Chapter 15
Vincenzo
The gothic architecture of the church soars toward heaven, and stained glass windows cast jewel-toned light across stone. Three hundred guests fill the pews. Every important family in Malus is here to witness the union of Montoni and Vici, the alliance that is meant to end with my death.
The organ music swells, and every head turns toward the doors at the back of the church. My breath stops.
Adora is devastating.
The dress. Christ, the dress she warned me about.
Gleaming silk that clings to every curve, a neckline that plunges just enough to make every man in this church jealous and every woman wish they had her courage.
Her honey-gold hair is swept up, exposing the graceful line of her neck, and she’s wearing the necklace I gave her, an eagle and a raven intertwined.
She walks down the aisle on her father’s arm. Agnello looks smug, soaking up the attention, playing the magnanimous father giving away his cherished daughter. When they reach the altar, he places Adora’s hand in mine with theatrical solemnity, but there’s a spiteful twist to his lips.
He steps back, and Adora’s eyes meet mine.
For just a second, her mask slips, and I see her love for me, threaded with fear and desperation.
This is the eleventh hour, and our lies are going to come crashing down at the reception.
When I don’t clutch my throat and die during the toast, Agnello Montoni is going to rip me limb from limb, and Dashamir Dervishi will probably appear and join in.
I’ll be fighting for my life and trying to protect my wife.
But for now, she is mine, and I am hers.
I’m going to soak up every single second of this happiness.
I squeeze her hands reassuringly, and we turn to face the priest together.
The priest begins the ceremony, but I barely hear the words. I’m too focused on Adora’s face, the slight tremor in her hands, and the way her eyes shine with unshed tears. Her fingers are cold in mine, and I caress them gently.
We’ve survived torture, threats, impossible odds. We can survive this too.
Somehow.
“Vincenzo Vici, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded 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 you part?”
“I do.” The words come out steady, weighted with everything I can’t say in front of these people. I love you, Adora. I’ll protect you. I’ll burn the world down for you. Nothing and no one will hurt you ever again, because they’ll have to go through me.
Her smile trembles at the edges.
“Adora Montoni, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? 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 you part?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “I do.”
I slide the ring onto her finger, warm gold with diamonds, elegant and simple. It catches the colored light from the stained glass, and for a moment, I’m mesmerized by how right it looks on her hand.
“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The priest smiles benevolently. “You may kiss the bride.”
I pull her close, one hand sliding up her bare back, and kiss her with all the tenderness in my black heart. She’s not just my wife in name, but in every way that matters. Her lips are soft and warm, and she makes a small sound against my mouth that no one else can hear.
Mine.
The church erupts in polite applause.
We’re married.
Now we just have to survive the reception.
The venue Adora chose with Clara’s help is stunning. Exactly the warm, romantic aesthetic Adora wanted. Tables are set with cream linens and there are scented garden roses and candles everywhere. Golden light spills across polished floors. It’s beautiful.
And it’s full of vipers.
The Montoni capos and their wives take up several tables, the men in dark suits with hard eyes, the women wearing satin and dripping with jewels.
Don Carlucci Barone and his wife sit at a prominent table with their children. Damiano is dark-haired and watchful. Lucy is stunning in emerald green. Ariana is bored and beautiful in pale pink.
Sofia is here too, not far from the bridal table, with her son Matteo by her side, silent and observant. This day must be as strained and bittersweet for them as it is for me, haunted by the memory of our dead loved ones.
Clara moves through the crowd with quiet efficiency, checking that everything runs smoothly. The young wedding planner is good at her job.
Agnello holds court at the bridal table, playing the magnanimous father of the bride, accepting congratulations and well-wishes like he actually gives a damn about his daughter’s happiness. I want to put a bullet in his skull.
Dinner is endless courses of food I barely taste. Adora sits beside me, her hand occasionally finding mine under the table, her smile never slipping, even though I can feel the tension radiating from her.
“Are you okay?” I murmur when the servers clear our plates.
“Perfect.” Her voice is steady, but her fingers tighten on mine. “Everything’s perfect.”
It’s not. We both know it’s not.
After dinner, the guests begin to move about, socializing before dessert. The string quartet plays. Champagne flows freely. Agnello, already flushed with alcohol, makes his way toward me.
“Vincenzo.” He claps a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Shall we have a word, man to man?”
I would rather bathe with piranhas, but I paste on a smile. “Of course.”
He leads me to a small sitting room off the main hall. It’s private, intimate, with two leather chairs and a sidebar stocked with expensive whisky. He cracks a fresh bottle, pours two generous glasses, and hands me one.
“To family,” he says, raising his glass.
There’s a nasty glimmer in his eyes, and his mockery burns like acid in my blood. If I didn’t see him open a fresh bottle, I’d think he was trying to poison me now.
“To family.” I take a sip, refusing to rise to the bait.
Agnello settles into one of the chairs, looking pleased with himself. Like a man who’s already won. He’s murdered my family. It’s not long now until I follow them.
“Vincenzo,” he says, swirling his whisky. “I thought I’d take this opportunity to give you some advice. Old married man to a younger one.”
I sit down opposite him, keeping my posture relaxed even though my muscles are coiled tight. “I’m listening.”
“Marriage is about establishing dominance from the start.” He takes a long drink. “You can’t let a woman think she has power. The moment you do, she’ll take advantage. You have to keep her in line. Remind her who’s in charge.”
As far as Agnello knows, I’ll be dead within the hour, which means his advice is pointless. He must just feel like gloating.
I long to tell him to shove his “advice” up his ass, but I force myself to nod. “I see.”
“Adora’s been obedient her whole life, but women have a way of getting ideas.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “You catch even a hint of defiance? You crush it immediately. Don’t let her think for a second that talking back is acceptable.”
The whisky in my hand is the only thing keeping me from lunging across the space between us.
“Is that what you did?” I ask, keeping my voice light. Curious. “With your wife?”
“Exactly.” He drains half his glass in one swallow. “She was perfect at first. Sweet. Accommodating. Then she started questioning my decisions. Talking back. I had to remind her of her place.”
I take another sip, letting the silence stretch. Drawing him out. “And did it work?”
His smile turns cold. “For a time.”
Movement catches my eye. A shadow near the doorway. I glance over and see Adora standing just outside, pressed against the wall where Agnello can’t see her. She’s listening.
Our eyes meet for half a second, and I see the tension in her face. The way she’s holding herself perfectly still.
I turn my attention back to Agnello. “You never remarried after she passed. No one caught your eye?”
“Oh, there was someone.” He pours himself another generous measure of whisky, his movements getting looser. Sloppier. “A young woman I was considering. Beautiful. From a questionable background, but she could have been useful to me.”
My pulse quickens. I slide my phone out of my pocket slowly, carefully, angling it so he can’t see. My thumb finds the voice notes app. Presses record.
“What happened?” I ask, infusing genuine curiosity into my voice.
He waves a dismissive hand. “She rejected me. Can you believe that? Some little Albanian bitch thinking she was too good for Agnello Montoni.”
“That must have been frustrating,” I say.
“Frustrating?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “It was insulting. I offered her everything. Wealth and status that Albanian scum can only dream about. And she had the audacity to refuse me. Said she didn’t want to be my wife.”
“So what did you do?”
The question hangs in the air.
Agnello takes another long drink. “How many people have you killed, Vici?”
“I don’t keep count.”
“A real monster, aren’t you?”
I shrug nonchalantly. “Some people aren’t as important as they think they are. They won’t be missed.”
“You are more right than you know.” He chuckles darkly, and I can see the desire in his eyes to brag. “I couldn’t let her insult stand. A woman like that, rejecting a man like me? It would make me look weak. So I took care of it.”
“Took care of it how?”
“Strangled the defiant bitch.” He says it casually, like he’s discussing the weather. “Lana? Lira. That was her name. She thought she could reject me and walk away. But no one rejects Agnello Montoni. No one.”
Nausea rolls through me, but I keep my face neutral. Interested. “You did what you had to do.”
“Exactly.” He points at me with his glass, whisky sloshing. “That’s what I’m trying to teach you. You can’t let defiance slide. You have to handle it swiftly. Permanently.”