Chapter 29 #2
“Matteo, repeat after me,” Father Benedetto says, indicating my turn.
I take her ring between my fingers, feeling the cool metal against my skin, before losing myself in the soft blue of her eyes.
“I, Matteo, take you, Annamaria, to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.” My gaze remains locked on hers as I slide the band onto her finger, right beside the fifteen-carat engagement ring I gave her just a week ago.
“With this ring, I thee wed, and from this day on, I promise to be the husband you deserve,” I add, keeping my voice low so only she hears what I say next, “Whether you want me or not, I’m yours now.
And I’ll spend every day making sure you never regret it. ”
Anna’s brow creases, as if my words unsettle her in ways she doesn’t understand. But she doesn’t have time to dwell on them, her attention shifting to Father Benedetto as he raises his hands and declares us husband and wife. She then turns to me, panic flickering in her eyes.
It’s done. Our fates are now one. All that remains is to seal our vows with a kiss.
I’ve kissed her a thousand times in my head.
In whispered conversations over the phone.
In dreams I never let myself fully have.
But this… this kiss will be real.
My hand settles at the small of her back, pulling her gently closer, while my other hand lifts her chin just enough that she has no choice but to look at me. Those blue eyes search mine, filled with equal parts trepidation and something else… something that looks a lot like curiosity.
Good. I can work with that.
Even with a full church watching, I don’t rush it.
Not our first kiss. So I lean in slowly, giving her time to wrap her head around the fact that this is happening before I close the small bit of distance between us.
Her eyelids shut the second my lips brush against hers, soft and careful, as not to frighten her.
Still, the moment they meet, something stirs awake deep in my chest. I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times, and none of them come close to the real thing.
Anna places her palms against my chest, her breath hitching as my lips begin to claim hers.
I pull her closer, guiding her arms around my neck as I deepen the kiss just enough to remind her what this means.
What she’s become. Mine. And fuck me if she doesn’t melt into it.
Like her body remembers me, even if her mind hasn’t caught up yet.
My tongue aches for more, to slip past Anna’s lips and taste her fully, but I’ve given our guests enough of a show as it is.
Reluctantly, I break the kiss and pull back, only to admire how her cheeks are beautifully flushed, and her lips swollen to perfection.
My pulse races as she forces her hooded eyes open, and for a split second, I see it.
How deeply our first kiss has shaken her.
And how impossible it will be for her to hate me if I keep kissing her like that.
There’s only one problem. If I kiss her again, I’m not sure I’d be able to stop, and I’ve manipulated our relationship enough. No. If Anna wants me to kiss her again, she’ll have to be the one to initiate it. I promised I’d be the husband she deserves, and I meant it.
I can wait. I’ll wait an eternity if need be. But the next time I kiss my wife, it’s because she wants it just as fiercely as I do.
As wedding receptions go, ours isn’t anything to write home about. Not when the theme of tonight’s party feels more like a celebration of how we one-upped the Outfit than the vows two people just made in front of God and all that’s holy.
Everyone is patting themselves on the back, celebrating that Romano’s daughter now belongs to the Cosa Nostra and that we’ve driven the Irish mob back to Boston, where they belong.
A week has passed since I had a sit-down with Romano, but it seems that’s all anyone wants to talk about.
Just as I predicted, before Vincent and his entourage arrived in my city under the pretense of wanting a parley, they had already reached out to the Irish mob, hoping they would ambush me during the conferenza.
Unfortunately for them, I was already two steps ahead, with Don Vitale ready to rain hellfire on the Irish.
While Vincent was demanding that I return Anna to her family, the Old Fox’s men were cutting down every mobster with a Bostonian accent.
The ones who were spared ran home with their tails tucked between their legs. I doubt anyone will be lining up to help Romano any time soon. Not after what we did to the Irish.
It’s reason enough for a celebration like this. The opulent reception hall hums with it—laughter, crystal glasses clinking, men talking over each other as if it were the victory lap they so eagerly wanted. As if tonight weren’t the beginning of something bigger. Something bloodier.
Still, it’s not the heads of family celebrating prematurely that have my hackles rising. It’s the somber expressions on Niccolò and Don Moretti’s faces that put me on high alert. And it’s all due to my own betrayal.
Everyone here has been fed a diluted version of what really happened at that conferenza. Only a handful of my people know what went down that night. Niccolò is one of them, and to my chagrin, Rocco is another.
My brother would never tell anyone that I broke a centuries-old tradition by killing my father and, by default, claiming the title of Capo dei Capi for myself.
His loyalty to me runs too deep. Even if he didn’t agree with how I handled things, even if he feels that I misled him, he’ll take that secret to the grave.
Rocco, of course, has no such loyalty. He once told me his loyalty would belong only to a boss he deemed worthy.
Kidnapping and marrying Anna already made me unworthy in his eyes.
Killing my predecessor only destroyed whatever loyalty he had left.
There is no doubt in my mind that Rocco told his father the truth about what happened at the parley.
That I refused to give the order to anyone else, preferring to do the killing myself.
That I was the one who killed my father.
And if Moretti knows… How long do I have until everyone else knows too?
Maybe he’ll keep my secret.
Maybe he won’t say anything.
Maybe…
Cazzo.
I hate fucking maybes. I need certainties. I need his loyalty above all.
Sensing where my head has been all night, Moretti has given me a wide berth, delaying to broach the subject until there are fewer ears around to eavesdrop. He probably sees it as a mercy. I see a problem that needs fixing.
Funny. The person I thought would give me the most trouble today isn’t even here. The last time I saw Raffaele was about two hours ago. He didn’t even stay for dinner. He just grabbed a couple of bottles of champagne and left. Now, that’s a small mercy, if there ever was one.
“Matteo,” my mother calls, pulling my attention away from all the problems I have yet to solve and onto her sad smile.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s your wife, figlio mio. She doesn’t look like she’s having much fun.” My mother sighs, her shoulders slumping somewhat. “And it’s her wedding day, Matteo. Every bride deserves to be happy on her wedding day.”
My wife.
The words settle deep in my chest, unreal, like something I’ll wake up from any second.
I don’t have to look far to find Anna sitting a few seats down, her back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap.
She hasn’t said much since the ceremony.
A few polite responses, a nod here and there, just enough to keep up appearances.
Just enough for her disdain for everyone here to go unnoticed.
Anyone else might think she’s just overwhelmed, but I know better. In my girl’s mind, she’s plotting her escape, already searching for a way out of this grand hall without drawing attention. The soldiers stationed at every door are the only thing standing in her way.
My poor, poor wife.
I watch her for a moment longer, then press a kiss to my mother’s cheek.
“Then I suppose it’s up to me, her husband, to fix that.”
I make my way over to her, ignoring the eyes that follow me, the quiet nudges between our guests waiting to see how this plays out.
A tilt of my head toward the orchestra is all it takes for the music to soften, slipping into something slower. A love song meant for newlyweds.
I stop in front of her and extend my hand. “Would you like to dance?”
Her eyes lift to mine, cold enough to kill something inside me.
Fuck.
What am I doing? Why put myself through this?
Haven’t I done enough damage for one day? Why not just leave her alone?
Because it’s our wedding day, goddamn it!
We deserve one good memory out of it. Don’t we?
“Dance with me, wife.” This time it isn’t a question.
A flicker of annoyance crosses her face. Or maybe it’s defiance.
“Do I have a choice?” she bites back with the sweetest smile.
Yep. Definitely defiance.
I hold her gaze and offer her my best wolfish grin. “You always have a choice.”
“Hmm,” she hums, pretending to smooth the invisible creases of her dress. “That’s the first lie you’ve told since we got married, and we both know it. Tell me, husband, is this what our marriage will be built on? Lies?”
I take her hand, bringing it to my lips, and press a kiss to her knuckles, my gaze lifting to hers, through lowered lashes.
“On my life, I will never lie to you again. Whatever you ask me, I will always tell you the truth.”
“And if I don’t ask? Will you just keep things from me?” She cocks an eyebrow. “A lie by omission is still a lie, is it not?”
When I don’t answer, her lips press together. A pregnant pause stretches between us before she finally places her hand in mine, letting me help her to her feet.
I guide her to the center of the room, my hand settling at the small of her back as the music wraps around us. She’s stiff at first, her body barely moving with mine, her gaze fixed on the way the room has gone silent, everyone watching us dance.
“Relax,” I murmur in her ear.
“Easy for you to say.”
A faint laugh escapes me at her snarky reply. “You’re right. It is easy since I’m not the one who looks like they’re about to go on a murder spree.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“No, it’s not,” she grumbles. “I don’t hate anyone here enough to corrupt my soul that way.”
“Not even me?” I feign a chuckle.
Anna’s eyes flash at my question, but something in her posture loosens.
“Fine. I’ll admit that I have… thought about it,” she confesses, eyeing me a bit apprehensively.
“Are you expecting me to defend myself, wife?”
“You’re not?” she counters, confused.
“No, wife. I stole you from your home and forced you into marrying me. If there is a man here who has earned you fantasizing about killing him, it is me. But I hope you won’t.
I’d like to be married to you a little while longer, if that’s okay?
” Anna searches my eyes again, like clockwork, trying to find the lie in my words.
“I made a vow to you, wife, remember? No more lies.”
“Aren’t you tired of calling me that already?” She rolls her eyes.
“Call you what? Wife? Nope. I think it’s my new favorite word. Expect to hear it from me a lot.” I smile.
“I thought you just asked me not to kill you? Keep calling me wife, and I won’t make any promises.”
“Was that a joke, Anna? Did you just make a joke?” My eyes flare in disbelief.
“Maybe.” Fuck me sideways, but when her lips threaten to lift at the corners, I almost drop dead right there on the dance floor with how happy I am. “God, you’re annoying,” she groans. “And stop looking at me like that.”
When she presses her cheek to my chest, hiding her face from me as she wraps her arms around my neck, I die.
We fall into a slow rhythm after, her steps careful and measured while mine remain steady and guiding. For one blissful moment, we’re no longer at odds with each other. We’re just two people dancing on their wedding day.
It almost feels normal. Almost.
“You did well,” I say after a beat.
Anna’s gaze flicks up to mine, her chin resting on my chest. “At what? Signing my life away?”
“At surviving today,” I coo, grazing her cheek with knuckles.
“I haven’t survived anything yet. A war is coming, Matteo. And as I see it, I’m on the wrong side of it. People have died for less.”
My grip on her hips tightens at the mere idea of anyone causing her harm.
“No one will ever hurt you. I promise you.”
“You’ve made a lot of promises to me today, husband. Too many for me to believe you’ll ever be able to keep them all.” She lets out a quiet breath, something between a sigh and resignation.
“Anna, look at me,” I order, lifting her chin until her eyes meet mine. “I’d die before I’d let anyone touch you. Do you understand?”
Anna’s brows furrow, confusion clear in her gaze. Understandable. Why would I make her a promise like that? I’m no one to her. Her husband only on paper.
Fuck, if she takes anything from tonight, let it be this certainty—I would burn this fucking world to ash if anyone tried to hurt her in any way.
“Just dance with me, Matteo,” she says instead, giving up on trying to understand me. “I’m too tired to fight you tonight.”
With those words, we fall into silence, the music carrying us as the world around fades, just enough to make us feel as if we were the only two people in the room.
With her arms around my neck.
With my hands on her hips.
And a space between us, heavy with everything left unsaid.