I hooked my finger in her jaw and tugged. “You’ll learn, cailín.”
When her top lip pressed down, when she fucking sucked, I came. Came in my fucking pants like some teen. I shouldn’t have been able to with that disabling pain, but I did.
The maid knocked on the door. “Gabby?”
My bride scraped her teeth against my finger. “Out!”
I did. But as I scrambled down the roof, in fair danger of breaking my bleeding neck, I realized the toxic emotions were silent. The only thing swirling inside me was a raging lust—mybride had no idea the manner of nightmare she’d unleased with that little act of violence. And I couldn’t wait to fucking show her.
Chapter 12 – Gabriella
The nightmare was the same. A treasure being ripped from my arms. I woke with a scream, the defeat crashing into me until I thought I would be crushed under the weight of it.
Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling. My alarm hadn’t chimed yet, but it didn’t matter. It would soon enough. And then the day from hell would unfold.
Downstairs, my wedding dress hung, steamed and pressed in the living room, center stage to the bridesmaid dresses my sisters would wear.
The nightmare left a distinct flavor of loss in my mouth. But there was something else perfuming the air. A bad omen. It taunted me, a scratch between the shoulder blades that I couldn’t reach. The scent of pine was subtle, barely there. The vibrant presence pulsed in the deep shadows of the room, remaining long after its master had disappeared into the night. I sat up. Nothing was out of place, none of my belongings touched.
And yet, I knew.
He’d been back.
I didn’t have to look at the strand of hair I’d taped over the door. It would be broken—just as the others had this week.
Leaning over the bed, I pulled out the slim, zippered case. The cornicello pendant was tucked amongst other, far more expensive jewelry my father had gifted me and made me wear to important functions of the famiglia. The twisted horn was said to ward off evil spirits. It was going to take more than a charm and Old World superstition to keep me safe in this marriage. I was going to walk down the aisle to the devil after all. But…it couldn’t hurt.
Funny that Liam didn’t wake me. I now had a name for the presence that pulsed in my private space every morning when I woke. Only that one time, in his twisted, demented way, had he been bold enough to alert me to his presence. That was the night he left me with the ring. The visual claim of his power over me.
My father was still irate that it hadn’t been presented to me in a grand fashion. When I told him that my fiancé had stopped by work to drop it off, he didn’t question the lie. He just backhanded me for allowing the bastard to gift it to me without ceremony.
When my sisters saw the bruise on my cheek, I’d told them not to trip on the stairs.
“I can’t wait to leave,” I breathed, rubbing the green, fading mark. Even if it was out of the frying pan and into the fire, I relished the idea of a new way to burn.
***
Even in the Sunday School rooms, the roiling energy seeped from the sanctuary. As more guests arrived, the energy became far more vicious. They were going to brawl.
But I was the only one who seemed to notice the tension between the two organizations.
My attendants fluttered about, sipping punch and snacking on bon bons. My mother nearly fainted when Celeste tipped bright red liquid on her dress. What did she expect? I knew that red drink plus a four-year-old child equaled disaster. It was almost like this was the first time Mama encountered the idea of white dresses being stained.
“That’s the best I can do, signora,” Cesca sighed, sitting back on her haunches.
“It’s pink!” Mama wailed.
I had no Xanax. There was no alcohol. My mother needed a dose of both, while I would take a double.
Sliding a look to the closed door, I chewed on my lip. Didn’t they feel the threat? It brewed like a storm. The air was still. Stale. And there was a menacing silence. I longed to peek outside, but someone would scream at me to hide because I wasn’t supposed to be seen.
The sooner this was over, the better.
My ring thunked against crayon-scratched table.
I stared at it. The solitaire was large. The white gold band glinted.
A knock on the door made me sit up straight. The eight-year-old chased the ten-year-old, and Mama screamed as punch sloshed to the floor inches from the hem of my gown.
