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Her breathing grows more labored, and I put her hand on my chest, reveling in the way it's so smooth, so soft, so small in mine before I flatten it. “You feel me? Breathe with me, baby. Follow it. I'm here.”
“I c- I c-c-can't br…breathe.”
"You're the most beautiful bride I've ever seen," I choke out to distract her from her panic attack, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, and I don't tear away from her. "You're gonna wow them all, and you're gonna fucking say those vows, and you're gonna kill it." Another kiss, and I keep my lips close to hers, not breaking away because if I do, I know I'll never get another chance. "You give me one look baby, and I'll take you away. I swear it. I'll find a way out of this. But for now, you're gonna be my fighter."
"Savage, I can't."
"Youcan, baby. You have to." I run my fingers through the silk of her hair and clutch her tighter as each shard of her heart plunges into mine. But I’ll take that pain and swallow it whole. "It's just one year, remember? Then you can walk away. He'll have his money, and I'll take you away. Far, far away from here."
"You promise?"
"On my life. I'll keep you safe. I'm not leaving. I have your back. I’vealwaysgot your back, baby girl."
"Say it, Parker. You have to because I can't." She sobs silently.
My heart contracts, and I swallow down my heartache. With tears threatening to release, I rasp out, "It's showtime."
The skirt of her ball gown glitters and shimmers in the light, and though her veil covers her face and shoulders, I can feel her trembling beside me. I walk her from the bridal suite, down to the bottom floor where her bastard of a father waits for her. "One foot in front of the other, Bri."
She lets go of me with a whimper.
The music begins, a cello version ofCan't Help Falling in Love,Raven is playing, along with a pianist. Her father takes her from me, and my blood rushes to my ears. She makes it down the aisle, holding her bouquet full of flowers meant for prosperity, love, strength... andbaby's breath.
There goes my girl, a glittering train in her wake, taking wobbly steps towards the man that's taking her from me – the only one that has a real chance of stealing her heart from my grasp.
And I'll have front row tickets.
The music stops, Raven resumes her place on the altar, and when Maksim raises the veil, I know. I know with the look that slashes across his face, he'llneverlet her go.
My soul leaves my body and disintegrates at my feet.
Chapter Twelve
Maksim.
I've heard stories of men who take one look at their brides walking down the aisle and completely fall apart for them. It's the happiest day of their lives. So overcome by emotions they can't contain them.
I will have no such issues.
Being essentially thrown off Sabrina's family jet was the single most humiliating thing to have ever happened to me. Ever. Well, except that time I had a gun pointed at some asshole's head, pulled the trigger, and I'd forgotten to refill the magazine. Then again, I was only seventeen at the time, and I always double-check now. It’s never happened again.
I hadn't heard a word from her since that fiasco on the plane, and had I not checked the cameras to find her sitting on her deep berry suede love seat in her home periodically, motionless and reading, I never even would have known she was home.
"Son," Aristide Giordano, my father, says from his wheelchair in the corner. Dark eyes clash with even darker eyes through the reflection of the full-length mirror in the groom's suite as I put on the gold, generational cuff links – the kind that are passed down on this specific milestone. Polished. Shiny. More glitter. More gold. There is more wealth in one single link than your kidney is worth. My hair has been tapered and styled into a pompadour with hair products.My beard was shaved completely, and not one hair was missed.
I raise a dark brow in question at my father as I reach for my suit jacket, throw it on, then fix the lapels. "Yes?"
"The heads tell me you're...enthralledwith your bride-to-be." He talks a little too loud in perfect Italian, my father, due to his hearing loss and illness. He had me at thirty-two, only two years after he wed my mother, who was twelve years his junior. A marriage that was arranged between the Pakhan at the time, her father, Dimitri Sokolov, and my grandfather, Alessio Giordano. It was to stop the constant bloodshed between the bratva and the mafia. After mywould-have-been uncles murdered each other, giving me the title of King and peacemaker between the two clans.
It is a heavy crown; one my father wore until his illness made him almost immobile and wheelchair bound.Yet the title will not be fully passed down to me until he dies… which will probably be sooner rather than later, with the way his health is declining so rapidly.
He’s looking a lot less pale than usual today, most likely from the blood transfusion from earlier since he landed late last night.
"Everyone out," I say loudly to those in the room with us. It takes them less than sixty seconds, and then we're alone. I inhale sharply, ready to spew some lie to the great man in the room. Although sickly, with a blanket that covers his useless legs, he still carries that weight, that air about him that tells you this man is still dangerous. And he is. I've seen him pull a trigger from the very armrest of that damn wheelchair. "I let them see what I want them to see. Nothing more, nothing less. Just another contract, I told you this."
"Remember what I told you, son. Women-"
"-Yes, ‘will either make you stronger or weaker. And if they make you stronger, they'll become a target.’" I quote him, to which he frowns.