Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
The air punches from my lungs as the dark, calculating gaze of Angelo Vitale meets mine—appraising me as if he’s daring me to run.
My heart thumps erratically in my chest as, all at once, a thousand emotions slam into me. Relief. Confusion. Uncertainty. And then, inevitably, dread. This is no bittersweet reunion.
This is his revenge.
The floor beneath me seems to shift as my eyes rake over the all-black silhouette of a suit tailored for sin. Commanding, polished, and lethal—this is the man with the blood of the Mafia running through his veins.
Il Diavolo.
He’s returned to claw back everything that once belonged to him…beginning with me.
Beside me, tension coils through my father’s body as whispers ripple through the crowd. Everyone’s waiting to see what he’ll do. He’s been caught in a trap by the king of the Cosa Nostra, and his fate rests on how he responds.
Unsurprisingly, he chooses self-preservation as he jerks me forward, hissing at me under his breath.
“This changes nothing. Don’t say a fucking word.”
Whether it’s out of shock or survival, I fall into step and do as I’m told. Angelo holds my gaze, anchoring me to him as an invisible pull reels me closer to certain ruin. Fate is a shadow we can’t outrun, and even through my current haze, it’s impossible to forget why this marriage will have disastrous consequences.
Yet, I continue on.
I don’t know what it says about me that I’d choose a raging storm over a quiet refuge, but safety never made my heart race.
We reach the end of the aisle, and my father’s gaze lands on two large streaks of blood slashed across the pavilion. My eyes carve a path over that trail, eventually ending where two guards lie slumped near the bushes, their lifeless expressions staring up at the sky.
My stomach turns as an unsettling thought enters my mind.
Where is Matteo?
“Fuck this up, and you’ll have every last one of us killed,” my father growls in warning.
He releases me, and I offer a slow, mechanical nod as the priest summons me to join Angelo beneath the ceremonial arch.
In addition to the streaks of blood and two dead guards, the backdrop of our wedding is a marble colonnade draped with climbing vines.
Beauty and violence.
I meet the groom where he stands, and his gaze pans the length of my body, soaking in every detail of his stolen bride. Possession smolders behind those dark irises, but that fire turns to ice when they drift back to my face—lingering on my swollen cheek.
The silence pulses with static as his hand curls into a fist and he drags a thumb over his knuckles. Before the priest can utter a word, Angelo leans in, his voice a deadly calm against my ear.
“Give me a name.”
That low gravel-edged command sends a shiver through me. This isn’t a man who bares his teeth for the sake of show. When he asks a question like that, it’s because he intends to draw blood.
I peer up at him, feeling half-drunk as I lose myself in the darkness of his eyes. I shouldn’t like this beast in him, and I definitely shouldn’t feed it.
Nicky saves me from the paralysis of making a decision when he approaches Angelo and whispers something in his ear. Angelo’s eyes flash, a faint twitch pulsing through his jaw as he pulls back and nods. That response doesn’t bode well for my father, but I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to think about that right now.
The priest opens the ceremony with scripture, then asks us to join together. Warmth engulfs my fingers as Angelo’s rough hands swallow mine—calloused and tattooed to my softness.
Those hands are intimately acquainted with violence. They’ve broken bones, crushed throats, and bled his enemies dry. They’re the hands of a brutal man, but right now, they feel like a refuge under the watchful gazes of our friends and enemies alike.
In a world where kings reign, loyalty and loathing are both offered up with smiles. Some have come to celebrate this union, while others would love to see us fall. In the Cosa Nostra, it’s never a good thing to be known as a man who hands out second chances. And until me, Angelo never has.
So why now?
Revenge is one thing. Tethering his fate to mine is another.
Whatever his reasons may be, there’s no stopping it now.
The priest concludes his chosen readings and opens the vow ceremony, asking us to declare our intent. Angelo recites the affirmations first, each line delivered more like a blood oath than a formality. The words until death do us part roll off his tongue like honey, and that poisoned promise curls through the air, wrapping around my throat like a collar. It’s an all-too-chilling reminder of what’s at stake, and when I repeat the words back to him, I don’t miss the subtle reflex of his fingers—a silent warning that this time, I better mean what I say.