CHAPTER 1
Gemma
"Might want to slow down there," Saint, my new husband, says as I down my third glass of champagne. It's actually my fifth of the day, but my third in the last thirty minutes.
"I'm hoping I'll pass the fuck out before we get to your cave," I snap, the alcohol loosening my tongue. "Might be better for everyone."
Saint snorts, and I expect him to walk away, and do…whatever he needs to do. We've been married for an hour, maybe two, I’ve lost track, and we've barely said five words to each other. Instead, he surprises me and grabs my jaw in his hand. I wince as he presses is fingers hard into my bones.
"Stop looking so fucking miserable," he hisses, his dark green eyes glaring down at me. "It's a fucking party."
I wrench my face away. "It's a funeral." He reaches for me again, but I'm already halfway across the floor before he can get to me. I'm sulking. I'm being unreasonable.
And honestly, I do not care.
This wedding is a sham, and everyone here knows it.
After all, I'm not the only person who's been forced to marry a dangerous man for family alliances.
Glancing toward the stairs, I see my sister-in-law. Our eyes meet, and I see her smile turn to a frown. She starts toward me, but I move away.
I know Sera tried to help me. Luc told me that her and Adrian fought about it, but I’m so angry at Adrian that I can’t even be around his wife.
This sight of my brother at her side turns my stomach. Adrian is hosting like the perfect mafia Don, smiling with his arm around Sera, pretending like he didn’t sell me off for his own protection.
Fucker.
"Where's your husband?" I jump slightly as Luc, my other brother, slides up against me. His lighter brown hair and signature silver eyes make him a warmer sight than my brother Adrian. Though the mention of Saint makes me want to deck him.
"I don't know," I mutter, snagging another glass of alcohol. "Terrorizing a local." I bring the glass to my lips, sip, and then scrunch my brows together as I taste soda water.
"Adrian told them to stop serving you."
My fingers grip the stem so tightly I may break the glass. Asshole. He's forced me into this, and he can't even allow me to be drunk during it?
"Don't look at me like that," Luc says, holding his hands up. "I have nothing to do with this."
I snort, shaking my head. "Of course not, Luc."
Luc never has anything to do with anything. That's his shtick. He keeps himself inside the loop enough to benefit from the Nero name, but he never actually sacrifices anything. While Adrian and I were stuck in this house, this city, bowing to our mother's whims, Luc was off screwing around in L.A.
I never blamed him for it.
Until now.
"Where's your date?" I ask. "The dancer."
"Ballerina," he says, the pride in his voice causing me to raise my brow. "She had to leave. She says congratulations."
I roll my eyes. I suspect Luc told his girlfriend to run off. I don't blame him. Who would want to be part of this shit show.
Saint slides next to me. "Wife." He says the word with such disdain I shiver. I may hate this man, but he hates me just as much. It’s too bad we can’t find common ground in that. "Luciano."
Luc glares at the use of his full name, and I smirk.
One thing I’ll say about Saint—he has a knack for pissing people off.
"We are required to dance," he holds out his hand, the tattoos on it juxtaposing with the clean lines of his tux.
