Page 53

CHAPTER 53

From an everybody’s-looking-at-me standpoint, taking her first steps down the aisle was nerve-wracking.

Taking her first steps down the aisle aware of the virtual target on her chest and her back was worse. Maarja’s bouquet of orange blossoms did not tremble. She kept her chin up, her spine straight, and she smiled. Smiled as if she had not a worry in the world.

Dante used the same posture, but wore a stern expression meant to scare someone.

It was working. Maarja was scared. Just not of him, the most dangerous man in Octavia’s backyard. A backyard that had had its grass mowed, its trees trimmed, and bountiful vases and planters of flowers placed in fragrant abundance. New shrubs, tall and short, had been planted in the wide strip of dirt in front of the newly repaired and surrounding wall. The sun had banished the fog, and light glinted through the willow branches and tickled the climbing roses until they emitted their old--fashioned fragrance.

As she walked, a suspicious murmur swept over the Arundels. The vast assortment of family members watched with possible amazement. Maybe horror? Definitely disbelief. After all, she was a Daire, and the only other reason they could imagine for the ceremony was not true; no way she had captured Dante with her beauty.

Dante’s forbidding gaze swept the assemblage, and it was as if he had commanded them aloud. With various poses, sneers, and some clear reluctance, the Arundels rose to their feet.

Her unbeauteous lips twitched in amusement.

For all that they were incredulous, on Dante’s command, they were by God here for the event.

On the bride’s side of the aisle, she saw Mr. Nyugen, the neighbors who weren’t hostile to Octavia and the ones who were (but showed up for the free food), the Saint Rees movers who doubled as security, and friends scattered here and there. Maarja’s friends gaped in disbelief to see her marrying a guy who had a reputation as a crime boss.

Yep. Lots of disbelief going on here. She understood that.

As the groom, Dante should have been watching Maarja, admiring her beauty, but his gaze skipped across the crowd, watching for any hint of an attack.

Saint Rees, who was to give her away, kept them marching steadily forward, but he, too, observed the gathering.

Maarja had to admit, so did she. She should have her gaze fixed to the dais where Octavia stood under the arch, waiting to marry them. There, Connor stood beside Dante and on the other side Alex waited in her amber velvet gown supporting herself with her wizard’s staff.

Owen sat in the front row, next to Nate. Nate’s skin looked like parchment, his head was bandaged, and his face was a mass of cuts and bruises. He shouldn’t have been out of the hospital. Maarja was almost certain he’d walked out to be here. To protect…who? To face…what?

An elderly couple, married by the way they stood shoulder to shoulder, stood against the wall where they could advantageously view the ceremony. The woman leaned on a walker and wore an old-fashioned hat with a cheek-sweeping pink veil, and the man wore a fedora low over his face.

Because the last weeks and days and night had taught Maarja to view everything and everybody with suspicion, that couple made Maarja suffer a pang of concern. Why weren’t they sitting with the rest of the families and friends? Were they deliberately hiding their faces? Were they a danger to her, to Dante, to the others? They might be elderly, but she would never make the mistake of confusing age with weakness and she knew not to underestimate the Arundels.

Another glance made her want to stare at them more closely. Something about them seemed familiar…

She saw Tabitha, her petulant mouth drooping as she watched Maarja walk down the aisle. Petty, yes, but Maarja knew she would always recall and enjoy that incredulous disbelief that Maarja rather than Tabitha had won the prize.

Who from the inner cadre of Arundel administration was missing?

Béatrice was on an Alaskan cruise. At least…Maarja believed she was. She certainly wasn’t here.

Maarja didn’t see Fedelma. Three days should have given her time to cease thanking God for Dante’s survival, get up off her knees, and hie her butt down here to witness the wedding.

Both women were tall. If they were here, she’d spot them.

She didn’t see Andere, and he matched Dante in height. He, too, should be clearly visible.

Too many prime suspects were nowhere in sight, and this morning someone had escaped from Octavia’s home and somewhere they were lying in wait for their chance. Had they somehow managed to conceal themselves and a weapon among the decorations? Had they forced their way into a neighbor’s house and even now watched from an upstairs window?

She glanced up and around.

Saint Rees observed and leaned close. “The neighbors were glad to let us place guards in their homes.”

She nodded, then glanced at the people who attended and the guards who lurked around the perimeter.

Truth be told, she still suspected Connor, although why would he have waited so long to kill her and Dante and take control?

The answer was easy enough. Because on the dais, he could make an unforgettable exhibition of Dante’s assassination and her own bloody death, proclaim himself victor, vanquisher of the final Daire, and head of the Arundel crime family.

In all the history of all the brides that had ever walked down an aisle, had one ever been as watchful and wary as she?

Maarja and Saint Rees reached the base of the dais. As she handed off her bouquet to Alex, she met her sister’s gaze. Somehow she’d thought Alex would be mirthful, amused to see Maarja marrying after so many years of celibacy. Instead she smiled with tears in her eyes and nodded.

Wow. Approval from Alex. Maarja never expected that.

Dante stretched out his hand and Saint Rees placed her hand in his.

Right. Traditional.

Octavia gestured them up onto the first low step. They’d agreed that would be best so everyone could see Octavia over Dante’s broad shoulders.

Dante had been unable to convince her she didn’t want to wear her wizard’s costume, so he’d had it copied in rich black and gold velvet with a ruff that lent her an imposing and queenly presence. From somewhere he’d procured a heavy scepter that appeared to be solid gold with a jewel at the end, which looked like a cabochon ruby.

Maarja hoped it wasn’t actual gold and ruby, and hoped more her visually impaired mother wouldn’t have to try to bash someone over the head with it. Although by the way Octavia caressed the scepter in her arms, she appeared to be having pleasant thoughts about the idea.

In her most stern leader-of-the-neighborhood-association voice, Octavia told everyone to silence their phones. Then, when the scrabble to obey had calmed, in her most warm old-hippie tone, she welcomed the bride and groom, their families and friends, the city of Oakland, the whole Bay Area, the state of California, the United States of America, the oceans and countries around it… By the time she got to the whole universe, and invited every tree and stone and creature to witness this happy occasion, Maarja could only imagine what was happening behind her. Among her side of the aisle, most people had known exactly how the ceremony would start. They would be sanguine and no doubt amused at the reactions from the Arundel side of the aisle. Now that she thought about it, for all their criminal activity, the Arundels were a bunch of boring stiff-necked conformists.

She glanced at Dante, expecting to see him still glancing around, seeking the one that would harm them, or maybe looking patient with Octavia, but he watched Mom intently and respectfully. As conformists went, he knew what was important.

Maarja liked that. She liked him. He could be one scary asshole, but this powerful man was more than that. He appreciated her humor, honored her makeshift family, protected all the ones loyal to him, worshipped her body, and freely admitted he loved her.

So when Octavia invited Maarja to share the vows she had prepared, she faced Dante and wondered how he would behave when she made her vows. Would he smile in triumph because he believed she was his? Would he frown because she’d fought him for so long? Would he be tender or gleeful or masterful?

She couldn’t tell what he felt, only that he watched her with such intensity she felt as if she were speaking to his soul.

She spoke clearly. “This morning, very early…you remember—”

His mouth twitched the tiniest bit.

“—I wanted to tell you what was in my heart. I was frightened of so much emotion spilling out of me and…I’ve been a coward. When I was four years old, terror arrived, and I discovered life is brief and uncertain and to not speak is to miss an opportunity that might never be given again and leave the words—”

Dante’s focus shifted away from her, behind and over her right-hand shoulder.

“—unspoken.” She immediately comprehended what his sudden attention adjustment ordained, and she both cut her vows short and rushed her words. “I say them now and please listen for one more second.”

He glanced back at her, and nodded curtly.

“I love you.” There. She’d said it! Out loud. In front of everyone.

“I love you, too.” He’d said it out loud in front of everyone, too, as clearly as he’d said it the first time. Now he reached out and pulled her to his side, and as he held her hand, she felt him slip something cool on her ring finger.

She glanced down.

A plain gold band. Of course. Tradition.

Alex would be so disappointed.

She looked up to face—Fedelma.

No longer on her knees praying, if she had ever been. No longer wearing a matronly dress that expressed without words her desire to serve.

This woman stood where she’d hidden herself, in the sniper pit she, or Jack, or someone who labored in the gardening crew, had dug in the soft dirt between two of the new shrubs. Fedelma wore camouflage fatigues that shed dirt and leaves. Grime and blood smeared her face. And she held a rifle steadily against her shoulder—pointed at Maarja.