10. The Wedding #2
These bastards would never have been in the same room with me before my engagement to Lucy.
Then there are my people. Old-school mobsters in ostentatious jackets with big gold necklaces and fancy gold rings.
There are more than a few packing heat and not being subtle about it.
The younger Marino men are more understated, and it’s almost hard to tell them apart from their prep school counterparts.
Except my people are hungry. They’re vicious and hard.
They have scars, and they carry themselves like killers.
They’re sharks, while the rich folks are fat lambs.
I linger out front. People stop to greet me.
I don’t know half their names. Luca hangs around and tries to help, but he’s as clueless as I am.
At one point, though, Carmela shows up with her arranged husband, Lev Federov.
He’s a big, hulking Russian bastard, and he’s my family’s link to the Zeitsev Bratva.
Thanks to Carmie and him really falling in love, we have access to a lucrative source of drugs coming through a Canadian smuggling channel.
I put a gun to Lev’s head one time, but we’re good now.
“You nervous?” Carmie asks, grinning at me. She gives her brother, Luca, a quick hug.
“Not at all.” I shake Lev’s hand and nod at him. “You good?”
“All good,” he says. “Happy that it’s you on the other side. How’s it feel to be the one in the arrangement?”
“Feels great. Glad you came out for the wedding.”
“And miss the social event of the season?” Carmie makes a face like I must be insane.
“I agree with my wife.” Lev grins widely. “Nothing brings me more joy than to watch you squirm.”
“How pleasant.”
Carmie gives me another quick hug and wishes me luck before leading her brooding, dangerous husband into the church.
I keep ignoring looks from Bianca. She wants me inside and in my place, but I’m not ready yet. I take deep breaths as I stand in the Philadelphia afternoon, the sun shining through the buildings, the old Catholic church behind me. It’s a beautiful day. Not at all how I pictured my wedding.
“Mr. Marino, I must be the luckiest man in the world.”
I look down the block and instantly go tense. Demir Yilmaz walks toward me, his hands conspicuously held out to either side of him, almost like he’s trying to show that he comes in peace.
“I don’t think you were invited.”
“No, no, of course not.” He grins, wolfish and dangerous.
Luca steps forward, a hand in his jacket, likely gripping his gun.
I don’t bother to tell him to stand down.
“But I thought maybe I would run into you one more time before the wedding. I assume you spoke with Helena about her arrangement with my operation?”
“She says everything’s above board. She thinks the lawyers can handle it.”
Demir laughs. He tilts his head back and barks like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Leave it to the fucking rich fools to think their fancy suits can solve all their problems.”
“What do you want, Demir? This wedding is happening.”
Mostly because my sister would straight up murder me if it didn’t.
“Just one last warning, if you’ll indulge me.
Helena Willing-Morris was not being upfront with you about the full extent of her promise to me.
Yes, there is money involved, but money—” He makes a face and waves a hand.
“That can be easily solved. No, it’s the less official part of the deal that worries me so much. ”
I move closer to him. “I’m fucking tired of games, Demir. Either tell me what you want, or I’m going to order my people to scoop out your eyes while I cut off your tongue.”
“You’re not the first man Helena Willing-Morris promised her granddaughter to.” He shows me his teeth again. This time, there’s no mirth in his eyes. “That girl belongs to me. And I plan on having her. If you marry her, that only means I’ll have to eliminate you first.”
I stare at him in astonishment. I try to make sense of what he’s saying. Helena promised Lucy to this man? As part of the loan agreement? It’s so absurd, but it sounds exactly like something that old witch would do.
And it explains why Demir’s so intent on this marriage.
A thousand ideas flip through my brain like fluttering pages in the wind. I could kill him now. I could go kill Helena and call off this wedding. I could simply refuse to say the words.
That old woman lied to me.
But the memory of Lucy in my office, her moans, her hands zip-tied behind her back, her body beneath mine quivering and shaking, so wet and fucking beautiful, fills me with a white-hot rage.
“Lucille is fucking mine,” I snarl at him.
He steps back in surprise at the sudden ferocity of my rage.
“You won’t ever get near her. Do you hear me?
That girl is fucking mine, and I will murder and burn your whole organization if I have to.
I will raze you to the ground. Now get out of here.
Leave now and be happy I didn’t put a bullet in your head. ”
Demir’s face twists. His anger nearly matches my own. I’m filled with a holy fury, livid that he would dare come do this on my wedding day, but even more angry that he thinks he can take something from me.
Something that I want. Something that I own.
My own fucking wife.
“You’re making a mistake,” he says, stepping away slowly.
“The Marino Famiglia is strong, but you’re not a match for Gray Wolf.
Your operations will wither and die when I call for a boycott of anyone who works with you.
I’ll murder your captains, lieutenants, and soldiers.
I’ll come for you, and I’ll take her too. ”
Demir walks away. He strides off and turns the corner, leaving me seething outside the church.
“Adriano? What was all that?” Luca gives me a worried frown. “Should we tell someone?”
“No,” I say, storming away. “Get my sister. Tell her to hurry the fuck up. I want my wife at the fucking altar in two minutes. We’re doing this right fucking now.”
Lucy
So many familiar faces. There’s Caroline Wellington and her jowly husband, James.
Their daughter, Elizabeth, called me a poor, broken slut two years ago.
Near them is Charlotte Vandermeer. We took equestrian lessons together when we were kids, and she stopped answering my calls.
The Harrington-Pierces cut ties, the Rothwells canceled plans, and the Chen-Williams took it to the next level and sold their beach house because it was next door to ours.
These people hate me. When my parents died, not a single one of them called with condolences. They’d already written my entire family off by then. They treated us like mangy, rotten dogs, all because our finances were much worse than anyone realized.
It was all about the money for them.
And now they’re here, smiling up at me. Big, false grins, like their faces are stretched and held in place by invisible clothespins. A few years ago, all these people would’ve gladly spit on my grave.
Now they’re packed into the pews.
Kennedy gives me a quick smile as I walk toward her, the traditional wedding march playing. Pierre’s by my side, walking me down the aisle. I’m shaking and breathing fast, trying to stay calm, but the weight of all these fake freaking smiles is like an anchor trying to drag me down to hell.
And then there’s him.
Standing at the altar before the priest.
A devil in a black suit. A sinner and a beast. It honestly surprises me that he can be on holy ground without turning to ash.
My future husband, Adriano Marino.
He’s beauty and death. I’ve never seen a man so terrifying and attractive in all my life. He’s looking at me like he wants to grab me by the hair and force me down to my knees for him, like he thinks I should be praying at his feet instead of in front of the holy cross.
This is all wrong.
But my feet keep moving until Pierre deposits me in my position. Kennedy touches my hand, giving it a brief squeeze.
Then Adriano’s stare grabs me and won’t let go as the priest begins to speak.
I have no clue what the old man’s saying.
All I can hear is my hammering heart, and all I can see are Adriano’s lips, his eyes, that deadly, cold gaze, that beautiful hair.
This man tied my hands behind my back and fucked me into submission.
And I don’t know a thing about him.
Panic threatens to overwhelm me. If I weren’t up in front of the people I hate most in this world, I’d break down in tears. But I can’t let them see me tremble. This crowd would leap on me at the first sign of any weakness and tear me to shreds.
Grandmother would be the first one in line to drink my blood.
“Easy, little wife,” Adriano whispers when we finally exchange rings. He leans forward. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine.” I hold his hands, per the priest’s instructions. They’re warm and callused. He’s got little scars around his knuckles like they’ve been broken open a thousand different times. Those are the hands of a fighter and a killer.
Adriano says the vows first. He pins me as he does it, not looking away, speaking loudly and confidently. There’s a strange possessive yearning in him, something I’ve never seen before. It makes a thrill run down my spine.
And then it’s my turn. “I, Lucille Willing-Morris, take you, Adriano Marino, to be my husband. I promise to be faithful, supportive, and loyal, and to give you my love and friendship through all the years to come, ‘til death do us part.”
The priest spreads his arms wide. “It’s my great pleasure to present for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Adriano Marino. You may kiss the bride.”
Adriano slowly lifts my veil. I look at him, my mouth hanging open. The church is empty, and the whole world goes still. There’s nothing but him, my dark prince. My evil sinner. My shadow and death. He’s too damn sweet and stained with everything wrong and good.
When he leans down, I meet him halfway, eager to lose myself in him.