Chapter Two
BECCA
W hen I was a little girl, I used to daydream about my wedding day.
Unfortunately, growing up with a father consumed by grief and guilt didn’t provide for the healthiest outlook on men, so I created a fairy tale image of one.
I spent my childhood believing a hero prince would whisk me away, then profess his undying love before asking me to marry him.
Not once, in any of my fantasies, was it to prevent me from being murdered by the mob.
“Becca?”
I know who it is. I’ve felt him hovering ever since Anton left me standing in the foyer. While I’m sure his concern is more about me being a flight risk than my well-being, his presence is strangely comforting, in a weird, hawk-guarding-its-prey kind of way.
“Owen,” I say, keeping my stare pinned on the closed doors in front of me. “Shouldn’t you be inside standing next to your bestie?”
I see him move beside me out of the corner of my eye. “I’m not Gianni’s best man. No one is. He requested it be just the two of you.”
“How progressive of him.”
“Look, I know how you must be feeling…”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” My grip tightens on the bouquet of white gardenias someone shoved in my hand.
My mother’s favorite. “Is that the winning catchphrase you all voted to use? Because unless you were forced to sell your soul to save your life, then no, you don’t know a damn thing about how I’m feeling. None of you do.”
He sighs. “You’re a smart woman, Becca, but you don’t know everything.”
I snap my head to the side. “What are you saying?”
He shuffles his feet, his fancy gray suit doing nothing to hide his stiffening frame. “I’m saying that, like you, I saw the world in black and white. There were good guys and bad guys, and the two never crossed. I believed in that so strongly it blinded me.”
“You don’t have to tell me?—”
“Because the truth is reality isn’t like that,” he finishes.
“Heroes can be monsters just as easily as monsters can be heroes.” A tortured look settles across his face like life’s fourth wall just broke.
“You can’t paint everyone with the same pious brush.
Nobody believes they’d choose to sell their soul until it’s the only choice they have left. ”
I stare at the flowers in my hand, frowning at his blunt words and the uncomfortable truth that’s burning holes in my self-righteous shield.
I’m so used to putting people in boxes I didn’t notice I’d put myself in one as well.
Only, I placed mine on a shelf it had no business being on. It seems Owen did the same.
“I’m sorry about Henry,” I say, softly. Not because he’s dead, but because of what his death represents. I don’t know the details and don’t care to, but from what I gather, Owen considered him a trusted friend, and betrayal from a friend is the deepest cut.
“Ditto.” The regret in his voice draws my head up, and I meet his eyes, bracing myself for the pity I expect to find. Instead, I’m met with warmth and something that looks a lot like respect … and then utter confusion. “Jesus, Becca, what happened?”
I follow his line of sight to my shoulder and the darkening imprint of Gianni’s teeth.
“Nothing.” I clear my throat, forcing as much nonchalant inflection into my voice as possible. “I fell.”
“Into someone’s mouth?”
“Yup.”
“Twice?”
I don’t answer, and thankfully, he refrains from any follow-up. We stand there in a comfortable silence until it’s stolen by the lively eruption of violins.
“ Canon in D ,” Owen says, quirking his lips. “Not so progressive.”
The double doors in front of us open, and Anton pokes his head through. “It’s time.” He turns that dark gaze to me, his eyebrows lifting. “All right?”
I wonder what would happen if I said no. I don’t bother finding out. Owen’s right. This is the only choice left. If I’m going to make it, it’ll be with my head held high.
I nod. “All right.”
He gives me that same awkward smile. I think I’m growing on him. “Whenever you’re ready.” He disappears back inside, leaving me with a whole conservatory of butterflies in my stomach.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Owen scratch the back of his neck, his gaze bouncing nervously around the foyer. “Look, I know this isn’t a real wedding…”
I arch an eyebrow.
“Okay, it’s real, but you know what I mean.
It wasn’t planned or wanted…” He cuts himself off again, flopping his hands by his side with a frustrated exhale.
“Usually, your father would walk you down the aisle, but seeing as how he’s not here and would bulldoze through with the S.W.A.T. team if he was, I was thinking, I could, you know… ”
“Owen Holmes, are you asking if you can walk me down the aisle?”
He purses his lips, only for them to spread into a small smile. “It’s Henley, and yeah.”
I smile back. “I think I could deal with that.”
He offers me his arm, which I take just as the doors open to a formal living room I’ve never seen before, not that it’d matter.
Every piece of furniture has been replaced by folding white chairs, adorned with more gardenias.
The whole room smells like a funeral parlor, which feels oddly appropriate.
As we walk, he lets out a low whistle. “Damn, he went all out. You should see this, Becca. There are these tall, free standing white candles and those fancy fairy light things.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “I can see it. I’m nearsighted, not blind.”
It’s all very elegant and very white. Even my distorted vision can’t diminish how hard Gianni tried to create an un-mafia-like illusion. Too bad the men seated on either side of the aisle with guns under their jackets ruin it.
Owen gives my elbow a reassuring squeeze.
A move that doesn’t go unnoticed.
Gianni stands at the end of the makeshift aisle, glaring at him with murder in his eyes.
Immediately, the pressure on my elbow releases, and Owen’s hand falls to his side.
While part of me enjoys seeing him a little worked up, the part that just spent two days locked in a basement doesn’t find his caveman act cute.
Narrowing my eyes, I glare back at him, a move that results in a low chuckle beside me.
“Looks like Gianni isn’t the only one who likes playing with fire.”
Apparently not, judging by the darkened stare that’s now centered on me. It’s intense and completely devouring, a gaze that leaves you balanced on an edge you never want to leave. It’s filled with the same heat and possessiveness as earlier, but also something else…
Something raw and powerful and way too destructive to put a name to.
Owen gives me an encouraging smile, then takes his seat, leaving me to take Gianni’s extended hand. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion as I turn to face him.
“ Mio Dio,” he murmurs, his voice low and deep. “ Sei la creatura piú straordinaria che sia mai esistita in terra .”
“That’s the second time you’ve said that. Do I get a translation this time?”
“It means you’re the most extraordinary creature to grace this earth.”
I tilt my chin. “That’s laying it on a bit thick over a dress, don’t you think?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “It’s not the dress I’m complimenting, cara mia . You’ll find that out once I get it out of my way.” He leans forward, his full lips dusting my ear. “Then, I’ll show you exactly how thick I can get.”
I feel my cheeks heat as my stomach plummets to my feet. I don’t know whether to drop to my knees and suck him off right here or dick punch the shit out of him.
A throat clears beside us. We both glance to the left where a sweaty man with foggy glasses gives us a tepid smile. Gianni simply dips his chin, and the man launches into a scripted ceremony conspicuously void of any religious undertones.
But after the first few lines, it all becomes background noise.
It’s not that I’m disparaging the seriousness of the moment.
Quite the opposite. The gravity of what’s happening makes me think about everything that’s led up to this point.
I think about Johnny Malone and our chance meeting in that courthouse hallway.
I think about the moment I saw him in the lobby of my office.
I think about our first kiss, and how I knew my life would never be the same.
And I realize Anton is right…
Maybe our lives have been entangled since childhood. Maybe this has been my destiny all along. Maybe every road I’ve taken has led here…
To this moment.
To this man.
I turn to find the officiant staring at me, his words slowly fading back in.
“...take Giovanni Marchesi to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Oh shit. Is it my turn? What am I supposed to say?
I blink, my heart racing. “I do?” Gianni’s eyebrow lifts, and I wince. “I mean, I do.”
A murmur sweeps through the small crowd as the officiant dips his chin at him. “Giovanni, place the ring on her finger and repeat after me. With this ring, I?—”
Gianni cuts him off with a wave of his hand.
“Becca, I give you this ring as a promise to protect you and honor you until my last breath. From this moment on, you are a queen, theirs”—he glances at the onlookers, then pins me with a molten stare that takes my breath away—“and mine.
L'amore è una macchia indelebile sull'anima.”
Tears burn my eyes as he slides a silver ring on my finger. I gasp at the beautiful square diamond set high in the center. I can’t take my eyes off it, a swell of emotion washing over me— surprise, disbelief, confusion, hope … and then, panic.
“I don’t have anything.” I swallow hard. “I didn’t know I…”
He takes my other hand, and like a magician, a ring appears in my palm.
Of course, he bought his own ring.
I close my hand around it, feeling the weight of every eye on me.
I didn’t expect him to go off script on the whole vow thing, so I take a deep breath and wing it.
“I once told you that in order to change the person you are, you must remove the anchors holding you to the person you were.” My hand shakes as I slide the silver band on his finger.
“I’m tossing all my anchors here, Gianni. Don’t let me float away.”
That stoic mask slips, and I see the fierce, protective face of Johnny Malone break through. Dropping my hand, he wraps his palm around the back of my neck and takes my lips in a hungry kiss that draws an improper moan from my throat and sends the officiant scrambling.
“I, uh, now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” I hear him sputter in a rushed breath.
There’s a smattering of cautious applause. Gianni pulls away, his mask slamming back in place as he takes my hand and leads me back down the aisle. No one follows us as we exit the room. There’s no reception, only a few half-hearted well wishes as the doors close behind us.
I’m too dazed to question it.
Gianni says nothing as he leads me up the stairs, but I can read his body language like a manual.
He’s vibrating with restrained energy. The last twenty-four hours have wound him dangerously tight, and denying himself earlier only knotted the coil.
Now that I’m tied to him, with no recourse or reprieve, he’s going to let it snap and reveal a side I’ve never seen.
The demons are about to come out to play.
We’re nearly at the top when Anton comes rushing up behind us.
Gianni stills, his grip on my hand tightening. “I thought I asked not to be disturbed.”
“You did, but this can’t wait.” He hesitates, his gaze darting between us. “It’s important, Gianni. You need to take care of this immediately.”
The muscles in Gianni’s neck tense as he stares nails into the older man. “Fine.” Turning, he releases my hand and drags his thumb across my cheek. “Wait for me in the last room on the left. We have a long night ahead of us.”
I watch them talk in hushed tones as they walk back down the stairs, then disappear down another unfamiliar hallway. I know I should wait in the room like he told me to, but the longer I stand there, the angrier I get.
I meant what I said last night. There can’t be any more secrets and half-truths. I’m in this with him as an equal or not at all.
So, I follow behind him at a distance, keeping my footsteps light.
Their winding maze ends at a door they enter and— of course —immediately close.
I’ve come too far to back out now, so I press my ear to it and listen for movement.
When I’m fairly certain they’ve moved to the opposite side of the room, I close my eyes and turn the doorknob.
I only open it a crack—just enough to remove the wooden barrier between my ears and their mouths.
But before I can hear a word, the guilt rises up. What am I doing? I demanded trust from Gianni, yet here I am, giving him nothing but doubt. It all feels so underhanded and wrong, I almost turn and walk away.
Then I hear a female voice, followed by one name that turns it all to stone.
“Cathalina…”
Everything goes completely still. I hear nothing else. I don’t need to.
Turning around, I walk back down the hall, and up the staircase.
I make a stop to grab the half-used tube of Fire Queen lipstick, then walk to the last room on the left.
The moment I push the door open, I know it’s Gianni’s.
It’s dark, brooding, and dangerously tempting, just like him.
Ignoring the enormous bed in the center, I walk to the dark mahogany dresser and write two heartfelt words on the mirror in red lipstick.
Grabbing a bottle of whiskey from his personal collection, I close the door behind me and climb a second set of stairs. I don’t know where it leads, but I have a feeling it’s somewhere I’m not supposed to go…
Which makes it the only place I want to be.