Chapter 22 Tristan
TRISTAN
Power. Deception. Strategy. In my world, they’re interchangeable.
The underworld’s most feared individuals convene inside my hotel’s conference room. They’re here for my wedding and this meeting is to ensure everyone minds their manners. I increased security, posting my men on every floor to prevent any problems.
On the left side is the Syndicate. The four men stand together, glaring at the other three. Enzo and Mikail, the leaders of the brACON and Calla Ferrara, the Council’s leader.
The tension emanating from them stretches like a dangerous current. I position myself between them to preserve the balance—a tacit instruction not to entertain something foolish.
In front of me are Rafe, the Miami cartel boss, Vian, the Chicago Mafia boss, and Zara, gun trafficking heiress and the only other woman.
“If any of you pull a move on my wedding day, it’s going to end in bloodshed. No one will escape my wrath, and the one who started this won’t leave my city alive.”
“Is that so?” Cato asks, glaring at Calla, who brushes the golden hook on her arm, emphasizing the place his wife shot her.
I should have married Viviana in a secluded place. Unfortunately, I cannot enjoy that privilege because maintaining power proves more difficult than acquiring it. Nothing helps more in displaying that than showing who’s in charge.
A priest will marry us in God’s name to bless our union. A blasphemy considering the groom and most of my guests. If the church doesn’t go up in flames, we’ll move to the celebratory party afterward.
“We’re all for being civilized,” Calla says, but her smile is fake, daring them to start something.
Rafe chuckles, loving this shit. Vian barely suppresses his boredom. Zara is on alert because she does business with both the Syndicate and brACON, putting her in a delicate situation.
“It’s insulting to be in the same room with you, Luciana. I’m very trigger-happy,” Cato snickers.
“I go by fucking Calla now.” She steps toward him. “I know I didn’t shoot you in your damn brain.”
In an instant, four guns are pulled on the right side and three on the left.
I grit my teeth, gesturing for one of my men, who appears by my side like a deadly silent shadow.
“Hand over your guns. Fucking now before I lose my patience,” I snap.
They stare each other down, and Zara says, “Let’s calm down. We’re here for a wedding. Not to settle differences. There’s enough time for that.”
I offer her a nod of gratitude, and Vian glances at her before he quickly masks his interest. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I missed some intel.
“Marriage. No thank you,” Rafe mumbles.
I thought the same not long ago. Those were peaceful times. I don’t know whether to envy or pity him.
I turn to my left, starting with the ones I’ve bonded with for life by becoming Aris’s godfather.
“Guns, now.”
“I swear to God, if something happens, Demyan can’t fucking wait to end you,” Mikail grits out.
“Aww, is he offended I didn’t ask him to be a groomsman?”
My man opens a storage bag with Mikail’s name, so he drops it inside his, glaring at me.
We’re somewhat frenemies.
Next is Enzo, who says, “I hope you fucking know what you’re doing.”
He puts his in the other bag, and I stare at Calla. Knowing her, the gun is not her only weapon.
“Fine, you’re lucky we’re family, and New York is better for shopping,” she huffs, plucking the knife strapped to her thigh.
“Thank you for understanding,” I say, voice dripping with sarcasm as she slaps the knife in my palm.
I move to my right.
One after the other, they discard their guns, eyeing me as if they had made a mistake in entering this alliance by marriage.
Too fucking late.
The other three regard me as if wishing me good luck in keeping the opposing sides in check.
My men escort each group out, and I head to my suite to get ready for the ceremony.
My sister is waiting for me inside. Staring out the window, she’s so deep in thought she doesn’t even sense me approaching.
“Evie?” I ask, and she turns, her palm flying to her chest.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She offers me a small smile.
“Everyone will know that you’re my sister, starting today.”
She nods, her shoulders drooping.
“I’m sorry. If you want to be part of my life, of ours, that’s the only way. Or you can leave New York and preserve your anonymity.”
“No. All good things end,” she sighs.
I palm her shoulder, giving a squeeze. “You’ll be even more free. No one will dare touch you.”
Avoiding eye contact, she clears her throat, changing the topic. “She looks beautiful and is set to torment you, brother. Suits you right.”
I chuckle. I can’t wait, as I’ve been dying without her, needing to feed my starved lungs some oxygen.
This past month without her has been absolute hell.
Even if she fights me, ignores me, at least I will have her close. That’s all that matters.
I will shower her with everything she has ever dreamed of. I know her better than she thinks I do. She’ll give in because we’re simply meant to be together.
This is not the end. We’ll never end.
It’s just a new beginning.
As I dress in my tux, I clip my cufflinks, staring in the mirror. Mere hours remain till nothing and no one can separate her from me.
Finishing clasping my watch, I step out of the suite with my sister by my side.
She loops her arm around my elbow, and my men dip their chins toward her, then follow me. In my family, no one has dared question me. I introduced her as my sister, and everyone welcomed her. I told them to spread the news so no one gets any ideas.
“Maintain order. If problems arise, you know what you have to do,” I inform them.
They nod.
I warned both sides. It’s up to them.
Inside the classic Rolls-Royce, the drive is silent, both of us deep in thought.
Once the driver parks in front of the church, I climb out and turn to wait for Evie.
It’s a sunny day in June, a prelude to the upcoming hot summer. A handful of clouds linger, a reminder of the shadow over our union.
Inside the church, the priest waits at the altar while visitors fill the pews. Decorated with white peonies and candles that illuminate the altar and the corridor, the church interior is romantic.
Our wedding planner did an exceptional job, and Viviana could have just avoided getting involved, but we both wanted to. It gave me an excuse to see her, be near her.
She played her role as an enthusiastic bride so well that I almost forgot it was a ruse until Amanda spoke to us, only for Viviana to glare at me every time she looked away.
When the children’s choir begins to sing, my eyes dart toward the entry.
She’s out of this world beautiful, and emotions overwhelm me. Her angelic presence could convert me into a believer.
Viviana walks down the aisle toward me, and I swallow hard. She doesn’t take my breath away, she snatches my fucking soul.
Keep it together, I urge myself, plastering on my poker face.
A smirk lifts in the corner of my mouth as I notice the veil trailing for miles—a symbol of purity. Damn, she’s terrific at pretending. There’s nothing innocent left after I corrupted her, but you’d never know that, witnessing her shy smile.
Her father gives her away, and I take her hand in mine. “You look breathtaking.”
“Enough for you to die?” she whisper-snarls, keeping that smile on.
A grin splits my face. “From too much love? It could happen.”
She rolls her eyes hard enough that they roll back in their sockets.
As the priest proceeds with the ceremony, I can’t take my eyes off her. Can’t look away—enraptured as I say my vows, including the obeying part that makes her eyes bug out.
I believe in fairness. If she is to obey me, then I will obey her too. Marriage is not a one-way street, or at least I will not stand for that. We’re partners—equal partners.
She recites her vows, and I catch the significance registering with her with every word. Marriage is serious. For life.
I slide the wedding band next to her engagement ring. And she does the same.
The exchange of rings marks the final act as we join in marriage.
I’ll never take it off. And she better not either.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. What God united, no man can separate.”
I lift her veil and lean into her, whispering, “It’s like I get to unwrap you for a second time. Thank you.”
She glares at me.
I don’t ask for permission, knowing she said not to touch her again. Today is the exception, as everyone is watching us, and I am going to take full advantage.
My lips press on her soft ones, and she trembles in my arms, so I cup her cheek to shield her from prying eyes. It’s also a testament to my cherishing her and not wanting to share this moment with anyone else.
She takes a step back, a blush coloring her face as she faces the audience.
Fuck, she’s phenomenal.
I know the real reason, and it messes with my head.
Placing my palm on her back, I feel the hundreds of mini buttons. It will take forever and a fucking day to remove this thing.
She senses my frustration and tilts her head up. “Like my dress? I picked it specially for you.”
A grumble rumbles in my throat. “To drive me crazy, right?”
Cheers and congratulations erupt as my wife presses her palm to her chest, smiling and thanking everyone.
The charade ends once she slips inside the elegant Rolls.
She resembles a ball of wired tension that could snap at any moment. Looking out the window, she clasps her hands tightly on her lap.
I loathe the walls she erects between us, but I will dismantle every single one. Sisyphus has nothing on my perseverance. Plus, she doesn’t share the cruelty of a god to punish me forever.
I watch the curve of her slender neck, my fingers itching to trace her delicate cheekbones, my lips hungering for a taste of her honeyed skin. Her silky, long dark hair I ache to wrap around my fist, her pouty mouth I am dying to kiss. She’s exquisite—an out-of-this-world beauty.
“Thank you for wearing my gift.”