Page 38 of The Mafia's Bride

It shouldn’t sting as badly as it does. But it does, God, it does.

“It’s time,” Collins says, kissing my cheek softly. When she departs, it leaves just me and the matron.

Maria smooths her dark hair, tugging on her dress into place. “You’re a stupid, silly girl, piccola.”

The same priestwho laid my father to rest says the prayers that give me to my husband.

Ironic.

I barely listen. I’m too focused on the beating of my heart, the pounding pattern in my ears. Panic claws at my throat and the urge to run, to flee, is so strong, my foot twitches to go.

No one breathes as the priest finishes his prayers.

Collins stands next to me, a quiet presence that irritates me. Even she hasn’t stopped this sham of a wedding to help me. Because she thinks this in my best interest, the traitor.

On Alessio’s side is his cousin, Dom, Nico’s only son. A man who is only a year or two older than Alessio, he looks like a younger version of his father. Slicked-back black hair, small statue, and square palms clasped over his front. They have the same brown eyes, the same wide nose. The suit he wears is clean but he’s uncomfortable in it, unused to looking nice.

My eyes avoid Alessio. I can feel his smugness rolling through the small space between us. He clearly thinks he’s won. I want to punch that cockiness straight in the nose and see him fall to my feet for thinking he could own me.

He can’t control me. He can’t have me.

Before I even realize it, my eyes land on my sister. She’s at the very back, posted right by the only exit. And she’s guarding it like a dragon, poised to snatch her next meal.

She won’t let me leave.

The same man from the night of my engagement leans next to her, most of his body covered by the shadows. I don’t see who he is, but he’s saying something to Maeve, his lips near her ear in an intimate way. Luckily for him, she doesn’t respond. She just watches me.

Me, the sister she has to make sure doesn’t bolt.

“If anyone should object, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

I turn hopeful eyes to my sister, begging at the last minute she’ll save me from this mess. It’s misplaced, though. She stands there, a ghoulish, terrible statue who wants to make me suffer.

“If you’re looking for your sister to stop this,” Alessio whispers. I shiver at his nearness and the rolling of his tongue against my ear. “She’s not going to.”

I glance over my shoulder, accusations dancing in my eyes. “And why not?”

He looks innocently to my sister and back. But it’s the smile. That wicked smile that tells me he’s not at all sorry to be up here, with me.

“Did you know your sister decided to stand at the entrance because she thought you’d run away before the ceremony?”

I had a feeling. “Did she?”

“I reassured her that wouldn’t be the case.” He runs his handalong my hip, softly, completely at odds with the hard edge to his words. “Do you want to know why?”

“Please, do tell.”

He grabs me closer, chest pressed together. “Because I told her, if you left, I would hunt you down, bring you back to this church and marry you even if you were barefoot and bleeding. I said you wouldn’t escape me, Sloane. I meant it.”

Alessio De Luca is a bastard.

“You may now kiss your bride.”

“You know,” he drawls, finger lifting my face to meet his. I hate how easily I submit, how my body hums while he touches me. It’s never been like this before—with anyone. “I’m starting to understand you now. Understand this cunning mind. No one has ever seen this side of you, or if they have, they’ve ignored it as a fluke. But I see it. I understand it. You might want to try different tactics.”

Warm sure hands run over my curves. I don’t know if I should melt into his hands or be repulsed by it.

“Careful. Ibite.”