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)
“Thank you, Nonna.”
She nods, and with that being settled, she moves on to the next pressing topic.
“You know what to expect tonight?” She makes a gesture as if she’s sprinkling seeds. “The garden?”
I can’t help but laugh as I nod emphatically. “Yes, Nonna. I understand.”
“How?” She frowns, worry creasing her brow.
“I read a lot of spicy books.”
She nods, as though that makes perfect sense. “Fabio.”
“Something like that,” I agree for her sake. There’s no way I’m telling her how much romance books have changed since her time.
We reach the resort’s boundary and turn around. As we do, a shooting star flashes across the sky, and Nonna pats my hand.
“See?” She smiles under the light of the moon. “La Madonna.”
18
ABELLA
“Evviva gli sposi!”
“Per Cent'anni!”
Angelo and I pass through the send-off line as our guests shower us with well-wishes for our departure. The marking ceremony comes next, and it will be a private affair. It’s an archaic but important tradition amongst Society members, and women often only hear the details from those who have been married before us. I know what to expect, and I’m not nervous. I trust that, as much as Angelo may resent me, he won’t hurt me.
I’ve heard stories of the few women who were given the brutal markings of a fire-branding, rather than ink. I’ve seen the scars firsthand, along with the haunting emptiness in their eyes. As much as Angelo may have changed in the past six years, there’s still one thing I can swear on. He would never choose that for me.
Angelo Vitale does not and would never brutalize women.
Sensing my attention on him, he turns to look at me as we reach the end of the line. For a second, amid the shouts and cheers and confetti, I find myself caught up in the moment. The warmth in his gaze melts my insides, while at the same time, the voice inside my head reminds me this is an illusion.
He confirms it when his knuckles graze my cheek and he nods to the crowd, as if to remind me we have an audience. Together, we turn to face them as cameras flash and sparklers dance in the night.
My girls blow me kisses while Angelo’s uncle Sal slaps him on the back. Then Nonna shoos us off to go “tend to the garden.”
With that, we say goodbye as Nicky opens the rear passenger door to a black Maserati. It’s one of many in a large convoy. All of Angelo’s men will leave with us tonight, ensuring we get to wherever we’re going.
Once we’re settled in, Nicky takes the driver’s seat and starts the engine. I don’t know when or where Angelo met him, but it’s clear that he trusts him.
As Pavarotti plays from the speakers, the entire procession rolls down the long, winding road leading out of the resort. Angelo focuses on the passing landscape as I referee a million thoughts bouncing around my head. There’s a lot I want to say, but I address the most pressing issue first.
“Where is Matteo?”
A flicker of tension passes over Angelo’s features as he keeps his gaze trained out the window. “He’s tied up at the moment.”
I swallow, suspecting he means that literally.
“But you won’t hurt him, right?”
I twist my hands together in my lap as he turns to look at me with a bored expression. In this light, his eyes are inky black.
“Of course not. He’s my brother.”
His tone is completely detached, and it sets me on edge. Matteo wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for me, and I don’t want to be the reason that they hate each other—though I suppose it’s too late for that.
“It was all my fault,” I tell Angelo. “Please don’t take it out on him.”
His exhalation is sharp and steeped in derision. “Falling on your sword, Abella? How romantic.”
Nicky shoots me a glance in the mirror like I’m crazy for bringing this up now, and I suppose I am. It’s our wedding night, and there’s a lot more to come. I’m not under any illusion that this is a fairy tale, but I don’t want this dark cloud looming over our heads. So for now, I keep my thoughts to myself as we make the short drive through the Tuscan countryside.
As we begin our ascent to what can only be one of the medieval hilltop towns nearby, I take in the olive groves, vineyards, and buildings covered with cascades of flowers. Even at night, it’s beautiful and sacred, and truthfully, I can’t imagine anywhere better suited for a marking ceremony.
Outside the ancient stone fortress surrounding the town, the first cars in the procession pull off to the side, creating a barricade that will remain behind us as we pass through.
Nicky navigates the car onto the gravel, parking us right next to one of the archways that opens into the town. Angelo shrugs out of his suit jacket and exits the car, walking around to open my door.