"I'm going back to my room."
I shake my head. "Oh, no, sweetheart, from now on you share a bed with me."
Violetta looks past me to the large sleigh bed in the center of the room that she no doubt considers too masculine. She swallows hard.
"Okay, but I'm not ready to sleep yet."
"Well, that's good." I pull her hard against me. "Because I'm far from done with you."
FIFTEEN
Violetta
Flanked by Elio and Riccardo,I walk up the magnificent staircase at the historic Palazzo Vecchio with all the enthusiasm of a woman being marched to the gallows. When the pair picked me up at Damiano's house a little before five o'clock, they offered no explanation of where they were taking me. I just did as I was told and followed.
Neither of them said a word to me in the car either, but the moment we pulled up outside one of the most stunning Renaissance buildings in Florence, I knew why we were here.
Like it or not, I'm about to get married.
Glancing down at my outfit of pale blue capri pants and a filmy white blouse, I wish someone had warned me this was happening. When I got up this morning, I dressed for a day of lounging about the house, not for the formality of a wedding. But, as I'm fast learning, information is currency in Damiano's world and it's dispensed with caution. For whatever reason, he decided I didn't need to know that this was happening today.
Perhaps he thought it would ruin the blowjob I gave him before he got out of bed this morning. At the time I enjoyed the fleeting power I wielded as I brought him pleasure. Now I wish I'd bitten the asshole.
My other regret in this whole thing is that I have these two men escorting me to my groom. I haven't forgiven Riccardo for sticking that needle in my neck after dragging me from La Stanza Rossa. Though rationally I know he was just doing his boss's bidding, I can't persuade myself to dislike him any less for it.
As for Elio, he unnerves me in an entirely different way. While Riccardo is outwardly menacing, the consigliere is quieter, more calculating. His is the punch you wouldn't see coming. I don't know yet whether to regard either of them as friend or foe.
When we arrive at our destination, the famous Sala Rossa, a nervous-looking young woman in a black skirt suit opens the door for us. She practically curtsies as we pass. I'm guessing it isn't every day they have a mafia wedding on the premises.
I enter the room and gasp. Though I've lived in Florence my entire life, I've never been in here before. It's breathtaking. The walls are swathed in a deep crimson damask. There are touches of gold everywhere and the ceiling is ornately painted with allegorical figures who seem to be judging us from above.
The Palazzo Vecchio was once the home of Cosimo de Medici and I suspect Damiano chose to marry here for that reason. He's similar to the Florentine Dukes of the Renaissance in many ways, wielding his influence through force when necessary and employing calculated restraint when that was the better option.
It occurs to me that the men who brought me here today each embody one of those roles and Damiano has always been both.
My husband-to-be is already standing at the large wooden desk when we enter. Engaged in conversation with a short,silver-haired man who looks to be in his seventies, he doesn't turn when we enter. He carries on his conversation, the world moving at the pace he sets.
When he does finally turn, his dark eyes meet mine. Even from this distance, I see the possessive gleam in them. He scans me from head to foot and his lips twitch slightly. I'm glad he's amused by the image I'm presenting because I never pictured myself getting married like this.
While Elio moves past me to hand the folder he's carrying to the judge, Riccardo positions himself in front of the door. I'm not sure if the intention is to prevent anyone from entering or me from fleeing. Either way, it reminds me exactly what sort of men I'm surrounded by here. I wouldn't dare try to run.
Damiano waves me over to the desk. I saunter across the room, taking my time in an attempt to appear unruffled. It doesn't work. I've been ambushed and every tense muscle in my body betrays exactly how upset I am by that.
"Violetta, this is Judge Flavio Bernetti. He'll be marrying us today." Damiano gives me a pointed look. "Flavio is an old friend."
In other words, he's not someone I can turn to for help. I summon a smile for the older man. He looks me up and down and addresses Damiano.
"Your bride is very beautiful, Damiano. Other men will envy your choice."
My jaw clenches at being reduced to the role of pretty accessory to Damiano.
"My bride is standing right there, Flavio, if you wish to compliment her directly."
His intervention surprises me. I flash him a grateful smile as the other man clears his throat.
"Of course. You look very beautiful, Signorina Caruso."
I incline my head in thanks. The judge goes through the formalities, checking our paperwork and reminding us of the solemnity of the contract we're entering today. Whether he's unaware or unconcerned that this is not the joining of soulmates, he adds his hopes that we'll live a long and happy life together to his spiel.
