someone is scheming ways to move me across the board.
“I’m not concerned about Stefan’s reaction.” Niko puffs up like the mere suggestion has him ready to fight.
Marco knows my father’s dead, doesn’t he?
May he rest in peace.
“I didn’t peg you for suicidal, Mr. Bouchard.” He looks at me again, and his eyes say too much, but it’s nothing I can decipher.
“Does Stefan serve as the cause of death in your analogy?” Niko asks.
“If he were still alive, that would be your father.” The grave look Marco gives Niko leaves it ambiguous whether he means the statement as a threat or not.
“Ah, but he’s dead. We aren’t getting nostalgic for old times, are we?”
“’Tis the folly of an old man.” He shrugs and plasters on a fake and amicable smile. “Shall we get this done before someone catches us?”
I’ve never been so sure in my life someone is up to something, but who am I ultimately loyal to? Who is my uncle?
“Please, I’ve been waiting to marry this woman forever.” He squeezes my hand and looks at me with true excitement and love. I try to return it, but I think my smile cracks on my face.
Niko gestures for my uncle Marco “Father DiMarco” to go ahead of us, and he takes his place behind the pulpit.
My uncle opens an old Bible and starts the prayers. It’s Catholic and traditional like I wanted, and by the time we say I do, I’m overwhelmed by a spiritual connection with Niko. There's a timeless power in the rituals and vows. I love him and have for years beyond all reason. The teenage girl in me wants to be bound to him, and I’m not so sure she and I are different people but two parts of a whole.
We slide rings onto each other's fingers, and I smile so hard my face nearly breaks when I see the band fits the gorgeous engagement ring to form a set. We kiss, and it’s like being alive again for the first time in so long, truly able to breathe. Tears well in my eyes as all these silly teen dreams I once had are realized, and the burn of loss chases the high.
I look up. My uncle married us, and I’m not sure whether I’ll tell Niko. He’s my husband now, but I still don’t know for sure if I can trust him. Niko hands Marco a marriage license, which I certainly haven’t signed, and the old man signs both as our officiant and our two witnesses with remarkably different sets of handwriting. Did he sign his legal name as the witness? Marco Gemelli?
“I love you so fucking much, Gianna Bouchard,” Niko says as he turns back to me, pulling me into his arms and kissing me again.
I kiss him back, pouring every bit of conflict I feel into the kiss.
“I love you too, Niko. I really do.”