Chapter 11
Valentina Denaro
The room dips in and out of focus as I fight the need pulsing through me.
Everything sparkles. Sharp jawline, full lips, intense amber eyes, crisp collar, custom made suit—everything about Mario makes me want to touch and explore with teeth and tongue.
His hot, hard hand clasps my naked sex, scrambling my brains and filling me with sensual heat.
“Everything here, from the venue to the guests, and even your hairpins, is for another man, but this ,” he squeezes my pussy so hard I arch my back and grab his tie, “is mine,” he snarls.
I nod, mindless with need and too overwhelmed for words.
He slips the controller into his pocket and slides his hand around my nape.
“I’d hate to ruin your makeup for your special day, so I’ll wait to kiss you until we say I do ,” he murmurs against my temple.
He’s so close but so far away. I need to see his face. He told me to keep my eyes on him, but he looms so far above me I can’t find him. The cold fury wafting off him terrifies me while the heat of his palm electrifies my senses.
When he finally leans back, granting me access to his face, I wish I could turn back time and close my eyes.
The lascivious glint in his stare and sadistic smirk on his face fuel my lust despite the pain slicing my heart in two.
His words replay in my head.
We haven’t kissed. In fact, he purposefully refused to kiss me despite the sexual tension between us.
I mean nothing to him. He was upfront about playing with me like a toy, but I let my defenses down like an idiot.
I willingly cheapened myself. For him.
I stripped for him. Devoted my first orgasm to him. Fantasized about him. Played right into his devious plan.
I took what should be an intimate, pure experience and made it trashy for him.
Mario Luciano.
No wonder my mother left me. I’m disgusting.
I bite back a sob and choke on a curse when he grinds the heel of his palm against my sensitive clit.
With his eyes locked on mine, he smiles and squeezes my nape.
“You have the blue,” he says with a tug on the vibrator string.
A pathetic sound leaks from my throat. He lifts his hand away from my sex, licks his palm, and groans all while staring into my soul. His eyes darken as I shiver, my blood morphing to liquid desire as he cleans my arousal from his hand with his tongue.
“I have the borrowed,” he says with a light tap to his breast pocket.
“Now take the old,” he demands as he yanks out a knife I haven’t seen since he and my father walked out the front door on their last deal together.
I stare down at my fingers wrapped around the weapon my father used to carry all the time until Mario pulls his suit coat open to reveal two sleek black pistols.
“And I’ll keep the new,” he says.
When I meet his eyes, my heart sinks even further. He isn’t trusting me.
He’s testing me.
Will I choose him or my father?
The thought of stabbing anyone makes me queasy, which is a horrible sensation with cool air wafting over my wet sex, but if I must stab one of them, it’ll be my father.
Mario chuckles, steps back, lowers my skirt, and lifts me off the counter by my waist as though I weigh nothing. When he sets me on my feet and takes the knife from me, I don’t object.
I made my choice already.
He tugs my arm down, studies where it brushes against my skirt, then slices a hole in the fabric and wedges the blade into the makeshift holster.
I don’t care about the dress. It isn’t my style. It’s Romeo’s.
Or maybe it’s my father’s. I don’t remember who chose it.
It doesn’t matter. Today’s expensive wedding isn’t real.
With a calloused finger, Mario pulls me from my spiral by tracing a line over my jaw, down the side of my throat, and over my shoulder.
I hide a wince as he brushes against my bruised arm, but part of me thinks he notices everything.
He knows I’m already wrecked. Whatever kindness he shows me now is to build me back up so he can watch me fall.
He lifts my wrist and nips my fingertips before licking my palm.
The palm I slapped him with.
I swallow at the threat hidden within his gesture even as delight fizzles up my arm. He smirks, pulls my veil into place, and pats my head before deserting me.
My heart quails, but I shove my emotions into the box with all the others from the last decade and turn off my thoughts.
The barrier of the veil blurs the world.
My wedding attendant bustles into the room and chaos descends as the time nears for me to walk down the aisle.
Someone hands me the bouquet. Even though I’m dressed and ready, the people around me scurry about with excitement and purpose, but I stand calm in the eye of the storm.
Until I glide into the narthex and meet my father’s eyes. Fear and disgust rush through me. He offers me his arm.
I swallow and take it. My fingers tremble. I roll my shoulders back and lock my gaze on the doors separating us from the sanctuary.
As the organ plays the first few notes of Canon D, my father reaches around me and squeezes my bruised arm. I gasp in pain and flinch back, but he dips his head to whisper in my ear as he pretends to offer me words of comfort.
“Serve him well and I’ll forgive you for this morning,” he threatens.
I close my eyes and nod like the puppet he expects me to be despite the rage festering in my soul. Perverse pleasure tugs at my lips as I anticipate his downfall.
I’ll serve someone well, but it won’t be who he thinks I will.
The ornate doors swing open.
Colors sparkle over the towering arches as sunlight glitters through the stained-glass windows. Thousands of eyes turn toward us. My father pats the back of my hand that’s on his arm.
I step forward, wishing to leave him behind if he doesn’t match my pace. Romeo stands in front of the altar in a truly resplendent suit, but the scene evokes no emotion in me.
It’s all a farce. He doesn’t give a shit about me. I won’t feel guilty for leaving him at the altar. Dead or alive, he deserves it for using this marriage as a power play.
I gasp and stumble as the vibrator hums to life inside me. Need roars through my veins.
The marble nave shines my reflection back up at me. My father clutches my arm with a look of concern on his face.
I long to sneer and push him away, but hundreds of guests watch us with judging eyes, so I clutch my bouquet tighter and continue down the aisle.
As we near the altar, my father tightens his grip on the back of my hand. The vibrator shifts inside me with every step.
I don’t look for Mario. Just knowing he’s nearby eases my angst despite how much I should hate him.
Romeo shifts as we approach him. My father stops and slips my hand off his arm with enough theatrics to make it seem like I don’t want to release him.
Pressure builds in my core as the vibrator intensifies. Sweat trickles down my back. I regulate my breathing as best as I can as my father extends my shaking limb toward the man he expects me to marry.
A millisecond before my fingertips touch Romeo’s palm, the door behind the pulpit opens. Metallic clicks fill the air as men from around the congregation take guns from their suit coats and pull back the hammers in unison with the man striding out from the sacristy.
Larger than life and strikingly handsome with his salt-and-pepper hair and the tattoos on his neck peeking out from his collar, Mario Luciano commands the space with suave ease.
My heart skips a beat. Pain lances up my arm as my father squeezes my wrist so hard my fingers close in a fist. Romeo stops with his hand halfway in his suit coat as Mario cocks his pistol and shifts his muzzle at my intended’s head.
My corset digs into my ribs as I fight the growing pressure in my womb.
The vibrator continues its incessant buzzing deep inside me.
With agony spearing through my wrist and urgency building between my legs, I stand amid the most dangerous mafia men in New York City as they face off.
The tension around me exacerbates the tightening of my insides, and my mind struggles to stay in the moment despite how serious it is.
“Mario? How?” my father hisses.
His grip remains brutal on my wrist. He pulls me back so hard I stumble. The jerking motion shifts the vibrator inside me, and I yelp from the intensity.
Mario’s knowing smirk as he meets my eyes nearly tips me over the edge, but my father’s touch disgusts me back to sanity.
I heave and shake my head when Mario releases me from his gaze. The icy fury in his amber orbs as he shifts his aim to my father’s forehead chills me to the bone.
One slip and we might all die here today.
“It’s been a while, Pietro. Surprised to see me?” Mario sneers.
My father glares at him despite the panic whirling in his eyes.
Romeo pushes his hand deeper into his suit coat.
“Do it and your entire family dies here today,” Mario promises.
Romeo slips his hand out and holds both palms out at shoulder height.
“What do you want?” my father demands.
Pure evil shines from Mario’s features as he grins.
“Everything,” he responds.
My breath hitches as fresh agony spears up my arm. Something in my brain breaks, and I refuse to call the man beside me my father ever again.
Maybe it’s sharing a room with the two men I once thought were my biggest allies. Maybe it’s the power emanating from Mario. Standing in his presence, Pietro looks haggard, desperate, and disgusting, even in his expensive suit. Maybe it’s the vibrator taking my pleasure to new heights.
Or maybe it’s the little girl trapped inside me seeking someone, anyone , who might cherish me one day. Which makes no sense, since Mario has been nothing but honest about his intention to hurt me, but my wayward heart doesn’t care.
“Go to hell,” Pietro snarls.
“Been there. Done that. Now it’s your turn. Come here, Valentina,” he commands without breaking eye contact with Pietro.