Maybe it’s cowardly or selfish, but I choose to believe it’s me exercising control over my life. No one will ever make decisions about my life again except me.
We chose to keep it a secret from our men because we weren’t entirely sure they would agree with us carrying such potent poison around our necks even if it is completely secure and safe. They tend to be overprotective at the best of times, and this is something we wanted to do for ourselves. A way for us to have peace of mind and some security should we find ourselves in dangerous situations. None of us are naïve, and we knew it was a distinct possibility.
I dump two-thirds of the contents into the red wine, swirling the liquid in the chalice, praying this is the chalice the priest will use at the ceremony. The guy we got the poison from—a man Natalia found through her contacts—said this type of poison is the gold-standard poison and we had enough in one vial to kill three grown men, but this is the first time I’m testing it.
I want to leave enough for myself in case things go belly up. I still have to find a way out of the church before Stefano’s men realize what I’ve done and shoot me.
So, there is a lot at stake.
According to our source, the effects should be felt within a couple of minutes. It will attack the nervous system, and the person will die in great pain.
I don’t even feel a twinge of guilt.
Footsteps approach in the hallway, and I move out from behind the table, plonking my butt on the small stool in the room as I wait for my groom to show himself.
Stefano looks smug as he leads me down the hallway and through a side door into the church. We wait while the priest gets ready in the sacristy, and once he has taken up position at the altar, it’s showtime. Stefano forces me to walk up the aisle on the arm of one of his men, and I can’t figure this man out. He’s blackmailing me into marriage but is still concerned with following tradition.
He’s nuts.
The priest has stark-gray hair, and he’s hunched over like his shoulders are almost nonexistent. He’s old as dirt and clearly corrupted, so if he ends up drinking the wine and dying too, I won’t feel bad about it.
Stefano holds my hand as the priest conducts the ceremony. I wonder if he can feel how clammy my skin is against his. A line of sweat trickles down my spine and I try to hold my nerves at bay as I scan the small space, taking note of the main entrance and the man standing guard in front of it. A second man stands at the back, in the corner, but that is the only protection I see in the room. I think I can work with that.
The building is even older than the priest with the same exposed stone brickwork as the other rooms. Overhead, a wooden peaked roof looks recently built in the same dark wood as the pews. Religious text is imprinted on embroidered canvas wall hangings under triangular stained-glass windows. The windows are positioned unusually high for such a small church, and I wonder if that was the style when it was built.
The priest stands behind a simple altar, the cloth covering it a bit more ornate than the plain one in the vestry. Two large candles, mounted on gold-patterned stands, are alight on either side of the table. White lilies scent the air from large vases situated behind the altar, and I would like this quaint little church if I wasn’t being forced into marrying a psycho in it.
We say our vows, face-to-face, and it’s a miracle I’m not struck down dead. Stefano grins like he might actually be pleased about this. My hand shakes as I slide the platinum band onto his ring finger, and I’m sure I’ll end up in hell for the vile things I’m thinking about my new husband. If there truly is a God, he will know what is in my heart and that this man could never be my husband. Not when my heart and my soul belong to my Alesso.
The priest offers us the bread of holy communion, and sweat plasters my dress to my back as the moment of reckoning arrives. I silently fist pump the air when the priest produces the chalice from the sacristy—the one I poisoned. It takes every ounce of strength I have not to pass out from stress when he hands the chalice to Stefano. Stefano drinks deeply from the silver cup, and I hope he can’t see the sweat beading on my brow. He smiles as he passes it to me. I give him my sweetest, fakest smile as I absently reach for the chalice, my fingers clumsy in the exchange, as I appear unable to tear my gaze from my new husband.
He’s just egotistical enough to believe I’m that enraptured by him.
Not enough that he isn’t mad when the chalice slips from my fingers, tumbling to the ground and splashing the contents over our clothes. Panic jumps up and slaps me in the face as I wonder if the poison can visibly damage clothes. I never thought to ask that question. I hold my breath for a few seconds, waiting for my clothes to burn or do something to give me away, but all that happens is the bottom part of my snow-white dress is now a rosy-red color.
Stefano clenches his jaw, and his fingers twitch at his side. If we weren’t in a church, I’m sure he’d punish me for that.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, finally finding my voice. “I’m so clumsy.” My heart is in my mouth as I watch Stefano for any signs the poison worked. I hope he drank enough of it to at least disable him for a while.
“Never mind.” The priest walks behind to a sliver-and-gold-plated tabernacle. He removes another chalice from inside and a small carafe of wine, pouring some inside. When he returns, he offers me the cup, and I take a small sip before passing it to him. I’m aware I’m visibly shaking, but it only adds to the authenticity of the moment.
The priest rambles on, getting ready to bring the ceremony to a close. The more time passes, the less confident I feel—until it happens.
Stefano sways on his feet, clasping my arm and using me to steady him. Fear is palpable in his eyes as he stares at me. He opens his mouth to speak, and frothy bubbles leak from his lips. Sweat covers his brow as he slumps against me, attempting to clutch his throat and trying to speak.
“Boss!” Footsteps pound behind me, and it’s now or never. Grabbing Stefano, I haul him around to my front and pull the gun out from under his jacket, where it was holstered at his hip. Using him to shield me, I lift the gun and fire at the man racing toward me. My aim is off, and I only graze the side of his arm. He slams to a halt, unsure what to do. He can’t shoot because he’s more likely to kill Stefano than me. Anxiety settles on my chest as the second guy starts inching up along the inside wall on my left, but I can’t lose my nerve now.
Steadying my hand, I fire again, and this time I hit the bull’s-eye. The guy in front of me drops to the floor with a nice round hole in his brow. I barely have time to breathe before the second man lunges at me from the side. The priest chooses that moment to try to flee, and the man knocks into him. The priest falls back, stumbling against one of the candleholders, and he takes a tumble alongside it. Swinging Stefano’s motionless body around, I slam into the man, pushing him back. His gun skitters away under the pews. Stefano is fucking heavy, and while it helps I’m tall, I don’t know how much longer I can continue to hold him against me and use him as a buffer.
I don’t feel even slightly sorry I stole the idea from Alfredo despite how often I had recurring nightmares from the time he used me as a body shield.
Fists pound on the entrance door as the commotion reaches outside. The guy on the floor scrambles to his feet, and I shoot him at point-blank range, rearing back as blood and other bodily matter sprays in my direction. I hold Stefano up, letting him take the brunt of it.
Out in the hallway, the priest cries out as a man appears from the rear entrance, holding a gun and heading in my direction. He shoots the priest and tosses him aside as I lift my gun and fire. The man drops to the floor, and I fire again, mentally calculating how many bullets might be left in this gun. Before the guy gets up, I throw Stefano aside, jumping over the body of his dead bodyguard, and slam the inner door shut, bolting it just before he reaches me. Loud pops sound against the door, but these old doors are solid as fuck and too thick for the bullets to push through.
I take a second to regroup, trying to keep my panic at bay as I consider I’m now trapped inside the church with armed assholes at either entrance. Racing down the center aisle, I shove the dead man aside and lift his rifle off his torso, strapping it around my body. Then I check the chamber of Stefano’s gun, counting one more bullet. It won’t be enough if I’m going to have even a sliver of a chance of shooting my way out of here.
Thank God I’ve gotten tons of practice in recent weeks and I’m a decent shot.
