Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
S AINT
I reach for my pack of cigarettes. Just one quick hit, and then I’ll go down the aisle.
I waste no time tapping out a smoke from the pack and lighting it.
Is it a sin to smoke inside a church? I briefly wonder but push the thought aside. If that’s the cardinal sin I commit that topples the scale, the world has bigger problems.
The smoke billows from my lips and out the open stained-glass window into the chilly air. What should bring a sense of calmness, a semblance of relaxation, does nothing but give me time to think.
Fuck this .
I snuff the cigarette out and stalk to the front of the church. Luxurious white floral arrangements decorate the aisle, all the way to where the priest waits. The decorations are elegant and refined yet suffocating all at once.
Guests are filing in, out of the biting cold that blew in over last week. Seeing all these people makes it all the more real. I adjust the cufflinks on my suit jacket for the fifteenth time since putting them on. I should be ecstatic to be here. Finally, I’m here. This is what I wanted, and yet…
My molars grind into one another before I let out a huff of air through my nose. I try to shrug it off. It doesn’t matter. I’ve got the girl. Finally, Emerald’s going to be mine. That alone should make the tension in my shoulders ease. But I just can’t shake the feeling brewing in my gut. Something feels wrong—like everything has since Ronnie’s passing. Off kilter and out of control. And I hate it.
I hate not being able to read Emerald.
The past two or three weeks have had a tension I can’t cut through no matter how hard I try. I know that Em’s had the stress of the wedding preparations and even more stress with the Milena issue. I clench and unclench my jaw. This isn’t how it was supposed to go.
Once the vows are done, once I really have her, I’ll tell her everything. Really tell her. Really try to open up with my emotions. Maybe that’ll fix this tension between us.
“You ready?” Christian’s voice breaks my thoughts. He’s stood beside me on a day I never saw happening to me. I’m getting married—me, a man who’s cold, emotionless, ruthless. But a man who wants to melt for this one woman.
“Yeah.”
My gaze catches sight of the Marchiano family trooping into the church. “For fuck’s sake, who invited them?”
“I did, of course,” Christian says. “I mean, we are supposed to be in an alliance with them. Plus, I’m now related to them given that my sister, Anni, married into their family.”
I see Anni on the arm of Lorenzo Marchiano, and her fluffy white cat is held to her chest with her free hand. I’m pretty sure none of the wedding invitations said that pets were allowed, but Anni is cat-obsessed and inseparable from that animal.
The Marchianos reach where we’re standing, and as they do so, Anni’s cat jumps down from her arms and leaps across the aisle, chasing God knows what and nearly tripping up Lorenzo.
“For fuck’s sake!” Lorenzo says with a scowl at the creature.
“I see you still haven’t managed to get rid of Anni’s floofball,” Christian says with a chuckle.
“Having pets,” Lorenzo says darkly, “is like the Mafia. Once you're in, there's no getting fucking out.”
How someone as upbeat and positive as Anni puts up with a grump like Lorenzo is beyond me. But they seem happy—well, at least when Lorenzo isn’t complaining about her cat. Although Anni didn’t have much choice except to have an arranged marriage to Lorenzo after that stunt she pulled. It was hardly the best way to get on the radar of your future husband. And I doubt Anni ever imagined she’d be marrying a single dad with two preschoolers. But they seem to have made the marriage work after the extremely rocky start. And from what I’ve heard, Anni’s an absolutely amazing mom to Lorenzo’s kids from his first marriage.
I can’t help noticing a number of fathers tighten their grips on their daughters as they catch sight of the Capo, Marco Marchiano—no doubt due to his reputation for kidnapping unmarried girls.
Lorenzo and Marco offer me their congratulations. “I hope this isn’t some girl that Anni found for you,” Marco mutters.
“Excuse me?” I clip.
Marco grimaces. “I still remember the time Anni made an online dating profile for me without my knowledge or permission.”
“Marco, you know I’ve apologized a million times already for what my wife did,” Lorenzo huffs. “You know Anni is difficult to control at times.” He throws a glance over his shoulder as Anni chases her cat across the church as it causes complete mayhem among the guests. “Anyway, you’re married to Juliana now, so you didn’t have to resort to any of those girls Anni found for you.”
Marco snorts. “As if I would have looked twice at any of those girls. With all that stupid shit Anni made up for my online profile, anyone I matched with was bound to be completely crazy.”
“You know she meant well,” Lorenzo says in defense of his wife.
“Er, why on earth has the cat got a large pink bow tied around its neck,” I find myself asking.
“Don’t ask,” Christian says. “Anni might be my sister, and I love her dearly, but she has slightly eccentric ideas at times.”
Ma Veneti comes stomping up to us at that moment and jabs a finger into Lorenzo’s chest. “Who said that you could bring the furball here with you?” she shrieks from right next to me.
I don’t know why Christian’s ma insists on shouting every time she speaks, and I’m tempted to stick my fingers in my ears just to block her piercing tones.
“Look, Ma,” Lorenzo grits out, fast losing his patience with his mother-in-law. “I never wanted the cat in the first place. I only ever agreed to take your daughter, and no one ever said anything about me having to take the cat as well.”
I watch as Camillo Marchiano walks to his seat, holding the hand of his wife, Rosa, and looking adoringly into her eyes. Their son, Ethan, is beside them. No one would be able to tell that Ethan isn’t Camillo’s birth son. And when I see how Camillo took on a single mom and her son, and I see how close they are and their obvious love, I know that’s what I want it to be like between me and Emerald and her siblings. Emerald comes with a ready-made family, and I’m totally fine with that. Actually, more than fine. Because I love the kids now just as much as I love Em.
After Camillo has got his family seated, he strides up and growls at his oldest brother, Marco. “Rosa made those for me, asshole!”
“What are you talking about now?” Marco drawls in a dismissive tone.
“You know what I’m talking about,” Camillo grits out. “She made the pies for me .”
“Look, I didn’t touch the apple pie,” Marco blusters, shifting uneasily from one foot to another.
Camillo glares at him. “You ate the peach pie. Plus, a slice from the lemon pie. Those ones were mine as well—they’re all mine, and you know that.”
“Aw, come on, Camillo, you gotta learn to share?—”
“Just keep your filthy paws off my wife’s baked treats, or you’ll be fucking sorry,” Camillo says with a scary scowl.
I suppress a grinbecause everyone knows that Camillo’s wife is the best cook in that family, and the brothers often fight over the cakes and pies she bakes. Camillo stomps back to his seat.
And I hear Rosa speak to him. "Don't worry, I’ll bake some more pies and cupcakes just for you tomorrow." Then she smiles and lowers her voice. "And I've got another special treat for you later tonight..."
Camillo is the enforcer for the Marchianos, and he has a fearsome and brutal reputation, but as soon as he looks at his wife, he completely softens. He's a totally different man when he's with her, and he doesn't care who sees it. She was in desperate need of protection from her extremely dangerous ex, and Camillo never once let her down. They have the sort of marriage I aspire to, and I only hope that I can prove myself worthy of Emerald.
Christian checks a message on his phone. “Leoluca just texted to say Emerald’s nearly here.”
“Good.” I give a satisfied smile.
“All okay?” I ask Jaspar where he sits on the front pew in his small suit, coloring in some superhero coloring book.
He gives me a scrutinizing look before just glaring at me.
Great. He’s in a bad mood after I forgot to get Lucky Charms from the store. All the last-minute wedding stuff made it slip my mind, but he seems to be convinced that I must be hiding the cereal and keeping it all for myself. Sometimes, I don’t understand where this six-year-old kid gets his ideas from. Despite the progress we’ve made over the past few months, I swear things with this kid are always two steps forward and one step back.
What with Jaspar’s grumpiness plus Milena’s continued iciness toward me and Emerald after we grounded her, it’s a wonder that we even managed to get them to the church today. Only Giulietta seemed excited about coming today, although I did have to suggest to her that her teddy bears would probably prefer to have a Kool-Aid tea party at home instead of all coming to the wedding reception after she got them dressed up in ballerina tutus she’d outgrown.
A nagging feeling in the back of my head, the one that’s telling me something is wrong, is blaring in my gut now. The alarm bells are ringing on full blast. I’ve missed something important, and I don’t know what.
“You good?” Christian asks.
“Fine.” I remark, tugging on the sleeve of my suit jacket once more.
“Yeah, you look really thrilled to be here.”
“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, somewhere else?” I ask, brow arched. “Like greeting the underbosses or something?”
“Nah. I’d much rather be here, bugging you. You smell like smoke.”
“I wonder why.”
“Real romantic.”
“If that’s all you have to offer, Christian, your seat’s waiting.”
“This is more entertaining.”
“Of course it is.” I roll my eyes at him before sighing. “Something’s off.”
“You got cold feet?” he asks.
My eyes snap up to him, and I glare. “No. But it feels…off.”
“I think those are called pre-wedding jitters. Your robotic heart is probably confused.”
I scowl at him. “Okay, asshole. Thanks for the input. But I don’t mean that.”
“You think Carmine’s going to retaliate here?”
“Not sure... Either way, everyone should be on high alert just in case.”
Christian nods as I get in place in front of the altar. I don’t miss the way people look at me—all the Imperiosi families that had to be invited to keep up good relations.
Christian takes his seat in the front pew as I let out a breath. My eyes track the entrance, the guards posted periodically in the alcoves, and the men who are carrying beneath their suit jackets. Carmine would be fucking stupid to try interfering with this. I know I’m preparing for something that probably won’t happen, but that’s who I am. Ten steps ahead. Always thinking of the next move.
My gaze moves to the aisle where Giulietta stands in her pale pink dress—the very dress she picked out weeks ago and hasn’t stopped talking about the entire time. Behind her stands Milena, Jacquetta, and Nicki, their dresses in a coordinating shade.
Giulietta waves to me enthusiastically and twirls, showing off her dress. My lip twitches. At least someone seems excited about the ceremony.
The music starts, and the guests rise, and I watch Giulietta sprinkle petals on the ground before moving to sit next to Jaspar in the pew. Next, Milena, Jacquetta, and Nicki come walking down the aisle. Then the music changes, and my gaze attaches to the doorway.
Emerald steps out.
And I take her in. The white dress that hugs her like a glove. The inky curls of her hair that spill down her back from some intricate style that Jacquetta no doubt helped with. The way her green eyes are lined in some shimmery bronze color. It knocks the air from my lungs.
Our eyes lock, and something stabs at my chest. I told her once, and I’ll tell her over and over again, she’s mine. Today’s just making it official.
It takes her far too long to approach the altar, hand off her bouquet to Milena, and face me.
I take her hands, thumb brushing over her knuckles in some attempt to reach her. To soothe that look in her face. Once this is over, I’ll come clean. I’ll do what I haven’t been able to do since I arrived in New York. Be honest with her—fully honest about my emotions.
Then I won’t have to worry about losing her over it. Because she’ll know the truth.
I squeeze her hand softly, trying to find that spark in her eyes that makes my chest hurt every time I catch her looking at me with it. That look that makes me feel like I can be a better man. Makes me want to be—for her.
I didn’t lie when I told her I wanted this for real, when I worshiped her as she deserved, when I claimed her as my own in every way I could. And yet, it all feels so far away from now. A distant memory that’s shattered into a million pieces.
The priest drones on and on about how holy this union is and how beautiful marriage can be, but Emerald’s expression remains guarded. Not a frown, but she’s not smiling either...
Is something wrong? My eyes dart around the place as the alarm bells ring too loud to be ignored.
“Valentino Veneti and Emerald Fiorelli, have you come to enter into marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?”
The words snap me back to the ceremony at hand, and I look to the weathered faced of the priest. “I have.”
Emerald inhales sharply. “I have.”
My eyes slide back to her, my brow furrowing just slightly as the priest continues with his questions about love and marriage and children and a bunch of shit I don’t care about but agree to anyway. My eyes are glued to Emerald’s.
“Since it is your intention to enter the covenant of holy matrimony, join your right hands and declare your consent before God and his church.”
I swallow as my grip on Emerald’s hand tightens. I lock eyes on her, trying to pour some kind of emotion into my gaze, some truth into the words as they spill past my lips. “I, Valentino Veneti, take Emerald Fiorelli to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”
I feel her hand tremble in my own.
Her eyes dart past me.
“Emerald…?” The priest prompts her for her vows.
My hand tightens. My eyes narrow slightly. And my heart pounds in my chest.
But before she can say anything, a voice pipes up. “You can’t marry him, Emerald!”
I spin around.
A shared gasp reverberates around the church.
And my eyes dart around.
Trying to find the offender.
But I already recognize the voice...
And I can’t help the groan that escapes me.
“He’s nothing but a freaking cereal thief!” the voice continues.
And Jaspar’s glaring at me, his tiny fists crossed over his small chest.
Jesus fucking Christ . What the hell has gotten into the kid? And why the hell did I ever think it was a good idea to take a box of Lucky Charms from a six-year-old kid in the first place ?
I start to speak. “Look, Jaspar, come on?—”
But someone else says something, the mocking voice echoing in the silence of the large church. “She’s just a whore and a gold digger. I don’t know why anyone would want to marry a slut like her.” And as a few people nod in agreement, I realize that it’s Ria Gioberti speaking. And Emerald’s face falls, embarrassment and humiliation flushing her cheeks as she hears Ria’s cruel comments.
But before I can say anything else, I see a whirl of white.
And Emerald’s taking off down the aisle.
Her dress gathered in her hands as she breaks into a sprint.
A chorus of gasps and shocked sounds fills the space.
And I’m vaguely aware of the priest talking to me. But the words don’t register.
My world spins as she turns it upside down and inside out with that one goddamn action.
I run my tongue over my teeth, eyes closed. In. Out. I breathe, trying to calm the inferno trying to overtake me.
My jaw tightens. I can feel the eyes on me. I can feel the questioning stares and whispers as they pound against me. One beat of my heart, then another, and I block it all out.
“Saint?”
Someone grabs my arm, but I yank free. I don’t bother turning to the call of my name as I storm down the aisle.
Ten minutes. All she had to do was wait at most ten minutes.
I drag my hand through my hair as the bitter wind slams into me. I can hear the shout of my name, but I still don’t bother to stop. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her just walk out on me like that.
The door to my car slams shut as I roar the engine with a sharp flick of my wrist and a pump on the pedal. My finger hits the dial button to call Emerald, to make some kind of contact.
But nothing.
“Dammit, Emerald,” I mutter, weaving in and out of the traffic. She got a what, a five or ten-minute head start on me? At this time of day, traffic’s going to be a killer, and my fingers drum against the wheel as I glare out the window.
Of all the stunts to pull. Of all the things to goddamn do.
My teeth grind together. Do I deserve this? Maybe. I haven’t exactly given her a reason to stay. A reason to want me as I am.
My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, and I let out a slow hiss of breath. I should have known this would come crashing down and that I’d be left scrambling to pick up the pieces, but I did it anyway. What is it about Emerald that makes me so reckless and so…out of control ?
I can’t ever be the man she needs. No wonder she ran. Chained to an unfeeling, unemotional bastard like me is a death sentence for anyone. And I’ve been selfish and foolish enough to think she could look past it. That if I just pretended hard enough, it wouldn’t matter. That I could have something I was never meant to have.
A bitter humorless laugh bubbles from me as I pull up at the mansion. I don’t even bother shutting the car door as I stride up the stairs and into the house. “Emerald!”
Nothing.
“Emerald, I swear to God, get out here. Now. We need to talk!”
My chest is laboring, and I feel like a monster. I am a monster. That black pit of unfeeling has swallowed me whole.
I take the stairs two at a time, shoving open the bedroom door. The slam of it against the wall reverberates through the room.
Empty.
Where the hell is she? There’s no way she didn’t beat me here. “Emerald!”
No answer.
My eyes narrow on the closet and dresser. Yanking open the drawers, I scan the contents. Her clothes are still there. I do the same with the closet. Still as it should be.
Whirling on my heel, I scan the room. Nothing out of place. Nothing amiss. My jaw tightens as I storm into the hall. The fact that her things are still here doesn’t mean that she hasn’t run. Lord knows the woman is ready to bounce at a drop of a hat.
My nostrils flare as I pace. I can figure this out. She’s smart, but not when she’s rushed. I just need a clue. A single fucking piece of information to point me in the right direction. I found her that time in that shitty motel, so I know I can find her now.
It’s not hurt that I feel. No, this is something else. Something deeper and thornier. Something that wraps around my heart and squeezes until the organ struggles to even beat.
“Fuck, Em,” I mutter, leaning against the banister, trying to remain composed.
I stride down the hall toward the guest room. I try the door and stop, pounding my fist against it. “Open the goddamn door, Emerald!”
There’s no response, and not a single sound comes from the room. Fucking perfect. I march back to the master and grab the spare key, using it to unlock the door to the guest room.
Throwing the door open, I’m standing in an empty room. She’s not here. The bed is made, and her laptop sits on the dresser. And although Emerald has been spending a lot of time in here lately, there’s hardly anything that gives me any clue of where she is now.
My eyes narrow. “Where the hell did you go?” I mutter, scanning the room once more. The closet door protests as I yank it open, nearly ripping it from its track in the process. Her spare clothing lines the hangers. More dress boxes and various shopping bags are scattered on the floor. I dig through them, throwing them behind me onto the bed after I rifle through them, looking for a clue. For something. For anything.
“Fuck!” My hand braces on the shelf in the closet, and I lean my head against it.
Leave it to Emerald to make me lose control like this. To feel like this.
I shove from the closet and turn to the mess I’ve made and freeze.
My eyes narrow as I look at the heaps of stuff I tossed onto the bed.
There among some dresses is a…
Onesie.
Not an old one—it doesn’t belong to Jaspar or Giulietta from when they were younger. No, this one is brand new.
I slump onto the edge of the bed, my hand slowly scooping up the soft material.
Fuck. Me.
The room spins. My chest heaves. And I can hear my breathing turn ragged.
My fist curls around the tiny pastel outfit, my eyes glued to the small item in my hands, my mind galloping at a mile a minute.
Is this why she ran ?
Why the hell didn’t she tell me ?
But the moment I ask that question, I already know the answer.
It’s been staring at me right in the face since I watched her take off down that aisle.
It’s me.
It’s always been me.
Not enough.
Not emotional.
Not capable of feeling something like love.
I’d let myself believe the delusion for too long. The tension between Emerald and I these past weeks only proves it. I’m never going to be what she wants or needs. I had to manipulate her into marrying me in the first place. And just when I thought that for once, someone could find me enough, could live with the fact that I can’t offer them comfort, solace, or emotional support, she turns around and runs.
My hand tightens around the fabric, wrinkling it in my grasp, my lip curling into a snarl as I stare at the baby onesie.
Veneti men don’t feel.
It’s a weakness.
And I’ve let that weakness consume me for far too long.
I drag my hand down my face. Getting to this day was supposed to be an easy plan to execute. I had my moves all figured out in advance: woo the girl, make her realize that the physical chemistry was enough to make up for my lack of emotional support, parade her around, and make it known that anyone lays a finger on her and they’ll lose it.
My plan was precise.
Methodical.
Well strategized.
Just like every hit I carry out.
Just like every single game of chess I play.
And yet, Emerald, in her normal infuriating manner, has managed to throw a wrench into it all.