One
4 years later…
“ S mile, Perrie, and at least pretend like you’re enjoying yourself today,” my mother hissed as she brushed a crisp curl away from my forehead. The hairdresser had just finished applying so much hairspray to my head that I was half-afraid that my hair was going to crack off and run away if I gave it the chance.
look in the mirror told me that it was pretty enough, but also that not even a tornado could damage the perfectly coiffed updo with elegant, face-framing curls.
“I am trying, Mother,” I muttered, glaring at my gray-eyed twin who looked pretty but in all of the wrong ways. Every single bit of my appearance had been picked by someone other than me —just like everything else about this day. “But it’s not every day you get married to people you don’t even really like.”
Four years ago, if you’d told me that I would be sitting in a tiny little room on the second floor of the biggest cathedral in the city… in a wedding dress… then I would have laughed.
None of this was what I would have chosen to have on my wedding day. Not the venue, not the hair, and certainly not the dress. It was a poofy mass of itchy tulle that was definitely more to my mother’s taste than mine.
“And I didn’t really like your father, but look at us now,” my mother said as if her words were supposed to make me feel better as she fixed her cherry red lipstick in the mirror before turning to offer me an empty smile.
I scoffed inwardly at her words.
Look at her now? She could barely stand to be in the same room as him unless there were cameras present. No, as the youngest daughter of a very rich man she’d also been paired off to the highest bidder. Just like I was about to be.
I always wondered why she’d gone through with it. Some of my earliest memories were of her complaining about her marriage, and yet here she was doing the same to her only daughter.
As soon as Dr. Stedmeyer had given me a clean bill of health a year and a half ago, telling me my cancer was finally in full remission and that it looked like my omega biology was still ‘luckily’ intact, my parents started paying attention to me again.
And just as soon as my omega hormones started to spike six months ago, signaling the road to my first ever heat? My parents wasted no time planning my wedding to Pack Ricci.
They were the youngest pack in an old school Italian family, and while no one would outright say it, they were clearly mafia. My father had been involved with them for years and I was pretty sure that his place as the city mayor was thanks to them. Which effectively made him their bitch, and me their bitch’s daughter.
My father had been mumbling about a run for governor next year, which meant that he needed some serious financial power backing him. What better way to gain that than by selling me off? And he now had bonus points because all signs were pointing to me being a very healthy, very useful omega.
It didn’t seem to matter that every time I was in the room with my intended pack that I nearly gagged on the scent of rotten wood, curdled coffee, sour citrus, and overripe apples. Even the idea of allowing one of the four alphas into a nest I built made me want to scream.
But there was a half a million dollars in medical bills that my father threatened to make me pay back on my own if I didn’t do as he asked. I’d barely graduated high school and never worked a normal job in my life. I was pretty sure I was only qualified to work at one of the local fast food places… and minimum wage wasn’t paying those medical debts any time soon.
Before my leukemia, I’d been a star student and athlete on my way to the local omega university to study photography. But now? I was unemployed and at the mercy of parents who saw me as a bargaining chip rather than an actual human being.
“Well I think she looks hideous in that dress,” Romey piped up from where he was lounging on one of the benches that was pushed up against the far wall of the little room that the church gave all of its brides on their wedding day to get ready in.
At nineteen years old, Romey was a foot and a half taller than me now and twice as wide. The gangly teenager with a cracked voice had all but disappeared when he awakened as an alpha last year. His boredom and irritation with the entire situation we found ourselves in was obvious as he shot us a baleful stare.
“Hush,” our mother told him as she straightened and put her lipstick away in the tiny clutch she carried. “She looks bridal.”
“She looks like a cupcake,” Romey countered, finally sitting up. “And why does she even have to get married anyway? She hasn’t even been healthy for that long and you’re already kicking her out of the house.”
Romey didn’t yet understand the intricacies of my impending nuptials. He just thought the Amante family were a group of very powerful donors because everyone in the household protected him from the truth. He would have to learn it eventually—he was the perfect son that my parents had always wanted—but for now we all treated him with kid gloves.
He was the one attending his second year of university this fall and he was the one studying political science so he could follow in our father’s footsteps. He was the one getting to live life the way he wanted to simply because he had been born a boy… and I was the item to be traded and bartered.
It should have made me hate him, but truthfully, Romey was the only one in our family that I actually loved.
He’d been my baby that I struggled to carry around in tiny four-year-old arms as I waved off the nanny so that I could feed him.
And he’d been the only person to continue to visit me in the hospital when the doctors weren’t sure if I would survive.
Reaching out I gave his foot a whack. “Feet off the furniture,” I scolded primly, waiting until he sat up on the bench properly again before continuing. “And you know that I need to be married before my first heat.”
My doctors had all discussed it in what I’m sure they thought were hushed whispers just outside of my hospital door though I’d been able to hear every single word.
I’d never gone into heat, my leukemia taking over my body before it could develop enough to go through a first estrus and the doctors were concerned that an ‘unserviced’ heat would be too much for me.
Which had given my parents the green light to marry me off as soon as possible to their best possible benefit.
“Couldn’t you just go to one of the clinics or whatever all of the other unpacked omegas do?” Romey groused, swatting our mother’s hands away as she tried to smooth the cowlick that his hair, which was the same red color as mine, perpetually had.
I could have done that and probably would have if I went to college like I was supposed to do.
But that life had long since passed me by and I was going to have to make peace with what lay before me.
I opened my mouth to answer him, but a knock on the door cut me off.
“Is everyone decent?” My father’s congenial politician’s voice came from the other side, telling me that he wasn’t alone.
My mother, seeming to recognize that he was putting on a show, straightened and her bored expression smoothed out into her usual bland socialite’s smile. “We are, dear,” she sang and Romey and I exchanged twin grimaces.
I almost preferred it when they were their usual horrible selves.
The door opened and my father stepped inside, dressed in his tailored tuxedo. He looked every inch the stereotypical proud father of the bride, but my eyes quickly caught on the American flag pinned to his lapel which told me that he was completely in electioneering mode. Putting on a good show for the people downstairs to garner their votes and their capital.
“ Wow , Peregrine,” he gasped with enough vigor that I had to force myself not to roll my eyes. “Aren’t you just the prettiest bride I’ve ever seen?”
The man even whipped out a handkerchief to dab at dry eyes. I was half-surprised he hadn’t stuck eyedrops in his eyes to really sell the picture that he was a distraught father upset about giving his only daughter away.
But when I saw who had come in with him, I understood his sudden theatrics.
Alessandro Amante was the patriarch of the Amante clan and one of the scariest men I’d ever met. He presented himself like a cheerful fatherly type, but every time I saw him a sense of dread pooled low in my stomach. Alessandro was the kind of man that, when you were in his good graces, he showered you with affection. But if you stepped a toe out of line? Then you would pay for it dearly.
He stood a head taller than my father and surveyed the room with a cool indifference until his green eyes found mine. They warmed ever so slightly as he bypassed my father to take my hand in his, the thick signet ring on his right hand cool against my skin as he gave my fingers a squeeze.
“ Mio Caro , you are an absolute picture,” he told me in a lightly accented voice which I always found odd as I was pretty sure the man had never actually lived in Italy. None of my intended pack had accents. “Those boys won’t know what hit them and I should know as I practically raised them.”
I kept my grimace off of my face and offered him what I hoped was one of my mother’s fake smiles. After meeting my Pack Ricci a handful of times, I knew for a fact that our dislike for each other was mutual and my poofy wedding dress would probably have the opposite effect.
They were the heirs apparent to the Amante family and all of its businesses, but none of them bore Alessandro’s last name.
night a few weeks ago, my mother had gotten drunk enough to gossip and had told me that the Amante family was starting to fall into shambles ever since the death of Alessandro’s only son two years ago.
Apparently, he’d once been a part of the pack I was about to marry and the head of the family had been grooming the entire bunch to lead the family. Then he’d died and Alessandro had been scrambling ever since to keep things together.
“A beautiful, useful omega for my boys. I only worry that your previous health issues will cause… trouble later on.” Alessandro’s warm expression cooled as he turned to look over at my father who had been busily sweating up a storm as he watched our exchange.
“Peregrine is blessedly healthy now, Mr. Amante,” he hurried to say, stepping in close. “A clean bill of health and she’ll be able to bear many fine sons for your boys.”
A disgusted feeling crawled down my spine at his flippant words, but I held it in and reminded myself that my medical bills wouldn’t pay themselves.
Alessandro stared at my face for another beat before a happy smile returned and he was the picture of the jolly father-in-law-to-be again. “I suppose she’ll be more useful than my own daughter, so I can’t ask for more than that.”
The man began to laugh and it took a beat before my parents joined in with him, their laughs sharper and more pained.
I hadn’t met his daughter at all during the few marriage meetings at the Amante mansion over the past few months which, now that I thought about it, was strange.
There weren’t even any pictures of her up around the rooms I’d been in—just pictures of Alessandro, his deceased wife, and the son.
Alessandro’s laugh turned gravelly as he began to cough, the sound grating against my ears as he waved off my parent’s sudden fluttering.
“I’m fine, get away from me,” he barked before turning to me with a red face. “Well, Mio Caro , I best get back downstairs before the ceremony starts.”
My parents followed him out of the room, the old door slamming loudly as the sound of their voices faded down the church’s stone hallway.
“Well he seems…” Romey began, his words trailing off as he glanced between me and the door.
“Terrifying?” I provided, turning back to the mirror to give myself one last pale-faced stare. The makeup artist had put blush on me, but with how little color was in my face it made my cheeks look unhealthily flushed like I had a fever.
“I was going to say nice, but maybe you’re right.” Romey stood and offered his hand to me. “Shall we?”
I nodded, flipping my gloved fingers into his. “I wish you could at least walk me down the aisle,” I whispered to him as we walked slowly down the old stone halls of the St. Cecilia cathedral, one of the oldest buildings in the city.
My family wasn’t Catholic by any stretch of the word, and if we would have been, then we most likely would have been protestants thanks to our English heritage, but it was clear that our father was going to use whatever he could to get into the minds and the pockets of voters. And if that meant that we were Catholic now, then so be it.
At least the building was pretty, I mused as we came down the stone steps and stepped into the beautiful marble lobby to wait for the ceremony to start.
Everyone had gone inside aside for a couple of stragglers and my father who was furiously typing something on his phone.
“And I wish I could give you away to someone other than these assholes,” Romey whispered in my ear as he stared glumly at the massive closed doors that led into the nave—the main part of the cathedral. “If they so much as look at you funny you let me know and we’ll have some words.”
If I had any problems with my pack-to-be, Romey would be the last person I called. He was liable to get shot by them if he ever tried to play that game.
“Go inside with Mother,” I urged, shooing him towards the doors. I needed a minute on my own to gather my wits.
Romey shot me one last wistful look before he obeyed, tugging open the massive door and slipping inside.
The rest of the lobby had cleared out while we were speaking, even my father had stepped out to talk on his phone.
It left the lobby blessedly quiet as I stared up at the beautiful stained glass windows above the front door that depicted Saint Cecelia gazing wistfully into the sky, a portative organ tucked under one arm.
The irony that I would be getting married in a cathedral named after a martyr was not lost on me.
“No, Cini, you’re not listening,” a familiar voice echoed through the lobby before continuing dryly. “Haha, so funny I know you can’t actually hear me.”
On either side of the lobby were long halls that led out to the gardens surrounding the cathedral and the sound of a one-sided conversation continued down the one closest to me.
Curiosity, as usual, got the better of me and I quietly lifted my dress and peeked down the hall.
Elio Ricci, one of my intended alphas, and the leader of his pack, was standing with a blonde woman, both of their hands moving at a lightning face pace as they gestured at each other.
It took my brain another moment to register that they were using sign language and whatever conversation they were having was definitely an argument.
Elio frowned down at the woman before combing a hand through his brown hair. “You know why we’re doing this, Cini.”
The woman huffed loudly before planting her hands on his chest and giving him a shove.
“Luscinia…” There was reproach in Elio’s voice as he gripped the woman’s hands to keep her from continuing to wail on him.
Then his dark eyes flashed up in my direction and I ducked around the corner, my heart in my throat as I tried to digest what I’d just seen.
I didn’t care much that there seemed to be something going on between the two—I had no special attachments to my future grooms—but it still galled me that they were in the middle of what looked like a lover’s argument at our literal wedding.
Hurrying back into my place as quietly as possible, I made it just in time before my father stepped back inside from his phone call.
His face was red with anger as he yanked my hand and put it in the crook of his elbow.
“Bad phone call?” I asked dryly as I accepted the ridiculous bridal bouquet that one of the waiting assistants handed me. It had to have weighed at least ten pounds and my arm shook as I tried to hold it in one hand.
“No. Not that it’s any of your concern,” my father told me, squaring his shoulders. “Now, let’s get this over with.”
I wanted to make some kind of snarky comment at that, but instead I just tilted my chin up and waited for the doors to be open.
The ancient pipe organ began to play, the noise bouncing off of the almost impossibly high rafters of the church as the people in the packed pews stood and turned to watch the bride walk down the aisle. The bride being me.
Nothing about today was what I dreamed of when I was a little girl reading books around romance.
Not the gauche, brightly colored flowers that were hanging on the end of each pew, not the ridiculous red carpet rolled down the aisle, and certainly not the pack of four men standing at the end of it.
Elio had returned to his pack at some point, his previously soft expression when he was looking at the woman gone and in its place was one that was entirely stony.
His three packmates, Dante, Ranieri, and Nicolo looked equally as thrilled as they turned to look at me. I hoped they knew that the feeling was completely mutual.
The strains of the bridal chorus echoed in my ears, drowning out the sound of my own hammering heart as we began to take stilted steps down the aisle.
Run, run, run, my instincts screamed at me, my inner omega which had lain dormant for so long seeming to rise to the surface as I walked towards a future that filled me with dread.
I ignored it, pushing it deep down, back to the place where it’d been hibernating through almost three years of chemo and radiation.
My instincts had been numbed for so long that I didn’t know what to do with them—especially when my normal human brain was screaming the same things at me.
Every nerve ending inside of my body was going off like a five-alarm fire as we reached the dais.
Elio’s hand was clammy as he stepped down to take mine from my father’s and lead me back up the dais to join the rest of the pack.
The five of us exchanged a barely hidden grimace. Mine was due to the mingling of their scents reaching my nose, and theirs was probably due to the sourness of my own.
I could fake a smile, but I couldn’t fake biology.
Glancing down to where my family was sitting, I saw Romey’s scowl as he watched the wedding ceremony begin.
My gaze drifted over and with a jolt I realized that the woman Elio had been speaking to was sitting next to Alessandro Amante.
She was even prettier from the front, even if her dainty features were twisted into a frown, and as our gazes met, I only saw pure hatred in her green eyes.
Someone tapped my shoulder and I jerked around to find four pairs of eyes on me.
“Keep it together,” Dante muttered, his eyes moving to the priest who was clearly angry at my lack of attention.
Shifting to face him fully, I gave into my fate.
A Catholic wedding with a pack differed from the typical two-person beta weddings.
A length of pure white ribbon was wrapped around each of our wrists, tethering them together as I stood in the middle only half-listening as the priest began his introductory rite.
The ceremony passed in a hazy blur.
Sit, stand, mouth the words to the hymnal as the rest of the audience sang, sit, stand, repeat.
It was absolutely exhausting and by the time we made it to the end my legs were wobbling underneath the weight of my dress.
“And if there is any person here present who knows of any lawful impediment to this marriage, they should declare it now,” the priest’s voice filled the cathedral and he waited just a breath before opening his mouth to declare our marriage valid when a man’s voice interrupted him.
“Unfortunately, no wedding will be happening here today.”
There was a gasp and then a hush as every person in the room turned to find two men standing at the end of the aisle.
Alessandro got to his feet with some difficulty, his face turning red as he faced the men. “Keane, what the hell are you doing here?”
The name sounded familiar and I squinted to try and see who it was as people leaned into the aisle, blocking my vision of the pair.
“I’m here to collect on a debt, dear Alessandro,” the man’s voice continued and the crowd parted like the red sea as the man and his partner got closer.
I knew them, I realized with a jolt as they grinned at the congregation.
They were the men that I’d seen in the hospital. The ones that came to Dr. Stedmeyer to be patched up.
Rhodes and Edison, my brain conjured their names almost as easily as breathing. Like it had been storing them away for later because it knew they would be important somewhere along the line.
Then, I remembered what they were and why the doctor was patching them up as both men drew guns and pointed them in our direction.
The golden-eyed Edison’s lips pulled up into a smirk. “Besides, it’s always been on my bucket list to crash a wedding.”