Page 14 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream (Dark Hearts #3)

S erafina

The kitchen workers are nowhere to be seen, so I crawl under one of the metal prep counters, pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them.

Silent tears stream down my cheeks, each one taking another ounce of fight from my soul.

My tear-drenched bridesmaid dress pools around my ankles, mocking me.

My heart has broken down the middle. The pain radiates across my breastbone and down my arms to quivering fingers.

It has hollowed my stomach and made my legs feel like dead weights.

More tears stream from my eyes as I think of Mama and wish just as hard as I did when I was fourteen years old, that she were here.

The sound of soft voices in the distance, getting closer, makes my heart race.

I don’t want to be found. I’m not ready to face anyone yet.

Nevertheless, my chest pops with relief when I recognize Tess’s shoes.

Behind her is Trilby. I know this because her shoes are stained red with a dead man’s blood.

“Sera? Are you there?” Tess calls.

“I told you,” Trilby says. “She knows this hotel like the back of her hand. She’s probably gone up to one of the suites.”

I hold my breath, afraid of drawing their attention.

“Or maybe the beach?” Tess suggests.

“It’s too dark,” Trilby replies. “And Cristiano has more men outside—they’d have seen her.”

My eyes fill with more tears and my vision blurs. When I lift a hand to wipe them away, I accidentally knock the leg of the counter and both Tess and Trilby spin around to face in my direction.

“Sera? Is that you?” Tess bends at the knees and searches beneath the countertops until her gaze lands on me.

“She’s over there,” she whispers, rising to her feet again.

Within seconds, Tess and Trilby are kneeling beside me, taking it in turns to rub my shoulder, clasp my hand and reassure me that everything is going to be okay.

With an anguished look on her face, Trilby hands me a tissue that isn’t going to scratch the surface with all the tears I’ve shed.

“I’m so sorry this is happening to you,” she whispers, dabbing at my cheeks.

“I’m so sorry your wedding went to shit,” I reply .

Trilby pauses. “Don’t. People have lost their lives, and someone has just walked in here and claimed my sister.” She takes a sobering breath. “Who is Andreas, Sera? And how does he know you?”

I purse my lips bitterly. “I don’t know anyone called Andreas. He introduced himself to me as Andrew Stone.”

“When was that?” Tess asks.

My sigh is heavy with regret. “A few weeks ago.”

“Why did he introduce himself as someone else?” Trilby says, flicking her gaze to Tess as though her close proximity to Benito might give her the answers.

“Don’t look at me,” Tess says. “I only found out Benito had a brother two days ago. He hasn’t seen him in years. Thought he was dead!”

“What did Cristiano say to you?” Trilby asks, her attention back on me.

“I’m to marry him.”

“What?” Tess clasps a hand over her mouth and murmurs from behind it. “He’s got to be joking, right?”

Trilby’s brow furrows. “Cristiano doesn’t joke. Not about things like this.”

The hand slides from Tess’s mouth and rests in her lap. “How do you feel about that, Sera? Do you like Andreas? Do you want to marry him?”

I can’t believe she’s genuinely asking me, as though my desire in the matter carries any weight at all. My blood heats.

“You really think I’d want to marry someone I’ve just discovered has been lying to me from the minute we met?

Who has clearly used me to get into your husband’s inner circle?

Who carries a gun around like it’s a part of his arm?

A man I don’t know? A liar and a cheat? A criminal ?

” My voice has pitched higher and higher until I’m almost screaming.

Tess and Trilby stare back at me in alarm.

I shake my head in despair. “I’m not like you and I don’t want to be.

I’m sorry, but it’s true. I don’t see the appeal in these men.

They’re nothing but thieves and murderers dressed in tailored suits.

And after what happened to Mama, nothing would make me want to marry into this heinous life. Nothing at all.”

Tess retreats wide-eyed, while Trilby takes a sobering breath.

“This is just a bad dream,” I say, pulling at my hair. “It has to be. There’s no other explanation. It can’t be real.”

I shake my head until I start to feel dizzy. “I don’t know that man in there. I can’t be a part of this life.”

From the depths of my darkness I sense Tess and Trilby exchanging a worried look. Their fingers stroke the back of my hands as I rock lightly, back and forth, on the cold, hard floor.

More footsteps make my lids lift, and my sisters turn to look over their shoulders. My vision is glassy from the tears and the pain so I don’t recognize the two men until they’re standing a couple feet in front of me.

It’s his shoes I see first. They’re Oliver Sweeney, imported from London.

Dark tan whole-cut, made from fine calf leather.

They lead me to the dark-washed jeans he wore the time we had lunch.

Back then I marveled at how tightly they hugged his thighs and tried to stop my mouth from watering when my focus grazed them.

Now, when my gaze reaches his waistband, there’s something decidedly different about the man who once saved me from breaking my neck on a wet floor, who asked me to draw up his birth chart, and who talked me down from a panic attack.

Stuffed between the denim and a black T-shirt that is also criminally snug, is a large gun.

The higher my gaze climbs, the more confused I feel until I’m staring at his face through wide, questioning eyes. Even his sharp jaw, charcoal eyes and full lips that I’ve daydreamed about can’t distract me from the turbulence inside.

Benito appears behind them and takes Tess’s hand. She rises to her feet, shoots me a sympathetic glance, then lets Benito lead her out of the kitchen, leaving just me, Andrew, Cristiano and Trilby.

My older sister gently pulls me up to standing and I feel so lightheaded I have to grip the counter with my other hand.

I don’t take my eyes off Andrew and he doesn’t take his eyes off me. He holds out a mug of something steaming.

“Hazelnut latte?” I whisper, my voice quivering.

Andrew nods and Cristiano adds, “He insisted.”

I turn my face away. “I don’t want it.”

“Sera…”

I feel like I’m in some weird parallel universe because he’s apparently a different person yet his voice is exactly the same.

“Andrew?” I ask, turning warily. Inside, I’m pleading with him to tell me it’s all been a terrible mistake. When he doesn’t confirm that’s actually his name, or respond in any way, panic continues to thread its way through my veins.

“Andrew, what’s going on? Will you please tell them who you are. They don’t believe me.”

His gaze is soft—almost sympathetic. “They know who I am.”

These are the first words he’s actually spoken to me since he arrived here in a flurry of bullets. There’s no malice in them, but neither is there the warmth I remember him for.

“No,” I say, slowly. “They think you are like them .” I lean forward and lower my voice. “A mobster .”

When I glance up, my chest hardens.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, his affirmative gaze says it all.

I feel as though he’s just punched me in the stomach. I can’t seem to get enough air.

“Can I speak to you alone?” I ask. Maybe if I can get him on his own he’ll explain what’s going on and why he’s pretending to be someone he’s not. We weren’t dating, but I felt like we had a connection. He should know he can trust me.

“It’s not possible,” Cristiano says, flatly. “Not until you’re married.”

I almost faint. “What?” He’s talking absolute nonsense because a wedding is not happening. They’ve got the wrong person.

My gaze flicks from Cristiano to Andrew, expecting him to look as shocked as I feel, but his expression is nothing but a calm sea. He’s not objecting to the marriage, whereas I’m feeling more and more faint with each passing second.

When I don’t respond, Cristiano continues. “It’s not appropriate for you to be alone with this man without your father’s permission until you are married.”

My father’s permission?

Wait a minute. This sounds too official, too mafia-like. Not only am I being told I’m to marry someone I now realize I don’t know, whether I want to or not, I’m not even allowed to be alone with him so I can figure out what on earth is happening.

The injustice of it makes my blood boil. “What about Tess? She’s been openly kissing Benito and they’re not getting married! How is that appropriate?”

“That’s different,” Cristiano says, plainly. “Benito hasn’t asked for her hand in marriage—yet—and he’s not a don.”

I frown in confusion. “This man hasn’t asked for my hand either, and neither is he a don. I keep telling you. He’s a businessman. Isn’t that right, Andrew? Will you tell him please, because he doesn’t believe me.”

Even though gun metal is glinting up at me from the waistband of Andrew’s jeans, my brain simply will not compute anything else. He’s Andrew. Just Andrew.

Andrew doesn’t speak, he just stares at me, expressionless, his grey-blue eyes charred black around the edges. Cristiano’s tone dips and Trilby’s gaze flits between the three of us. I can feel the alarm radiating from her bare shoulder.

“Andreas is a don,” he says, clearly. “He’s the don of his own outfit in Providence. With this marriage, we will be forming a Di Santo-Corioni alliance. And through that, we will control Boston and Connecticut.”

My jaw drops open. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

“But… but you’re a don, and you were able to see Trilby without Papa being there. You even moved her entire apartment into your home!”

His impatience cuts through the calm. “Killing my own brother earned me special privileges.”

He waits for me to counter-argue again but I have no fight left in me.

“And as for asking for your hand in marriage…” Cristiano says, turning to Andrew.