Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“What do you want, Demir? This wedding is happening.”
Mostly because my sister would straight up murder me if it didn’t.
“Just one last warning, if you’ll indulge me. Helena Willing-Morris was not being upfront with you about the full extent of her promise to me. Yes, there is money involved, but money—” He makes a face and waves a hand. “That can be easily solved. No, it’s the less official part of the deal that worries me so much.”
I move closer to him. “I’m fucking tired of games, Demir. Either tell me what you want, or I’m going to order my people to scoop out your eyes while I cut off your tongue.”
“You’re not the first man Helena Willing-Morris promised her granddaughter to.” He shows me his teeth again. This time, there’s no mirth in his eyes. “That girl belongs to me. And I plan on having her. If you marry her, that only means I’ll have to eliminate you first.”
I stare at him in astonishment. I try to make sense of what he’s saying. Helena promised Lucy to this man? As part of the loan agreement? It’s so absurd, but it sounds exactly like something that old witch would do.
And it explains why Demir’s so intent on this marriage.
A thousand ideas flip through my brain like fluttering pages in the wind. I could kill him now. I could go kill Helena and call off this wedding. I could simply refuse to say the words.
That old woman lied to me.
But the memory of Lucy in my office, her moans, her hands zip-tied behind her back, her body beneath mine quivering and shaking, so wet and fucking beautiful, fills me with a white-hot rage.
“Lucille is fucking mine,” I snarl at him. He steps back in surprise at the sudden ferocity of my rage. “You won’t ever get near her. Do you hear me? That girl is fucking mine, and I will murder and burn your whole organization if I have to. I will raze you to the ground. Now get out of here. Leave now and be happy I didn’t put a bullet in your head.”
Demir’s face twists. His anger nearly matches my own. I’m filled with a holy fury, livid that he would dare come do this on my wedding day, but even more angry that he thinks he can take something from me.
Something that I want. Something that I own.
My own fucking wife.
“You’re making a mistake,” he says, stepping away slowly. “The Marino Famiglia is strong, but you’re not a match for Gray Wolf. Your operations will wither and die when I call for a boycott of anyone who works with you. I’ll murder your captains, lieutenants, and soldiers. I’ll come for you, and I’ll take her too.”
Demir walks away. He strides off and turns the corner, leaving me seething outside the church.
“Adriano? What was all that?” Luca gives me a worried frown. “Should we tell someone?”
“No,” I say, storming away. “Get my sister. Tell her to hurry the fuck up. I want my wife at the fucking altar in two minutes. We’re doing this right fucking now.”
Lucy
So many familiar faces. There’s Caroline Wellington and her jowly husband, James. Their daughter, Elizabeth, called me a poor, broken slut two years ago. Near them is Charlotte Vandermeer. We took equestrian lessons together when we were kids, and she stopped answering my calls. The Harrington-Pierces cut ties, the Rothwells canceled plans, and the Chen-Williams took it to the next level and sold their beach house because it was next door to ours.
These people hate me. When my parents died, not a single one of them called with condolences. They’d already written my entire family off by then. They treated us like mangy, rotten dogs, all because our finances were much worse than anyone realized.
It was all about the money for them.
And now they’re here, smiling up at me. Big, false grins, like their faces are stretched and held in place by invisible clothespins. A few years ago, all these people would’ve gladly spit on my grave.
Now they’re packed into the pews.
Kennedy gives me a quick smile as I walk toward her, the traditional wedding march playing. Pierre’s by my side, walking me down the aisle. I’m shaking and breathing fast, trying to stay calm, but the weight of all these fake freaking smiles is like an anchor trying to drag me down to hell.
And then there’s him.
Standing at the altar before the priest.
A devil in a black suit. A sinner and a beast. It honestly surprises me that he can be on holy ground without turning to ash.
My future husband, Adriano Marino.
He’s beauty and death. I’ve never seen a man so terrifying and attractive in all my life. He’s looking at me like he wants to grab me by the hair and force me down to my knees for him, like he thinks I should be praying at his feet instead of in front of the holy cross.