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CHAPTER 17
G iulia
For the second time in a year, I’m about to exchange vows when I really don’t want to. My marriage to Johnny was arranged by my father and stepmother for reasons they never fully explained to me. Knowing the importance of doing my duty, I didn’t object to their plans. But I assumed if I was ever to marry again, I would have some say in it. Being widowed is supposed to grant a woman some measure of freedom in our fucked-up world. I guess none of that matters to the Volantes, who expect everyone to bend to their will.
It’s not that I don’t want to be with Matteo. Under different circumstances, I’d be bursting with happiness at the thought of marrying him. It’s not because he’s rich and powerful, though those are certainly incentives. His incredible hotness isn’t the reason either. It’s because Matteo is one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I’m comfortable with him. It doesn’t hurt that he’s incredible in bed, not that we’ve made much use of one so far. We’ve mostly bypassed the comfort of a soft mattress in favor of other settings.
There’s little to complain about in terms of the arrangements Damiano made for us. The church is pretty much my dream venue. Tucked away beside a quiet park in the center of Florence, it was built during the Renaissance as a private chapel for some wealthy family. Despite the short notice, it’s been decorated with gorgeous arrangements of blush pink roses and peonies, my favorite flower.
My dress is stunning. Livvy picked it out for me, but it’s exactly what I’d have chosen. She found me an amazing white silk dress with a corseted bodice and a floaty skirt that fans out when I walk. Miraculously, it’s a perfect fit for my small boobs and wider hips. I feel like a princess in it. I’m not so enamored of the shoes she bought. They’re an inch higher than I’m used to, and the heel is so delicate, I’m afraid it’ll snap and I’ll twist my ankle.
Livvy helped me to apply some makeup, which has given me a rosy-cheeked maiden look, and she found me a sparkly silver headband that suits my cropped lilac-colored hair. I kind of regret rebelliously changing my hair now, but there’s not much I can do about that. It’s not as if I can make my hair grow on command.
Everything is close to perfect, but as I stare at myself in the mirror, I still can’t summon any enthusiasm for what’s about to happen. I never imagined Matteo would strong-arm me into marriage like this. I don’t know why he believes I’m in need of protection or that this is the best way to ensure my safety, but it’s turned him into a raging asshole.
“Are you ready?” Livvy’s concerned tone tells me she isn’t oblivious to my reluctance.
“Nope.”
She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip. “Do you want me to talk to Matteo?”
I turn to face her. “What good would that do?”
Livvy shrugs. “I’m his favorite sister. He might listen to me.”
It’s impossible not to roll my eyes at that. “You’re his only sister and right now he isn’t listening to anyone.”
I know because when we arrived, Damiano took one look at my face and the tight grip Matteo had on my arm and dragged him aside to ask him what the hell was going on. Predictably, Matteo told him to mind his own business. His cousin backed off, but I can’t help wondering if he would put a stop to this if I asked him to. Matteo needs a serious time out to reconsider what he’s doing.
The only reason I won’t appeal to Damiano is that I don’t want to be the cause of a family rift. The Italian and American Volantes help to keep each other in power. Without their tight bonds, it would be harder for them to maintain control. If they lose their grip, everyone in the organization suffers, and that includes my dad and my brother. Perhaps I should quit being so selfless, but I can’t do anything to jeopardize everyone’s future.
“Anyway,” I soften my tone because Livvy has issues of her own, “you’ve also got an overbearing asshole to deal with.”
Livvy rolls her eyes, immediately knowing I’m referring to the ice-cold Russian who turned up at the church at the same time we did. Apparently he was scheduled to meet with Damiano this afternoon. When he heard about the wedding, he invited himself along. Livvy is playing it cool, but occasionally I glimpse anxiety in her expression.
“I could ask Piotr to help you,” she suggests.
“And what would that cost you?” I can only imagine what she’d have to promise to persuade Reznov to go against the Volantes. “Just leave it alone. I’ll be okay.”
Livvy looks set to dispute that, but is interrupted when the door opens and Lorenzo strolls into the room. Brimming with confidence, he inhabits every space like he owns it.
“You two look nice,” he says with a grin.
“Nice?” Livvy bristles. “We look fucking incredible.”
Lorenzo shrugs. “She does,” he nods toward me, “but you need some color in your cheeks, cousin. Wouldn’t want the big bad Russian to think you’re afraid of him, would you?”
I don’t like the way he teases Olivia. Everyone acts as if she’s some spoiled princess who’s devoid of feelings, but I suspect she’s hurt by the way the men in her family mess with her.
“What do you want, Lorenzo?” I demand.
“Came to see if you want me to walk you down the aisle.”
More likely he’s been sent to ensure I’m delivered to Matteo without fuss. Perhaps my earlier comment about him holding the gun to my head wasn’t so wide of the mark.
“I’d rather you walked me back to New York.”
Lorenzo laughs. “Sorry, dolcezza , but Matteo would have my balls and the ladies like them where they are.”
Livvy makes a gagging sound. “On that disgusting note, I’m out of here.”
She shoots me another anxious glance before slipping out of the room, leaving me alone with her intimidating cousin.
“You should be nicer to her,” I tell Lorenzo.
“When was I not nice?” He sounds affronted as if he really doesn’t know he shouldn’t tease her over Piotr Reznov. The Russian’s interest in Livvy is obviously unsettling her.
“You tease her. You all do.”
“So?”
“So you should protect her. She’s the baby of the family.”
“ Si ,” Lorenzo agrees. “My family.”
Message received. “I’ll keep my opinions to myself, then.”
“That would be best.” Lorenzo cocks his head to the side as he studies me. “Are you really so unhappy about marrying Matteo?”
I sigh heavily. “It’s not marrying him I object to, it’s the way he’s gone about things. If we dated for six months and then he got down on one knee I’d be ecstatic, but he’s acted like every other arrogant mafia brute out there.”
Lorenzo nods thoughtfully. “As an arrogant mafia brute myself, I can assure you he’s doing what any of us would to keep our woman safe.”
“Keep me safe from what? I don’t understand why he thinks there’s a threat.”
Lorenzo rubs his chin and purses his lips as if trying to decide what to tell me. “The man who spoke to you at Damiano’s club was also seen in the woods by the house. We think he was watching you.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know what his motivations are yet. He may be one of the last remaining Rossis or some associate of the Montalbano family who blames us for that girl’s death.”
“So why not let me go? Nobody has a reason to target me if I’m not with Matteo. I’d be safer in New York.”
“That’s not for me to say.” Lorenzo’s jaw clenches. I guess his patience with trying to appeal to me has already run out. He holds his arm out for me. “Come, Giulia. We’ve wasted enough time.”
There’s an edge to his tone that tells me not to argue. Threading my arm through his, I allow him to lead me out of the little room where I got dressed and into the chapel. There’s no music to accompany our walk down the aisle and I can’t help but think I’d have liked something soothing like Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major. I must have heard it at a hundred weddings, but it’s a classic choice for a reason.
Each step Lorenzo and I take seems to echo in the almost empty space. Apart from the Volante cousins and Piotr Reznov, there are a handful of men, some mafia and others Bratva, I’d guess. I don’t recognize any of them. Their presence brings my sense of loneliness to the fore. Nobody is here for me. Even though I’m sure he’d make me go through with this farce of a wedding, I want my dad by my side.
We reach the altar quickly and Lorenzo releases me. I glance sideways at Matteo. Wearing a black three-piece suit and tie, he’s devastatingly handsome, but his expression is grim. I’m not sure he wants to do this any more than I do. He takes my hand and tugs me around to face him. Then he leans in close so only I can hear him. I’m longing for words of reassurance, something to show his apparent change in personality is only temporary. Instead, what he utters is like a slap in the face.
“Behave in front of my family or there will be severe consequences.”
The priest clears his throat and Matteo backs off a little. He keeps hold of my hand. The man officiating over this sham is surprisingly young. He looks to be in his early thirties. His nose is crooked, like it’s been broken, but his eyes radiate warmth. When he speaks, it’s in Italian. Unable to understand a word, I furrow my brow.
“ Inglese ,” Matteo snaps. “Asshole.”
A shocked gasp escapes me. “Matteo!”
I would never speak to a priest that way, Matteo glowers at me like I’m out of line. I don’t know why he’s so pissed. He put us in this situation.
The priest doesn’t bother with a sermon on the benefits of holy matrimony, skipping straight to the vows instead. I wonder if he was told to make this brief or if he’s just adept at reading the room. Not that it would be hard to interpret Matteo’s scowl and clenched fist as signs of impatience.
It takes less than three minutes before it’s my turn to say “I do.” Matteo squeezes my hand in warning as I hesitate so I utter the words and he slips a simple gold band onto my ring finger.
The priest pronounces us husband and wife, and I brace myself for a punishing kiss. It doesn’t come. Matteo merely brushes his lips against mine as if he can’t be bothered to kiss me and drags me to a table behind the altar to sign the paperwork. The whole thing is over so quickly it hardly seems worthwhile to have gotten all dressed up.
“It’s done.” Matteo has the temerity to sound angry. “You’re mine now.”
I don’t respond. What would I say at this point? I let Matteo lead me back down the aisle toward the ornate wooden doors that were sealed after our arrival. Two bodyguards move from the shadows to open the doors. They step outside ahead of us to check the coast is clear. That’s when all hell breaks loose.
One of them is propelled back into the church. Blood blooms across his pristine white shirt as he staggers and drops to the floor. Men in combat gear run up the steps toward us. There’s no time to bar the doors.
“Get down!” Matteo shoves me aside.
I dive between the pews and crawl on my belly toward a massive stone pillar as gunfire fills the air. As I take shelter, bullets whizz past me. I scan left and right, looking for an escape route and see Livvy crouched behind one of the wooden seats close to the front of the church. She’s clutching a gun close to her chest. I don’t know if she has it in her to use it.
Though I’m desperate to know what’s going on, I don’t dare stick my head around the edge of the pillar. Pieces of stone are being blasted off the column behind me. Men are screaming at each other. The ear-splitting cracks of shots fired from handguns compete with the loud, continuous popping from assault rifles.
As I’m scanning my surroundings for a way out, a man’s body drops next to me. Part of his face is missing. It’s a gruesome sight and bile rises in my throat. The tattoo on his neck, a dagger tells me he’s Bratva, one of Piotr Reznov’s men. I stare at him for longer than I should, unable to look away. The image is going to be imprinted on my mind for years to come.
Just as I think this is never going to end, silence falls. Still, I don’t dare move. Distantly, I hear someone shout my name, but I stay put. Feet appear in front of me, and I look up to find Matteo looming over me. There’s blood on his clothing, but he doesn’t seem to be injured.
“None of it’s mine.” He must have seen me studying him. He holds out a hand and helps me to my feet. “Let’s get you out of here. Try not to look.”
I get that he wants to protect me, but I’m not that delicate. Though the scene is pretty horrific, relief sweeps over me as I realize most of the dead bodies belong to our assailants, whoever they are. Lorenzo is leaning against the wall, oozing blood from a nasty gash on his head, and Damiano’s arm hangs limply from his side like he’s injured.
Piotr Reznov, who’s completely unruffled as if he just took a stroll in the park, stands alongside two tattooed brutes, with guns pointed at three men who’re on their knees. One of them looks like the young guy who approached me at the nightclub. I want to plead for mercy on his behalf because I think he’s just a bit lost. Then he stares up at me with a malevolent gleam in his eye and the instinct to protect him disappears.
As we reach the door, Matteo sweeps me into his arms and carries me down to a black SUV at the bottom of the steps. He sets me down on the back seat.
“Wait here,” Matteo commands.
“Matt…”
“I mean it, Giulia. I don’t have time for your bullshit.”
Stunned that he’d speak to me like that after what just happened, I settle back against the seat, arms crossed over my chest as he shuts the door. He jogs up the steps of the church to speak to Damiano and Piotr Reznov, who’s got a hand wrapped around Livvy’s upper arm.
After a brief conversation, Matteo disappears into the church. Piotr drags Livvy down the steps and puts her in the passenger seat of the SUV before getting into the driver’s side.
“What’s happening?” I’m flung back against the seat as Piotr fires the engine and takes off at speed.
“Matteo wants me to get you out of here. He’s going to interrogate the assholes who attacked us.”
There’s so much for me to be upset about right now, but somehow that’s what finishes me off. Matteo should be by my side, ensuring I’m okay after that ordeal. I could have died in that church, we all could. I need the man who claims to love me to tell me it’s all over, that I’ll be fine. Damiano’s men are more than capable of getting answers about the attack, but of course Matteo wants to do it himself. Nothing is more important to him than dealing with his family’s enemies. I don’t want to take second place to that.
“Take me home,” I demand.
“That’s what I’m doing,” Reznov replies.
I meet his cool glare in the rearview mirror.
“Not to the villa, to New York.”
He shakes his head. “Can’t do it, dushka . You’re Matteo’s wife.”
“Please.” I’m not above begging. “I need to go home.”
His shoulders stiffen. “It’s not my place to interfere.”
A scream rips from my throat as I bang my head against the seat. This is so fucking frustrating, Livvy reaches around and places a hand on my knee. Tears stream down my face as I bow my head.
“Take her home,” Livvy says.
“Olivia.” The Russian’s tone holds a warning.
“Please, Piotr, do it for me.”
They stare at each other for several long seconds. Reznov narrows his icy blue eyes. “You will owe me, Olivia.”
She nods. I should tell her not to make a deal with the devil on my behalf, but it’s too late. It’s done.
“Very well.” Reznov smiles grimly. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”