Page 3 of Claimed By the Silver Fox

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ANTONIO

I can see the shock on her face from where I’m standing, the same stunned expression that the priest met me with. The same way everyone has been staring at me since I stepped up here. But I’m sure as hell not going to back down now that I’ve come this far.

I refuse to leave this woman unprotected, the way my son is so willing to do.

She looks, I have to admit, like a vision as she stands there at the end of the aisle in her brilliant white dress, blonde hair pulled back from her face. The flowers she’s carrying are the same color as her sharp blue eyes. Her skin is pale, like every inch of blood has been drained from her, and I can hardly imagine what the hell she’s going through right now.

I silently will her to take a step forward, to go through with this, to realize that I would never have even thought about doing something like this if it wasn’t entirely necessary. Our eyes lock, and the air stills, the music faltering as the band waits for her to take a step.

Come on, Julia. Come on.

Finally, she takes a shaky step forward, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Thank fuck.

I know this must seem insane to her, but I’m only doing this to keep her safe. With Andreo gone—to God knows where, though I have my suspicions—she will be vulnerable. Left without protection. Close enough to this family that she will be of interest to the people who want us dead and gone, but far enough that I can’t assure her protection. Marrying her sends a message, a message that she’s safe with us, protected no matter what.

God knows, this will be as much of a shock to her as it is to me. And I can only pray that she doesn’t take it as some move to own her, claim her, some trick to get her into my bed.

Of course, she’s beautiful, but that doesn’t mean I want more from her—at least, it doesn’t mean that I’m going to go after it. She’s my son’s fiancée, or at least she was until very recently. I’m not going to make her life any more complicated that it needs to be by demanding something from her that no doubt she would never want to give to me.

She’s clutching the bouquet so tightly it looks like it might snap in half at any moment, and every eye in the room tracks her along the aisle as she makes her way toward me. She looks so damn young—how old is she, again? I know Andreo told me. Twenty-five, twenty-six? A grown woman, by any measure, but more than twenty years younger than me.

Fuck. When I think of it like that, I can only imagine how insane this must look to everyone gathered around us right now. Me, standing up here, gray hair, suit that was meant to match my son’s, ready to marry the woman who he brought into our lives.

I can almost sense the whispers, but I push that aside. This isn’t about what other people will think. This is about doing the right thing. Whatever it takes to keep this innocent woman from falling foul of this world that my son pulled her into.

She reaches the bottom of the uneven stone steps, and I offer her a hand without thinking. She takes it, and the touch of her skin on mine, however brief, is enough to send a start through my body. It has been a long, long time since I’ve touched a woman like this—a long time since I have touched a woman at all, if I’m being honest, given how much of a distraction they can be. And this woman… I thought she would be nothing more than my daughter-in-law, not my goddamn wife.

She stands opposite me, slightly shaky, the veil laid lightly over her face. I reach up to push it back, fingers skimming her cheek for a moment, and she starts slightly again.

What must it look like, to everyone gathered here today, for the bride to be jolting and jumping like she’s a rabbit caught in a trap? I can only imagine the whispers. But gossip is never something I’ve worried myself about.

“Are you ready to begin?” the priest asks. He knows better than to question anything I do, sensing that I’ve only come this far because I don’t have any other choice. He has known me a long time, no doubt known my reputation longer than that. And he wouldn’t dare to stand against me or make things harder for me than they already are.

“Yes,” I reply, not taking my eyes off Julia.

Her own eyes glow an almost crystalline blue in the light pouring in from either side of us, and she bites down hard on her lip, as if trying her best to keep in some kind of protest. I don’t blame her. She must be utterly confused right now, as confused as I am, having seen my son take off the way he did. I still don’t know where the fuck he’s gotten to, but I’m certain of one thing—I will not leave this woman to suffer alone.

If there is one thing that I hold in great respect, it’s the bond of my word, and if my son won’t see it through, then it’s my job to step up and make that happen.

I hold out my hand to her, and she stares down at it for a moment, hesitating, before she takes it. Her throat flexes as she swallows hard, turning her attention to the priest, her skin still pale, her freckles standing out even more starkly against the bloodless flesh.

“Do you, Antonio Gattuso,” the priest begins, in that familiar drone of his, “take this woman, Julia McCrea, to be your lawful wedded wife…”

“I do.” The words come out as short, almost angry. I don’t mean them to be. Not at her, at least.

She jolts slightly, and I clench my jaw, trying to contain the rush of fury that wants to overwhelm me. It’s about him, my son, Andreo—the bastard who left her standing there in a wedding dress, with a promise of marriage that hasn’t come to pass.

The priest turns his attention to her, and I don’t break her gaze for a second, wondering if she’s going to back out of this now that the matter is truly at hand.

“And do you, Julia McCrea⁠—”

“I do.” She sounds more sure than I did, which surprises me.

I didn’t expect her to go along with this, at least, not without a fight. I had been fully prepared to have to explain myself to her in any way that I needed to, to pull her aside and assure her there was nothing she needed to worry about, that I would provide for her and protect her in all the ways she needed me to.