Page 23 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream (Dark Hearts #3)

A ndreas

“You ready?”

Arrow lifts his gaze to mine. We’re standing in my suite at The Plaza, both of us in our tailored Italian best, lowballs in hand.

“Born ready,” I say with a smile.

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I know that, but are you ready for marriage ? You know, you’ll have to at least pretend to want to stay monogamous, for the first year anyway.”

My eyes narrow. “I don’t plan on straying.”

He tips an ear toward me. “I’m sorry, what? I’ve known you for sixteen years and I’ve never seen a woman hold your attention for more than a couple of weeks .”

I shrug and adjust the button hole rose in my jacket, then swallow the remainder of the whiskey .

“I know this alliance is important to you but the Di Santo’s are Italian men. Italian mafia men. They know the score, man. They won’t bat an eye if you take an excursion, if you catch my drift?”

“I do.” I head to the door and rest a hand on the doorknob. “But that’s not why I intend to stay faithful.”

I open the door but Arrow puts a palm to it, pressing it shut. “You serious? Why? You could have all the candy in the world but you’re going to force yourself to only eat M&Ms?”

“I like M&Ms.”

“You know what I mean. What’s so special about this one?”

I don’t reply right away because I’m not even sure of the answer myself.

It would sound wishy washy to put my conviction down to a ‘feeling,’ especially to someone like Arrow.

But since the first moment I saw Serafina, when she slid into my arms on the floor of the hotel lobby, I haven’t wanted to look at another woman.

Yes, I have other motivations for this marriage, but if those didn’t exist, I would still want her.

My desire for her is on a tight leash right now. The second I let it loose, she will tremble . And I want my wife to submit to me, to be ready for me. Not to run a mile in the opposite direction.

I can’t say any of this to Arrow though, so I settle for a simpler alternative. “She’s cute.”

I walk to the elevator, all the while smiling at the sound of him tutting for all he’s worth behind me .

“Cute? Cute? He’s giving up all the candy in the world for cute.”

I step into the elevator and press the button. “You know, you’re cute too,” I say, my lips curling in one corner.

That shuts him up for a long second, then the words, “Fuck you,” float past my ears.

The church is decorated exactly to Allegra’s specifications.

The aunt went to great pains to tell me the ideas were all Serafina’s but I know she’ll have wanted nothing to do with it, leaving all the decisions to Allegra.

But she’s done a good job. It’s tasteful and not over the top.

I’ve been to too many mafia weddings where the mother of the bride tries to outdo all the other mothers-of-the bride in the family, and the end result is often a cacophony of over-zealous fluff.

A few guests are chatting among themselves but look up as we walk toward the front of the church. I recognize one as Cristiano’s cousin and one of his most faithful capos.

“Nicolò.” I smile cordially and shake his hand. “Thank you for coming.”

He barely offers me a grin. “No problem,” he replies, like he’s doing me a favor.

I return my hand to my pocket, avoiding the temptation to rest it against gun metal. “Is Cristiano here? ”

“Yeah. Somewhere.” He rubs a thumb across his lips.

The priest hovers nearby so I make eye contact with him. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s perfect, sir. But you should probably take your places. The remaining guests will be here shortly.”

Nicolò wishes me luck and Arrow accompanies me to the front of the church where the alter has been adorned with white roses and cala lilies.

We stand here silently for what feels like hours but must only be minutes.

As the volume in the church increases, I look over my shoulder and see most of the guests seated.

Searching for my brother, I see him perched at the end of a pew by the aisle, next to Cristiano.

He really has inserted himself well into the heart of New York’s most powerful family.

Pride swells across my breastbone when he nods at me with encouragement.

I insisted people sit where they like, apart from Serafina’s immediate family, because apart from Benito, I have no relatives. A few of my capo’s are here but not the entire contingent—I don’t want anything unnerving Serafina more than this marriage already is.

My gut twists slowly. Not with apprehension but with impatience.

Where is she? I want to see her. I want to see who I’ve elected to spend the rest of my life with, the person who’s bewitched my words so that my lips claim to not want another human—only her.

I want to get this charade out of the way so I can take her home and start my new life as a fully paid-up ally of the Di Santos, and as a husband.

The wedding night is a big deal in this world.

I’m not down for airing the bloody sheets like some of my peers, but I will begin to prepare her body for me to eventually take.

I’ve thought about little else since I met her.

And though I try not to be too arrogant about it, I have never had any complaints from other women about my abilities between the sheets, so I know I can make it good for my wife.

That being said, I’ve never taken a virgin before.

I decided against that when I lost my own.

I knew that once I broke a woman in on my cock, I would ruin her for any other man.

My claim over her would be absolute, so it makes sense that the only woman whose virginity I take is the woman who will be my wife.

The organ begins to play and out the corner of my eye I notice all the guests stand and turn to face the back of the room. My chest tightens, illuminating the thud, thud, thud , of my heart. I’m about to become a married man and the thought of it doesn’t terrify me.

I keep my eyes locked on the priest, noticing his gaze soften as the doors at the back of the room open.

It only takes a few seconds for Trilby, as Maid of Honor, to reach the front and I permit myself a small sidelong glance.

I know nothing about the cuts of dresses but the long gown is forest green.

A perfect color scheme for an auburn-haired bride.

Contessa follows shortly behind in an identical gown, her long black hair scooped into a clip at the side of her neck .

Next comes the youngest sister, Bambi. My breath sticks momentarily in my throat.

She’s only sixteen but already she has curves that rival my fiancée’s and those signature Castellano feline eyes.

I instantly want to gun down any man whose gaze lingers on her—not because I want her for myself but because she’s Serafina’s younger sister and I feel an inexplicable urge to protect her.

It’s inevitable she will marry within this world, and if I know mafia men, they will fight over her. Start a war, even.

The commentary in my head is cut dead by Arrow’s whisper in my ear. “ Day-amn .”

It takes all my effort to keep my gaze fixed on the wall in front of us.

When a white mirage appears beside me, I slowly turn my head.

And I swallow.

Serafina looks exquisite .

Again, I know nothing about dresses but if it were possible for a dress to make a woman look like the most precious, delicious, forbidden fruit, this would be it.

The white satin glides over her body, a soft sheen drawing the eye to mouth-watering curves that have, thankfully, returned with a vengeance.

A heart-shaped neckline reveals perfect domes of creamy flesh that make my pants tight, and her auburn hair has been curled and tucked into an elaborate style on her crown.

Pearls and crystals are studded through the red strands to make her look as though she tiptoed through a gentle blizzard to get here .

When I finally take in her face she’s looking up at me apprehensively, like she’s not sure I’m going to like what I see.

There’s a faint line on her brow and her blue eyes are wide and expectant.

I drop my gaze momentarily to the romantic rose bouquet she’s white-knuckling and the petals are shivering. She’s petrified.

I blink at her, stunned.

I can’t believe she’s going to be mine.

The sound of someone clearing their throat makes my head jerk up. Tony Castellano is standing beside his daughter with his hand offered. I reach out and shake it, as is customary, then he sits on a pew beside Allegra. The priest begins to speak, and we both turn to face him.

He gets approximately two and a half seconds into whatever he’s saying when I drop all fucking expectation, tradition and decorum.

I extract the bouquet from her shaking fingers and slip her right hand into my left.

I feel her shocked eyes on the side of my face, the panicked rise and fall of her chest teasing the corner of my eye.

I can’t bear to stand next to her feeling the air between us tremble. She needs to know I’m here for her—that she isn’t going through this alone.

The priest’s words go in one ear and out the other as all my focus is trained on the sensation beneath my thumb. It’s resting on her pulse and I’m counting, making damn sure it’s slowing, and feeling my chest inflate as it does. I want nothing more in this moment than to make her feel okay.

As her pulse slows I want time to stop. Who knows when she’ll willingly hold my hand again? It feels tiny but warm and a little bit damp. It fits inside mine like it was always meant to be there.

My chest feels like it’s about to explode. I knew I wanted this woman from the first moment I saw her, but fuck … Right now, I feel like I need her.