Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
ENZO
“What do you mean I don’t have a choice?”
Her words come out flustered and upset. And, God, Bella is absolutely delectable when she’s outraged. The temptation to keep her is one I could never deny myself.
“It’s the only way to get you away from my uncle alive.” The fact that it basically fucks my uncle in the ass is just a perk.
Panicked, she gasps. “What do you mean?”
I press my body against hers, inhaling the intoxicating mix of citrus shampoo and fear, whispering against her lips. “My uncle expects me to hand-deliver you to him, like I’m fucking DoorDash. He has no intention of letting me keep you, and I have no intention of letting you go. Being a D’Angelo will shield you from him.”
“There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t.” I shrug, repeating her own words back to her. “You’re the one who, and I quote, wants to live. So, you have two options: me or him. Take your pick. ”
She takes an extra long time to process my words. Frankly, it pisses me off that she hasn’t already chosen me over my douchebag uncle, but I’ll punish her for that later.
Slowly, like prying her exhausted fingers from the edge of a cliff, she gives in. “When?”
“Tonight.”
Her eyes widen in fear, then flit to that dipshit Knox, and I realize she needs convincing. “Signal him all you want, Kennedy. Agent Knox is an anchovy floating mindlessly in a sea of sharks. Whatever fingers you signal him with, I assure you, I’ll take bolt cutters to before shoving them down his throat.”
Terror flashes across her face, assuring me that what I’m doing is more than just a little fucked up, but I’m a psychopath. What does she expect?
She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes as she trembles. “I don’t want this.”
I kiss her neck, and her body shivers. “What you want is irrelevant. What you need is two slow hours of me ruining you for life.” I move my lips to her ear. “You think I don’t know about your texts and calls to your friendly neighborhood Fed? Or that he has your sister holed up at his apartment?”
“Are you jealous?” she sneers. Always a fight with this one.
I smirk, tracing a finger down her cheek. “Does he look dead?”
Her heart pounds wildly against my chest, like a little bird suddenly desperate to escape her cage. “Enzo, please?—”
“Please, what? Please take you to the church, or please drop you off at the nearest human trafficking ring?”
Her tears flow freely now, and I can see she’ s finally coming around. She takes a shaky breath. “Will you at least honor my father’s wishes for my wedding day?”
“What wishes?”
“They were in his will,” she says. “He didn’t have money to leave me and Riley. He left us his wishes instead.”
My mind races, speculating on what a man would want for his daughter’s wedding.
Yeah, I got nothing.
But considering I have more money and power than half the countries in the world, it shouldn’t be an issue. “Agreed.” I kiss her. “Be my wife, Bella , and I vow to give you anything you want. Or die trying.”
My darling Kennedy,
There will come a day when the man of your dreams will want to whisk you away, and if you’re reading this, it means I’m not there to pound sense into the two of you myself. But from up above, I’ll be looking down on you, and I swear if I could, I’d move heaven and earth to be there for you, lass.
Remember, darling, you’re a Mullvain, and we Scots abide by our family traditions. Pre-cana. Devotion. Attire.
I know you’ll make me proud.
My love, forever and always ,
Da
With my brothers all gathered in the library, we get to work. Even though I told Smoke he didn’t have to stick around, considering he has a honeymoon to jet off to, he’s here.
Despite our differences, stepping over his wedding was never on my to-do list. Yet, here we are, and since Mr. “I’ll believe it when I see it” insisted on witnessing the world’s most notorious bachelor tie the knot, well, here he stands. With all of us.
The stark truth that we’ll never know when it’ll be safe for us all to be in the same room again cuts through my heart like a serrated knife. Though I’ll never admit it to these buttheads.
“Where’s the blushing bride?” Dillon quips, plucking a book from the shelf and flipping it open. “I’m surprised she hasn’t run for the hills yet.”
“And I’m surprised you can read,” I retort back, eyeing the book in his hands, “though it doesn’t shock me you grabbed historical romance. Dark romance, bro. Trust me on this.”
“She’s being fitted for her dress,” Sin interjects as he strides in.
Ricardo has already delivered all three gowns, along with a battalion of seamstresses. He’s spent the last thirty hours sketching for my approval, and they’ve been sewing like the wind.
Here’s the thing: I know everything about Kennedy—her cup size, style preferences, even her favorite fabrics. Could I have picked out a dress she’d love with my eyes closed? Sure .
But today is her wedding day. Not that she knew it when she rolled out of bed this morning. The least I can do is give her one choice in the matter.
Having Sin by her side is a dowry of sorts. And not just for today. Knowing Sin, he’ll embrace her as one of us no matter how much of a dickhead I am. And Kennedy needs that.
Having someone paternal and reassuring will ease what’s to come. No one pulls off being a father figure better than Bryce Jacob Sinclair, Esquire. Sin. My father’s best man and best friend for years. And a confidant to me.
No one is better suited to give my bride away. Thank fuck he agreed.
“She said yes?” I ask.
Sin nods. “She did.”
“To everything?” I ask, the weight of the question pressing on me. This small point had become an insurmountable wall I couldn’t scale alone. Meeting her dead father’s wishes is important to her, which makes it important to me.
But only Kennedy could determine if all his conditions were met, putting the ball squarely in her court.
Sin nods again. “Father Marc is on his way, with reinforcements. I’ve also assured her that once you are legally wed, she becomes a D’Angelo, with all the resources and protections that title affords.”
Dante pats me on the back. “What’s the rush? Are you pregnant?”
“I have my reasons. Primarily, Uncle Andre.” Just saying his name makes the vein in my forehead throb.
Mateo straightens his tie in the mirror. “So, instead of you two treating her like a wishbone, you’re bringing all of us in to go full-blown tug-of-war, Squid Games -style?”
“Yes.” That, and they’d never agree to go to war over a woman unless I was serious. And nothing screams serious like till death do us part.
Father Marc sweeps into the room like his robe is on fire, followed by another man lugging bolts of green and red fabric. “Okay, Enzo, I believe we have everything you need.” He glances around, eyes wide with urgency. “Where’s the bride?”
“Getting dressed.”
“So, when do we see her?”
“When she walks down the aisle.” Normally, Father Marc is the epitome of calm in Catholic tradition, but right now, I’m not so sure.
He blinks. “I need to see her now. Her and you.”
“Why?”
He pulls up the will on his phone and points to the screen. “Pre-Cana. Devotion. Attire.”
“And?”
“What’s Pre-Cana?” Smoke asks, quirking a brow.
Dillon shrugs. “Sounds kinky.”
Father Marc pinches the bridge of his nose, likely wondering if any of us can truly be saved. Then he collects himself. “Pre-Cana is pre-marital counseling. I meet with the couple weekly for about twelve weeks, discussing the gravity of choosing a lifelong partner and the principles of honesty and loyalty. It gives them time to let these concepts truly sink in. Twelve weeks is standard, though I’ve cut it back to six.”
Honesty.
Loyalty .
And a migraine that’s about to split my skull.
“Can’t I just give a girl a big diamond ring and say I do?” I stare at him like he just jerked off in front of us. Six to twelve weeks, my ass.
He catches my look and nervously tugs at his collar. “How much time do we have?”
“About an hour.”
“An hour?” He gulps, glancing upward as if doing mental calculations. “Fine. Okay. An hour.”
The funny little man he entered with unrolls bolts of fabric at my feet. “What’s this?”
“Well, I cover Pre-Cana and devotion,” Father Marc explains, pointing to himself, then to the man. “And Hamish here”—Hamish waves—“has you covered for attire.”
I point to my tux. “I’m wearing my attire. We all are. We blew through one wedding and are on to the next.”
Hamish steps forward, hand to his chest, standing all stout and proud. “I’m yer kiltmaker, sir.”
My face drops. “My what?”
A roar of laughter erupts from my brothers, especially when Hamish starts draping fabric across my loins.
I’m about to totally lose my shit when Father Marc shoves his phone in my face, and the handwritten document from Ewan Mullvain stares me down.
The man’s dying wishes for his daughter. My wife-to-be. “Fuck. Fine. Whatever.” I stare them all down. “And you’ll all be wearing them too, dickheads.”
That shut them up.
The man raises a hand nervously. “It was a bear findin’ all this Mullvain tartan. Sorry, did you say I need to make kilts fer everyone? I’ve only got two hands.” He holds up his hands as if to drive the point home. “I’m a stitch-tician, not a magician.”
Dillon slaps his hand. “My man. Busting out the Star Trek .”
My head falls into my hands. I’m pretty sure Hamish here has waited his whole life to drop that line.
Sin adjusts his glasses and speed-dials Ricardo. “We need seamstresses over here right away. Can you spare any?”
“What for?” Ricardo asks, sounding distracted.
“All the men are getting fitted for kilts.” Sin barely gets the words out when loud squeals blast through the phone.
Mateo arches a brow, crossing his arms. “What was that?”
Ricardo laughs. “Those are my seamstresses stampeding out of the room and heading your way. The thought of stripping down the D’Angelos is like shouting shirtless firefighters to them. Will you be going regimental?”
Regi-what? By this point, I’ve had enough. “What about Kennedy’s dress?” I snap, because she’s definitely more important than my idiot brothers prancing around with the fabric. Is the style to her liking? What about the veil? All I manage to bark out is, “Take care of it.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be taking extra good care of your bride.” He’s just saying that to rile me up, and it’s working.
I know Kennedy is right there, standing next to him, listening to every word, and she hasn’t said a damn thing. The silent treatment? It’s driving me out of my goddamn mind, and I hate that it does.
It also bothers me that Ricardo has probably seen her naked, and if I gouge out his eyes, who will make her exquisite couture clothes?
“Just take care of her,” I bark .
“Definitely,” he purrs. Fucker.
We disconnect just as Hamish circles me like a hawk, sizing me up. “So, we’ll keep yer top. And I’ve got enough fabric for the kilts and fly plaids, but what about yer dress sporran? Or kilt hose? Or yer Ghillie Brogues?”
Fuck, my Ghillie what?
I place a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got a dozen seamstresses, an unlimited budget, and an extra hundred-thou if everything you just said magically falls into place in under an hour. Can you be a magician now?”
He salutes sharply. “Aye-aye, captain.” If this guy’s full of Scotty quotes, I’m gonna need booze.
Mateo holds a strip of fabric across his waist, grinning. “What did Ricardo mean by going regimental?”
Hamish snorts. “I believe you know it as going commando.”
Sin’s face turns crimson. “You mean without a shred of underwear?”
Dillon perks up. “No boxers or briefs?”
“Buck-fucking-naked?” Dante asks in total disbelief.
“Naught more than what the good Lord gave ye,” Hamish replies with a wink as a flood of women rush in, giggling and fawning. Not that Dante, Dillon, or Mateo mind at all—this is probably just a typical Saturday night for them.
But Smoke’s head is practically steaming. He just tied the knot, and the last thing he wants is his wife’s, or her family’s, wrath all over his ass.
As for me, none of these women interest me. At all. My dick has been spoiled on an exclusive diet of Bella’s mouth and pussy. Anything less, and he’d rather starve .
Hamish quiets the room. “Ladies, please. We’re professionals. No ogling the steers. Each of you has very little time to cover these fine gentlemen’s gibly-bits. The men will strip down, but only to their boxers.”
A resounding boo echoes through the room. I tap Hamish on the shoulder. “While you’re working miracles, I’ve got one more request.”