Page 7

Chapter Six

MERRICK

There is a knock on my office door, and I know it’s something serious because the men don’t knock unless the door is locked, and mine isn’t. Spinning in my chair, I turn my back to the door. I look out the window before I call out to whoever is on the other side of the door to go ahead and come on in.

The door opens and closes, but whoever has come in doesn’t announce himself. I don’t bother turning around, and a few moments later, a throat is cleared across the room. With a heavy sigh, I finally spin my chair around and lift my gaze to see Vaughn across from me.

“What?” I demand.

He leans back against the back of the sofa and crosses his ankle over his knee. He flexes his foot a few times, shaking it as he watches me in silence. Arching a brow, I strum my fingers against my wooden desktop and wait for him to speak.

Finally, he does. “The wedding is a go. It seems there will be a church service with a huge reception afterward.”

When he doesn’t continue, I wait for the rest, but he doesn’t say anything else. “Is there more that goes with that information?” I ask.

“Do with it what you will, Merrick,” he says.

“You’re telling me because you want me to do something with it.”

He shakes his head. “You can do whatever the fuck you want,” he says as he stands to his feet.

He’s telling me because he wants me to do something. I’ve known Vaughn for so many years that I can tell exactly what the fuck he was thinking when he told me that information. He wanted me to react. I didn’t, and now he’s pissed about it.

“Do you know who she’s marrying yet?”

Vaughn shakes his head. “All I have is the date, place, and time.”

“I guess that’s all I need,” I say, but I don’t know what else to add to that.

Thankfully, Vaughn doesn’t ask me for anything else. I watch as he walks up to my desk before he reaches into his back pocket. He takes out a piece of paper and places it in front of me.

“Vaughn,” I call out as he turns from me and heads toward the door. He stops and turns his head, looking over his shoulder at me.

“Thank you,” I mutter.

He dips his chin. His eyes hold mine for a long, silent moment before he releases it. Wordlessly, he twists the knob of my office door and slips out. Looking down at the piece of paper, I curl my lip as my eyes scan Vaughn’s handwriting on it.

It’s everything he said it was. Church, date, and time—nothing else.

Powering on my computer, I search for the Colette Bellucci wedding and the date. I don’t know what I’m hoping to find, maybe a wedding registry or something. This is almost laughable because I can’t imagine she’d have one for her contracted wedding, considering the fact her future husband fucking bought her.

And she doesn’t. There is zero trace of her on the internet. No social media, not even a white pages phone number or listing. She doesn’t exist, at least not digitally. Frowning, I lean back and stare at the computer.

We were married. Paperwork was filed with the state of New York. It wasn’t just some church wedding. It was legally binding. So why is there no digital footprint of her? Reaching for my cell, I hold it in my hand and stare at the screen for a long moment. I’m not ready to make the call yet.

I have never been so goddamn conflicted in my life. I usually know what I want and the way I want it, but with Colette and this situation, it’s been uncertain. A gray area that I can’t quite navigate.

Leaning back in my chair, I look at the ceiling and let out a heavy exhale. I don’t know what the fuck to do. Inside, I want to go to her. Scoop her up and bring her home. This is her home, too.

At least, I wish it were.

I’m not sure she ever really got comfortable here. Not that I went out of my way to make her feel that way. I gave her absolutely nothing, and she was far too shy to give me anything. I let her go when I should have fought for her. But when I had the opportunity to fight, I didn’t.

I don’t deserve her.

Looking down at my phone, I send Boden a text asking him to come to my office. I know that he’s here today mainly because he’s always here. He enjoys monitoring shit behind the computer and research. It’s a good project for him.

A few moments later, he walks into my office and flops down on the sofa across from me. Without a word, he jerks his chin, his gaze finds mine, and he arches a brow, waiting for me to tell him why I called him in here.

“Colette Bellucci,” I state. His lips slowly curve up into a grin, and he watches me, his eyes dancing, but he doesn’t say anything immediately. “I need everything on her. I can’t find a damn thing. It’s like she doesn’t exist.”

“But she does,” Boden states.

“Indeed.”

He slaps his knees before he stands to his feet. His gaze finds mine, and he smirks. “I’ll see what I can dig up. I may need to talk to Vaughn. He seems to have a whole fucking line on shit that I didn’t even know existed.”

I snort because he’s absolutely correct. We didn’t know he was on the dark web, let alone taking hit jobs as a way to maintain his control and earn some extra cash. I can’t even fault him for it because his presence there has been a goddamn boon to both Theron and now me.

COLETTE

The reflection in the vanity mirror doesn’t even look like me, but I know it is mainly because I pinch myself to ensure it is indeed me staring at my own reflection and that I’m not dreaming.

I can’t believe this is my engagement party.

I was really living under the impression that this night would never happen. This only means that my wedding is going to happen, too. Even if I hope, wish, and pray it never does. I don’t think my prayers are going to be heard— ever .

My long dark hair has been fashioned into some fancy updo, the likes of which it’s never been before, complete with little rhinestone clips placed all over. I hate it. But only because it’s not me—I’m not sparkles and glitter.

My makeup is also definitely not me. It’s dark and heavy, thick, and makes me want to scrape it off. My lips are bright red, and I feel like I’m all painted up for display. Which is exactly what I am, so I guess I appear the way I’m meant to.

Slipping on the too-high heels, I stand and take a step back from the vanity to look at my entire reflection in the full-length mirror. My dress is also something that I would never choose for myself.

I look like a stranger.

No part of the person staring back at me in the mirror looks like… well, me . Pressing my lips together, I try running my fingers down my dress and cringe. The entire dress is entirely see-through, its elaborate beading the only thing keeping my naked body parts from being on display.

It’s gorgeous, and I would admire it on someone else. But on me? Absolutely not. I feel far too exposed. Fighting back tears, I try to keep my makeup from running down my cheeks and inhale a deep breath. Holding it, I turn around and face the bedroom door as I let that exhale escape through my lips.

I need to let it go. I’m being dressed up like a doll, and I need to remember that’s exactly what I am right now and potentially will be for the rest of my life. Slowly, I make my way toward the door and reach for the knob.

Twisting it, I gently tug the door open. Marcello is standing across the short hallway, his back against the wall, doing something on his phone. He lifts his gaze, and his eyes widen at the sight of me. I watch as his nostrils flare, and I almost laugh because he’s into the whole ridiculously made-up version of me. Not that I thought he was into any other part of me, but this is over the top.

“Ready?” he asks.

I shake my head and plaster a smile on my face. “No,” I say.

He grunts and pushes off the wall to stand beside me. “Doesn’t matter if you are or aren’t,” he states.

I know that. As much as I hate it, I know it. “They’re waiting for you at the car outside.”

Giving him a tight smile, I follow behind him and head toward the front door of the house. When the door opens, I lift my gaze to meet my father’s, then slowly slide it over to take in the man I am about to marry.

He’s older, much older than me. He’s older than my father, too. My breath hitches as my eyes catch his. It’s not the fact that he’s older that bothers me. It’s the darkness behind his gaze—the emptiness. That’s what scares the absolute shit out of me.

My father speaks as soon as I approach the two of them. “Colette, say hello to Malcolm Ravet.”