The guests are stirring. Meanwhile, the guards disperse, hurrying across the grounds toward the castle.
“Shit!” Achille says. He leaves the altar.
People begin to get up. More gunshots come, closer this time. Someone screams.
I duck, cowering behind the altar as the congregation dissolves. People, including the priest, step over one another in their hurry to retreat. Some race through the colonnade in the direction of the guards, others head for the beach. But I can’t move. I’m terrified of that gunfire.
The Cleaver hasn’t moved. He calmly reaches into his tuxedo jacket and draws a pistol. I’d recognize that sleek, wicked design anywhere. It’s the same weapon that shot my mother.
He’s not looking at me, but fires a few shots at unseen targets.
My eyes remain locked on that gun, my entire focus, my entirebeing, fixed upon it. The way the muzzle smokes after it fires. The way The Cleaver holds the grip.
It’s all the same.
I was right. Hedidkill her.
The Cleaver glances at me for a moment, and then does a double take when he realizes how scared I am of the weapon. He moves it from left to right, smirking when my gaze unerringly follows it.
“You’re like some fucking house cat,” he says. “Can’t keep your eyes off the laser dot.”
He swings the weapon all the way around until it’s pointing directly at me.
I can’t do a thing the whole time, except swallow. I’m just trembling like crazy.
“You can’t marry me?” he says. “Is that what I heard you say? Youcan’t?”
I don’t answer. I’m petrified. Shaking all over. It was so much easier to accept death when I didn’t actually have to look at the gun.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you die so quickly,” he holsters the weapon.
I slump in relief.
But then the Cleaver throws me to the ground and pins me with his knees.
I struggle against him. “Get off of me!” But because of my dress, and the way he’s planted his legs on my arms, I can’t move.
He draws a knife and grins evilly. The smile doesn’t touch his eyes, which are empty, completely devoid of emotion, as if he’s dead inside. “Looks like your father has decided to rescue you with guns blazing. The Amatos have some balls after all. Too bad there won’t be anything left of you when I’m done. Nothing alive, anyway.”
He holds the knife to my wedding dress and cuts away one of the shoulder straps. I flinch at the coldness of the blade.
“I wonder if you’ll cry out in pain like your mother did when I killed her,” he taunts.
“She couldn’t,” I tell him, seething with rage. “Her mouth was gagged. You shot her in the head. She couldn’t… she had no chance!”
He smiles again. “Ah yes, you remember after all. I wondered if you did. That pleases me all the more. I killed your mother. Then your lover. And now you.”
“I’m not dead yet,” I spit.
The Cleaver brings the knife to the side of my bodice and starts cutting it open. “Not yet.”
I struggle against him but still can’t break free.
“Stop moving!” He slaps me in the face. “You should have said ‘I do.’ Now all you’re going to say is ‘I rue.’” He giggles.
I spit on him. “You’re insane.”
He touches his cheek, wiping the spittle onto a finger and licking it. “I know.”
