“I can’t believe he came,” Sofia gasps, turning pale as she reaches for Gia’s hand.
“Speaking of sinners, huh? Mom will pitch a fit,” Gia says with a smirk when she spies whoever Sofia is referring to.
“It’s not funny. It will be an even bigger scandal than Alessio allowing Frankie to sing today.”
“What is it?” I ask the girls, confused by their talk of scandals.
“See that man beside the image of Mary? He’s Nerio, our father’s bastard.”
Following the direction of their stares, I spot a tall young man around twenty. His hair is black, but he has the same pale blue eyes as Silvio De Luca. He’s not sitting in the family section. He’s leaning against the stained glass window Gia mentioned on the side like one of the many bodyguards present, though he doesn’t appear to be on duty. His arms are folded over his broad chest, and his devious half smile sends a chill down my spine. No one has ever mentioned him to me, but the bastards of high-ranking men are rarely spoken of amongst the wives in our circles and never in a positive light.
Before I can comment, Frankie’s song ends, and my father appears beside me, having finished his cigar outside. For a man not quite fifty, his pallor today is concerning though he warned Mother and I to stop pestering him over it. Perhaps it’s just pent-up fury after he heard of Alessio’s unexpected visit to Chicago, though it was too close to our wedding for him to risk any reaction over it.
He lowers my veil with a curt nod. “Make us proud, Caterina.” So much for fatherly comfort.
Focusing on my steps, we follow Gia and Sofia down the aisle across blood-red rose petals covering the pure white carpet.Such appropriate symbolism for the upcoming bedding,I think as my stomach churns.
I barely note the array of faces staring back at me, but my knees feel weak when I see my brothers standing beside my mother. Eighteen years, they’ve been my primary comfort in this cloistered world and how long will it be until we see each other again after the celebrations end? What if there’s another war?Or, what if one of them is killed? It’s not like there’s a guarantee of safety in this life of violence we’re born into.
Swallowing my emotions, I look to my future and meet my groom’s gaze head on. He’s a dangerous man… and a handsome one. His wedding attire is all black, a break from tradition I don’t mind, and his blue eyes still beckon me to drown in them, like deep wells of desire. The changing room and the way my whole body tingled in anticipation when he touched my lips, I’ve never experienced anything like it. I almost wish he had kissed me then.
My father lifts my veil before handing me over to my groom. Alessio’s rough, warm hand grasps mine, sending a current racing through me, but he stares at someone over my head, and, in his gaze, I see nothing but utter hatred. I don’t have to guess who he’s looking at – Nico. Or Dante. Or both.
The priest begins and my brain seems to spin over the smallest details to pretend this isn’t real – his spicy cologne, the tattooed eyeball on the back of Alessio’s right hand, the top of the three-headed wolf visible above his tie and collar. I remember the piercing in his eyebrow from the day we met. I remember there are others, too, particularly the ring in his penis. A wave of fright sweeps through me, imaginingthatsliding inside of me later along with his…
“Do you, Caterina, take this man…”
Caught off guard, I gulp and feel my cheeks burning for picturing such things during the holy sacrament. Alessio’s gaze drops to my face, and I see his lips twitch almost as if he read my mind. “I do,” I murmur softly when prompted, and a gold band soon joins my engagement ring.
When the priest finishes with “You may kiss the bride,” triumph flares in Alessio’s eyes, a burning possessiveness telling me what I already knew – I am his.
Tipping my head back with his hand on my chin, he lowers his mouth, whispering two words for me alone, “Till death.”
I gasp, but I can’t recoil. It would cause a scandal, and I’m at his mercy until death severs this bond. In truth, I’ve been at his mercy since the night my father made this pact.
Without a shred of gentleness, Alessio’s lips crash against mine, his mouth claiming me roughly for everyone to witness. He shoves his tongue into my mouth, holding me tightly against him. Whatever I daydreamed my first kiss would be like, it wasn’t this.
Yet, my heart speeds up not in terror or disgust but in… curiosity. That tingling sensation from the other day when he touched my lips slams through me with the force of a hurricane, centering itself between my legs, awakening a needfulness I never knew existed in me. I shouldn’t like this, should I?
The thought makes my eyes pop back open in time to see twisted delight dancing in Alessio’s eyes. He means to torment my brothers with this harsh kiss before he takes me like an animal later in private. Like a spark catching the kindling, I recall Nico’s words that I am stronger than I know. I must be. I’ll have to be. The inscription on my knife echoes in my mind – ‘If you must bleed, make them bleed, too.’
Just as Alessio’s kiss has lost its fierceness, I find mine, biting down hard on his bottom lip. He pulls back swiftly, and I can tell he didn’t expect that. Fury blazes in his eyes for a moment. I brace myself, wondering if he’d strike me in front of everyone.
He doesn’t do any such thing.
He slowly touches the tip of his tongue to the place where a drop of blood wells up and gives me the creepiest smile. Lowering his mouth to my ear, he murmurs, “I’m not opposed to a little blood play, especially between us, Mrs. De Luca.”
My stomach bottoms out at the name and as understanding of his words dawns on me. His arm snakes around my waistbefore I can faint, turning us to face the crowd where our guests gleefully applaud this match made in hell.
9
Caterina
A never-ending receiving line forms of Morelli cousins, De Luca captains and New York faces I’ll never remember as Alessio and I are handed flutes of champagne. Afraid, I’ll wind up spilling it, I down the bubbly liquid in one gulp. I cough but find it delightfully refreshing on my tongue. I’ve never tasted champagne. My glass is immediately refilled, but the glass doesn’t quite reach my lips before my wrist is locked in an iron grip. “You will not be drunk at our reception nor when I bed you later so slow the fuck down.”
My cheeks redden, but a little devil inside wishes to provoke him for treating me like a child. “I’m married now, a grown woman in our world. And, maybe it would be better to be insensible later.”
His eyes narrow. “Your father praised your obedience when he offered you in marriage.”
