Page 104 of Devil's Azalea

She takes the plain black titanium band from the officiator, her voice incredibly soft as she slides it onto my ring finger. “With this ring, I take you to be my lawfully wedded husband, to trust and protect your interests above all others.”

I tilt my head, studying her face. Does she really mean that?

“By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Finally.

Barely concealed glee floods through me as I push the veil away from her face. I lean in, noting the flutter of her lashes, the way she tilts her head back and lifts her lips towards mine in offering.

I mean to give her a light kiss—we’re in public, after all, and I can’t exactly act on the burning need that’s been building for hours. But the second my lips touch hers, control becomes a foreign concept.

I slant my head, probing her lips with my tongue until they part for me. When I sweep inside, the familiar sweetness of her taste floods my senses, and I groan, deepening the kiss without thought. My palm spans the width of her waist, and I lift my other hand to cradle her head, my fingers tangling in her veil—and that’s what finally snaps me back to reality.

I tear my mouth from hers, and when I pull back, her eyes flutter open. Her chest is heaving, her face flushed with heat.I want more. Right the fuck now. I want everything.Need claws at my throat like a living thing.

Fuck. I resist the urge to tug on my tie as I step back. My hand slips into hers, and together we turn to face our audience.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Moretti.” This time, it’s Romero who makes the announcement, and the crowd erupts in thunderous applause. They wouldn’t dare do anything else.

After that, it’s time for the official photographs, and for a moment I regret hiring the bastard. But when he says, “Mrs. Moretti, stand a little closer to your husband, please. Perfect. Now place your hand on his chest. No, your left hand—yes,show off those rings,” I make a mental note to tip him generously.

Emilia steps closer, her soft hand pressing against my pectoral, and I swear I can feel the heat of her palm through my shirt, straight to my skin. My pants tighten uncomfortably, and I subtly shift my stance. No need to give the guests an X-rated show.

We endure what feels like a gazillion photos before the wedding coordinator finally intervenes, gently ushering the photographer away and whisking my wife off to change into her reception outfit. I watch her leave, jaw tight with the effort of letting her go. My body still hums from the kiss, the photos, the vow—everything.

“Fuck,” Michael mutters beside me, grinning. “I can’t believe you and Emilia are really married now after all these years and?—”

His words fizzle out as something in my peripheral vision catches my attention. A movement to the left, wrong and out of place. A waiter turning his tray upside down.

A waiter?

That’s the only red flag I need. Waiters are for the reception only—they have no business at the wedding ceremony.

I’m moving before I can even process the thought, trying not to attract attention as I jog towards Emilia. But the eyes of everyone still in the garden follow me anyway.

Thankfully, the waiter is so busy with whatever he’s doing that he doesn’t notice my approach. He places the tray over his right hand, but not before I see him pull something from his pocket.

A pistol. And it’s pointed right at my wife.

Fuck.

I break into a full sprint, not giving a shit about discretion now.

Almost there.Almost?—

My breath comes in harsh pants as I launch forward, my arms wrapping around Emilia as I tackle her to the ground—just as the softpfftof a silenced bullet whistles through the air right where her head had been a split second before.

Too fucking close.

36

EMILIA

My heart thunders so hard it hurts as I lie pinned to the cold garden floor with Rafael’s heavy weight pressing over me like a human-sized shield.I never thought he’d have to cash in on those marriage vows this fast.

But the soft whistle of that bullet cutting through the air above us was unmistakable, even without the sharp crack of a gunshot.Silencer. Professional grade.My mind catalogs these details automatically while my body still trembles with residual adrenaline.

Rafael lifts himself up and turns me around beneath him, his mouth moving frantically. But I can’t hear a thing over the thunderingthump-thump-thumpin my ears and the roar in my head.