Prologue
White.
The symbol of chastity envelops me, cascading off my shoulders and trailing over the polished gray marble with every step I take. So pure. Angelic even. The color of innocence. Of freedom.
I have lost both.
Like waves assailing me fore and aft, whispers wash over me from both sides of the aisle, an onslaught of hushed murmurs that nearly makes me stumble. Several hundred judgmental stares from the Cosa Nostra faithful and their tagalongs bore into me. Their muttered words are too low for me to actually make out. But there’s no mistaking their tone.
Shock.
Astonishment.
Disdain.
And more than a dose of disbelief that someone so far beneath them should now be welcomed into their society, considered their equal.
Preposterous, right?
I tune it all out, continuing my slow walk toward the front of the cathedral, feeling the drag of my wedding gown as the hem keeps tangling around my feet. The finest Italian silk, embroidered with delicate golden threads, intent on trying totrip me, scornfully whispering what the people around me must be thinking but would never dare voice.
You don’t belong here.
I’ve existed on the fringe of Cosa Nostra society practically since I learned to walk. Some of them I even consider my friends. But I have never been one of them. I never wanted to, either. And I was certain that I would never become like any of them.
Untilhim.
Even in the dark, unscrupulous world of Cosa Nostra, I had always believed there was good in everyone. Even if it was only a little bit. Regardless of the immoral decisions or actions that dominate their lives.
Untilhim.
The man with a ruthless glare in his merciless, icy-blue eyes, who is currently waiting for me at the altar. The one who wouldn’t hesitate to mow down anyone standing in his way and then step over their corpses to get what he wants.
Once upon a time, those eyes used to beguile me. I’ve been utterly enthralled by the man who seemed to stand above the rest. Not because of his wealth or his stature, but because he wasn’t like everyone else. He was a good person, somehow trapped in a den of wolves. Trying to survive. Like me.
That’s what I thought.
Believed that, despite the atrocities that were standard practice in the world he lived in, his heart remained pure, his hands stayed clean. That spoke to me. And I admired him for it. Even crushed on him a little. Maybe even a lot, but never with any intent. I just couldn’t ignore the butterflies in my stomach or how short my breath was whenever my eyes fell on him.
He was different.
And that difference called to me. Echoed in my heart.
God, I was such a fool.
This man is incapable of empathy or care. He lives as though he can obtain whatever he wants, no matter the cost. Regardless of the consequences. Those are insignificant. His hands are as bloody as others’ in this church. Except,hehas managed to hide it. For years. Never allowing anyone a glimpse beneath his disguise. Not out of shame for his deeds. Or out of fear. And not because he wanted to pretend he was better. More moral. The opposite, in fact. He allowed the whole of Cosa Nostra to believe he was harmless. Hardly a threat to anyone. A meek, well-bred sheep.
Oh, how wrong they are.
He is possibly the most dangerous predator of them all.
Another wolf, but in sheep’s clothing.
And no one has a clue.
UntilIaccidentally saw the man behind the curtain.
Fell intohistrap.
