Page 20 of Depths of Obsession (The Emerald Dagger Mafia #2)

CHAPTER 20

I pull into my loft and park, the engine cuts off, leaving us in a silence that feels heavier than it should. Pippa has been quiet the entire drive back from the beach, her face unreadable as she stares out the window. Her silence gnaws at me, like a splinter lodged just beneath the skin.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asks, breaking her silence as she turns to me, her eyes deep wells of worry.

"Pippa," I reply, trying to keep my voice calm, determined, "I will not let you marry that beast. I promised I'd protect you, and I intend to keep that promise."

"But—" she starts, her lips parting as if she's searching for the right words.

"No buts." I reach for her hand, but she pulls away, and it stings more than I'd like to admit. "There is a guy waiting upstairs to marry us, and once we sign the papers, it’s done."

I step out of the car, heading toward the freight elevator. But as I reach the elevator door, I notice Pippa hasn't moved. I return to the car to find her still sitting in the passenger seat, her hands trembling slightly on her lap, her eyes wide and filled with uncertainty. I cocking an eyebrow at her.

She slowly opens the door, climbing out, her expression a mixture of fear and disbelief. Is marrying me really such a terrible thing? It stings to see the hesitation, to see her fear. I thought we had something real. Maybe I was wrong. But no matter what, I refuse to let her fall into Gazzago’s hands. I will marry her—even if I have to let her go after, even if she doesn’t love me back. But she will be mine, and no other man will touch her. If they do, they’ll die. It’s as simple as that.

"Luca," she begins, her voice soft, pleading, but I wave her off.

"There’s nothing more to discuss, Pippa. We need to get upstairs, now. Renzo will be here with Gazzago within the hour. I put him off until six, but it’s already almost five. We need to have this finished before they arrive."

I turn, moving toward the elevator, gratified to hear her footsteps finally following behind me. Once inside the lift, the hum of the mechanicals fills the silence between us, the metal creaking as we ascend. I cast a quick glance at her—she looks pale, her eyes downcast, her hands twisting together in her lap.

We step into the loft, and I lead her to inside where Rocco waits. He’s dressed in a sharp navy suit, his face solemn.

"Is everything organized?" I ask.

Rocco nods, his eyes flicking to Pippa, then back to me. " Sei sicuro di questo ?" he asks, his tone gentle but questioning. Are you sure about this? Pippa spares me a glance, but trudges away from us.

"Yes, I’m sure," I reply firmly, ignoring the unease bubbling in my chest.

He shrugs, giving me a look that tells me he has his doubts, but will follow my lead. "Everything is set but… uh…”

“What?” I say.

“More overdoses. This time New York. It happened last weekend but I didn’t get word until now. They didn’t die until Tuesday. It took a while for the cops to track it back to the club. They’ve reached out to Interpol and are putting the pieces together. I just got word about it.”

“Fuck.” I heave a resigned breath. “We’ll deal with it later. I have to get ready.” I turn toward the hallway, heading to my room. This is not how I thought this day would go. Suddenly, a shout echoes through the loft.

"Oh my God!" Pippa’s voice. Surprise laces every word, and I’m sprinting down the hall before I even know it.

I burst into the room, my eyes scanning for danger. "What is it? What’s wrong?"

Pippa stands frozen in the middle of the room, her eyes wide, her mouth open in disbelief. Her gaze meets mine, and for a moment, I can’t tell if she’s scared or angry. "You did all this?" she whispers, her eyes flicking around the room.

I glance around, my eyes following hers. The room is… well, overdone, now that I think about it. There are rose petals scattered across the bed, arranged in a heart shape. The dress I chose for her—a sleek, fitted gown with intricate beading on the bodice—is on a hanger over the door, shimmering in the soft light. The neckline mirrors the one she wore to the club, the one that caught my eye and wouldn't let go. Matching shoes and a veil rest nearby.

"Well, I had people do it, yes," I say, scratching the back of my head. "I thought you might feel better about all this if you had a proper wedding dress. And, you know, help with your hair."

Marie, the stylist from one of the top salons in town, stands in the corner, a polite smile on her face.

Pippa blinks, her eyes glistening with emotion. She looks overwhelmed.

I step closer, my heart pounding in my chest. "Is it… not what you wanted? I’m sorry. With the timing, I?—"

She shakes her head quickly, her eyes filling with the sheen of tears. "It’s perfect," she whispers, her voice breaking.

Relief floods me, and I retrieve two small velvet boxes from the dresser. "These are for you," I say, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. "You need to get ready. You have half an hour, little one. No more." She stares at me, her eyes wide, and she nods as I turn and leave the room.

Am I dreaming and just don’t recognize it? Pippa Dominici no longer seems real. Like someone has commandeered my existence. The roses, the bed, the gorgeous dress that looks like it will fit to perfection.

Marie takes charge the moment Luca leaves, bustling around the room as if she’s done this a thousand times before. "Perhaps a quick shower?" she offers, her eyes assessing me.

"I just had one," I reply, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. My hair is still damp and tangled.

"Good. Then let’s get to work, shall we?" She guides me to a leather chair in the center of the room, and starts brushing my hair, humming softly as she works. Her fingers are efficient as she wraps sections of my hair in heated rollers, her humming oddly soothing. I stare at the dress— my dress —and it takes my breath away. It's beautiful, stunning, and exactly what I would have chosen for myself. The shoes, the veil—it’s all so perfect. It’s too perfect.

Marie finishes the rollers and kneels in front of me to file my nails, muttering about how there’s no time for a proper manicure, but she does her best. I sit there, my hands trembling, trying to process everything.

This isn’t how I imagined my wedding day. I thought I’d be in a church, surrounded by friends and family. I thought my father would walk me down the aisle, that my mother would be in the front row, crying tears of joy. Instead, I’m here, about to marry a vampire to save myself from a worse fate.

The thought would make me laugh like a lunatic, but my chest aches and tears prick my eyes. I blink rapidly, refusing to let them fall. There’s nothing to be gained by crying over circumstances I can’t change. My father always told me to be strong, to hold it together no matter what. Slapping me was unnecessary, but the message wasn’t wrong.

Marie pulls out a makeup case and studies my face, then sets to work. I close my eyes, letting her do what she needs to do, focusing on the rhythmic motion of the brush strokes. I breathe in deeply, trying to steady my emotions. Luca has done everything he could to make this easier for me, and all I can think about is how unfair it all feels. I dreamed of marrying for love, and instead, I’m marrying for survival.

“Okay. Bellissima ,” Marie says, stepping back. She touches up my lips, then takes the rollers out of my hair, Then guides me to flip my head upside down so she can finger-brush the curls. I straighten, and she smiles as she sprays the final result. “Perfect. Now, the dress.”

She helps me into the dress, tightening the laces in the back before stepping back to admire her work. "One more thing," she says, crossing the room to the dresser and opening one of the boxes. She holds up a diamond necklace with a large emerald pendant, fastening it around my neck. Then, she hands me the matching earrings—emeralds surrounded by diamonds. It’s exquisite, and I can’t stop the gasp that escapes me.

Marie turns me toward the full-length mirror, and I stare at my reflection, barely recognizing the woman looking back. The dress is flawless, the jewelry glitters in the soft light, my hair and makeup are perfect. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. And yet… it’s not real. This marriage isn’t real.

I blink back tears, forcing a smile. "Let’s do this," I say, my voice shaky but determined.

Marie nods, and with an encouraging smile opens the door for me.

As I step into the hallway, I find Luna waiting. She’s wearing a deep purple bridesmaid dress, and I let out a squeal, rushing to hug her. She hugs me back tightly, her expression tense.

“Are you sure about this?” she whispers, her voice filled with worry.

“I don’t have a choice,” I whisper back. “Luca is a lot better than the alternative.” She nods, but the doubt in her eyes mirrors the doubt in my heart. I open my mouth, about to say we should run, but Rocco appears from the stairwell.

"You look stunning," he says, his eyes flicking to Luna. Then, he escorts us to the elevator, and we ride up to the roof.

The elevator doors open, and I step out. At my side, Luna holds my elbow. Luca is poised by the gazebo, a trail of red rose petals leading to him. A man—presumably the officiant—stands on the gazebo steps, and Luna moves to stand beside him. The sun is setting, bathing the city in warm, golden light. The heady scent of lavender drifts on the breeze.

Rocco hands me a bouquet with lavender woven through the flowers. I take a deep breath, my eyes locking on Luca. He’s standing tall, wearing a crisp white shirt that stands out against his tanned skin, his hair curling slightly at the ends. His gaze meets mine, and something shifts inside me—a wave of love and certainty washes over me.

He loves me. I know it now, deep in my bones. It doesn’t matter that we barely know each other. He loves me, and I’m falling for him, too. My heart swells as I walk down the aisle, my eyes never leaving his. This may not be the wedding I dreamed of, but in this moment, my world is righted on its axis.

I reach him, and he takes my hand, slipping a ring onto my finger—a large emerald surrounded by diamonds, matching the necklace and earrings. It’s beautiful, and I smile up at him, my heart pounding.

" Buonasera ," the officiant says, his voice carrying over the rooftop. He continues speaking in Italian, but my focus is on Luca, his fingers brushing mine, his eyes locked on my face.

Suddenly, Luca tenses, his gaze shifting over my shoulder. He glances at Rocco, giving him a look that makes my stomach drop.

Rocco moved to the edge of the roof to look down. His expression is hard lines and angles when he looks back to Luca. "They’re here."

Luca turns to the officiant, speaking rapidly in Italian. The man looks startled, but he nods, “ Si , is possible.” He begins again, this time speaking faster. Luca starts repeating what the man says while he takes a ring out of his pocket. He removed the engagement ring and puts the solid platinum band on my ring finger. He puts the emerald ring back in place above the wedding band.

Then it’s my turn. I repeat the vows and Luna hands me a ring which I put on Luca’s left hand.

The man seems to finish and then he hands Luca a piece of paper and a pen, and Luca signs it quickly, then turns, handing me the pen. I sign where he points, my hand trembling.

Angry shouts reach us, echoing up the stairwell. Luca gestures for Luna to come and sign, and she does. Rocco stands by the roof door, his gun drawn, ready.

"Rocco!" Luca calls.

Rocco jogs over, signing the paper just as the door bursts open.

Gazzago storms through, flanked by three bodyguards, Renzo, and Mia.

"You’re too late," Luca announces, his voice loud, defiant. "Pippa is my wife." He bends down, his lips crashing onto mine in a kiss that feels like a claim, a promise.

I melt into him, my heart pounding, knowing that no matter what happens next, I am his, and he is mine.