Page 9 of The Mafia Assassin’s Redemption (Mafia Obsession #2)

EIGHT

harry

“You.” I speak the word as if it tastes like vinegar on my tongue.

Father Luigi slides me a disproving look, but I can’t do anything but stare at the god in that tuxedo. He’s a bad god but oh Lord, does he look dangerously delicious.

I dig way down, find my last remaining slivers of strength, and lift my chin in defiance. “I’m not marrying you.”

“Yes, you are. My brothers will be here soon. As will your uncle and the man who put the hit on you.”

Horror bites deep, scraping bone. “I’m not…” I turn to Luigi. “Tell him this isn’t happening. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

But I can see it on Luigi’s face. What he was trying to tell me.

What I already knew and why I came here.

This is my only option, aside from running, but I’m done with that.

Done.

I ran as a kid. Ran from myself as a teen. Ran from this monster with my name change. And when I got to New York, I ran and hid in the church, stumbling on a calling. I won’t run from that.

Other women and their children need me.

I’m not running. Not anymore.

“I’m the only one who’ll have you, Hazel.” Torin waits a beat. “You don’t have a choice. It’s a blood marriage or nothing. And we both know you won’t survive without the protection of my family name.”

Those dark-blue eyes dare me to fight him. I look from him to Luigi. “I’ll run. I’ll take my chances, become a nun. They won’t carry out a hit on a nun.” I glare at Torin and make the sign of the cross.

He looks unimpressed. “Yes, they will. This arrangement is the only answer. I need you changed and ready for the wedding in fifteen minutes or I’ll marry you in your jeans.”

“You won’t fit in my jeans.”

“Watch it or I’ll make you marry me fucking naked.”

Father Luigi flushes a deep red and clears his throat.

I recoil, my jaw dropping, unable to believe he said that in front of Father Luigi and that the good father doesn’t even respond.

“Father,” Torin says, “is the room ready?”

Luigi doesn’t look at me. In fact, he looks everywhere but at me. “It is.” He pauses, and I swear he blushes deeper. “It’s makeshift and the best I could do, but… yes, it’s ready.”

“Good. There are packages upstairs. Can you bring them down? Or if my brothers are here, send one of them down with everything.”

“Father—”

“Time,” Torin says, cutting me off, “is of the essence.”

Luigi nods and says, “Hazel’s a good girl. You’ll treat her right?”

“I’ll treat her the way she should be treated.”

There’s an ominous, sexual innuendo that Luigi clearly misses as his shoulders relax and he heads out the door.

I ball my fingers into tight fists and spring up from the rickety wooden chair. “How?—?”

“Did I know you’d be here?” He backs me into the fake bookshelf that hides other rooms and passages. I breathe in that seductive, devilish scent of him. The smell of him, that’s all thinly veiled, animalistic desires in a tux, is so freaking hot, my insides melt at his nearness.

Of all the people to awaken my sexual nature, why does it have to be the man I despise, the one I want to kill? Because there’s no excuse he can utter that will make me forgive him for killing my family. None.

“Of course I knew,” he says, lips trailing along the skin of my throat. “And I told you my name isn’t Quinn.”

“I remember you as Quinn. I heard someone yell the name Quinn that night, and then you showed up.”

He steps back. “Then maybe you remember things wrong, Harry.”

I flinch at that name. “If you must, Harriet or Hazel. Although, I prefer you call me nothing at all and never have to see you again.”

“So polite. Harry.”

“So fucked up. Quinn.” I glare.

“Torin.”

“You called yourself Quinn.”

“And you have a faulty memory,” he snaps.

“Or maybe you just used a fake name, murderer .”

His face shutters down and he says, “Does it matter?”

“No. I will always hate you. And I want you dead.”

For a bright flicker of a moment, I think he’s going to say the marriage is off.

But of course, he doesn’t .

“That’s too bad because we’re getting married and you’re going to pretend you want to marry me up there when we say our vows or I’ll put the bullet in you myself and collect the money Salvatore offered for the hit.”

“Asshole.” I reach my hand out to smack him, but he snatches my wrist midair and my skin burns at his touch. He brings my hand to his mouth and licks the inside of my wrist, tracing the veins with his tongue and I almost collapse at the bolt of desire that lights up each and every cell.

He blows on the spot and squeezes, just enough that I whimper.

And it makes Torin smile.

“Careful now. That sort of reaction might give me the wrong idea. And I fucking love those wrong ideas.”

Before I can form any kind of rebuttal, Father Luigi comes in with the packages and my heart twists at what’s on top.

The cheap flowers I’d bought that morning have been turned into a pretty arrangement so I could have a touch of spring in the fall.

“Makeup, shoes, a selection of dresses. Pick one, a nice one. Try and look pretty, and get your ass up there asap,” Torin says as he gestures for Luigi to leave ahead of him.

I shove the door shut and think about dropping to my knees and praying.

Some people need the comfort church brings them. They need their God, their Jesus, their Bible.

But God won’t stop flood or fires. He won’t stop bullets, either. And if He didn’t save me before, then He won’t now. I let out a hiss of breath and open the first package.

There’s a white dress I sometimes wear in warmer weather. It’s one of those loose numbers. Not at all sexy or revealing, but definitely virginal.

There’s a nightie, too. One I dragged from Ireland; the same one I wore when I lived at the Holy Mary School for Orphans. It’s cotton and floor-length. Little buttons on the front. A high ruffle at the neck.

Then I pull out two dresses. One cream and one white.

The cream one is exquisite. Delicate and fitted with a gossamer tulle skirt. The bare shoulders and neckline are just the right side of church tasteful, and I think I’m in love with it.

I’ve never had anything so pretty.

The other is a white evening dress, and while it’s also beautiful, I can’t stop touching the cream one.

With the tiny crystals sprinkled over the gauzy skirt, it would look magical in the flickering candlelight.

I sigh and open the next box to find a pretty lace bra and panties in my size.

There are two pairs of shoes in the final box; one is a sexy pair of bright-red patent leather high heels.

A note is stuck to the top of the box, saying the white satin ones in my size are out.

And the other shoes are satin cream, a perfect match for the cream dress.

Shit, he even included makeup and some ribbons for me to wrap around the flowers.

I want to put on that cream dress so badly.

But I don’t.

Instead, I put together an outfit that will hopefully make him run for his life. And I grab something from a drawer for good measure and put it on. Then I pick up the flowers and head up the stairs like I’m walking down death row.

Voices float into the air when I reach the sacristy, and I’m unsure of where to go when Torin steps in.

He looks me over, head to toe.

And then he circles me. Slowly.

He stops behind me and eases my hair out from under the heavy, oversize cross I hung around my neck. “You look so… fetching. But I don’t want your hair to get caught in your delicate jewelry. Religious, are we? ”

“What do you think?” I snap.

“That you’re trying too hard. Like with the dress.”

“It’s a nightgown.”

“I’m aware.”

“To embarrass you,” I say, clutching the flowers tightly. “Can we just get this over with?”

“I’m not embarrassed, and I like that you wore it for me.” He lets go of my hand and gives the skirt a tug but doesn’t react to the patent leather shoes. “We can go and get married now. I’ll fuck the religion out of you later.”

I ignore the tiny frisson of excitement at his words.

“I can’t wait,” I say with a snarl.

If he dares touch me with his cock, I’ll steal his knife and cut it off.

Torin smirks and heads out into the church, leaving me no option but to follow him to the altar.

As I take my position, my head jerks left and right.

The church is almost empty. Other than me, Torin, and Father Luigi, three impossibly good-looking men who must be his brothers stand on one side.

Salvatore stands on the other.

And in the front pew Uncle Anthony sits with a pretty woman in a red dress who offers me a supportive smile that totally fails to support.

The place is almost empty, but it feels too full, like all the air’s being stolen and sucked out. Sweat beads on the back of my neck and drizzles down the slope of my spine.

Salvatore’s gaze bites into me. It’s a savage look, a threat. The man at his side must be his second.

I shift my eyes back to Uncle Anthony who tries to smile like the woman he’s sitting with.

Her eyes are on the brother I met. Callahan.

And his are dark and flinty, except when they touch her.

The other two exude a charm that belies their ruthlessness.

They’re mafia, after all. And related to Torin.

Animals. All of them.

I clutch the flowers so tight the stalks start to crush.

Father Luigi begins to speak in Latin, and it becomes clear this is no normal wedding when he lays out a white cloth and a big, sharp dagger that he sprinkles with holy water.

“Raise your left hand and promise me, your God, and the church that you have made this union in good faith and what is Hazel’s belongs to Torin.”

I stare at him, stomach roiling. “I… do.”

“Hazel is Torin’s forever, his property, his wife. Swear you will honor this arrangement.”

Ugh, that’s so gross.

“Hazel,” Torin murmurs, so low I barely hear him. I slant him a look. His hand is raised, too. “Say the words.”

I swallow my pride, my outrage. “I do.”

“Torin, Hazel is yours to own to do with what you will,” Father Luigi says. “To keep and to protect. What is hers is now yours, including all of her, even her blood. Will you honor this?”

“I will and do.”

His words shake me down to my core.

“Hands,” Father Luigi says. “Please.”

I hold out mine as does Torin and Luigi takes my wrist as panic beats its wings in my throat. But all he does is lightly slice the knife over my palm, and keeping the pressure on my wrist, he drips the blood on the cloth.

He does the same to Torin.

“Mingle your blood together so the first part is complete.”

He goes back to Latin as Torin takes my hand, linking our fingers and pulling me against him. “You’re all mine to do with what I will, and I can’t wait. ”

Torin then kisses me.

It’s not much of a kiss, but the shock of it elevates it into something else. Because the last thing I expected, even though this is some kind of insane wedding, is for him to slip me tongue in church.

My head spins as he breaks the kiss and then, without giving me a second to breathe and process what just happened between us, he hoists me over his shoulder and carries me toward the stairwell.

“Let me go. I can walk,” I say, struggling in his strong arms. I hit his back with my fists and the flowers, wriggling like a maniac. If I can get free of his grip, maybe I can run into the tunnels or?—

He stops. “Keep doing that and I’ll deliberately throw us both down the stairs and break our necks.”

“Do it. I’ll take my chances.”

“I’d rather have you in one piece for this next part.”

My blood burns at the thought of what comes next. My God, what is wrong with me?

He starts descending again. I have no idea where we go when we reach the bottom of the stairwell. He turns a corner and then another. I know it’s a catacomb down here. There’s a crypt somewhere.

The old passages that were once used for smuggling contraband and booze back during Prohibition call out to me, as does that secret door, but they’re no good to me now… He’s not about to let me go.

A whisper of cold air slithers under the fabric of my nightgown as he leads me through another tunnel.

“Where are we going?” I finally ask.

“Our marriage room isn’t in the church,” he says. “It’s in the house next door. I wouldn’t feel right fucking you on consecrated ground.”

“Oh, so you aren’t a complete heathen,” I say, my words laced with sarcasm. “How lucky am I.”

We enter a room and golden light flickers and dances over the bed. He sets me down on the floor.

“What is this place?” I breathe, looking around.

“The Blood Room. They used to do ceremonies like this back in the day. For the old-world Italian mafiosos. The bed comes with the place.”

It’s a plain bed, like a double cot. And it’s covered in a white sheet.

It dawns on me what it’s for.

I swallow. Hard.

“Nope. Just forget it. I’m not fucking you. We have the cuts, we already bled?—”

“That blood from the ceremony isn’t going to cut it. They want the blood of the room… meaning yours .”

“No.”

He pulls off his jacket. “Virginal blood.”

“Not happening.” I back away.

Torin creeps toward me. “Oh, it’s happening.”

“Try and make me. See what happens.”

I throw the flowers at him and he catches the bouquet midair.

“Oh, so you do like the chase.” A devilish grin lifts his lips. “Well, then. Challenge accepted, wife .”