Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“He won’t let me,” I said with a slight shrug. Nestore would keep a close eye on me.
“You should want to stay.”
“Will he give me reason to stay?” I whispered. “Because to me it looks like he wants to make me pay.”
Niccolo sneered. “Nestore isn’t the same with you as he is with the rest of the world. He’s feared. He’s cruel. But he holds you on a pedestal.”
I doubted it. Maybe in the past, but as he had said, he couldn’t forgive me for running.
Violin music picked up, followed by the lower notes of a contrabass. Like the bouquet, the sound was a mix of soft beauty and deep, mournful tones. The doors swung inward. Hundreds of guests lined the dark red carpet made of rose petals that ended at the front of the ballroom, where an arch was draped in black fabric and dark red roses. Below it stood Nestore.
Pity filled everyone’s eyes.
This wasn’t what fairy tales were made of.
“The madman and his broken princess” was what people called us behind closed doors. I had overheard the kitchen staff gossiping. Broken princess. I didn’t feel broken, so I could only assume they expected Nestore to break me.
Nestore wore his long black fur coat, with the white crown atop his black hair. He wasn’t wearing a shirt beneath his coat, but he carried his scars like the most expensive garment. I’d witnessed the birth of almost every scar on his body, had borne witness to the screams that came with them, had often cried along with Nestore as he bore the agony, until after a while only my tears fell. The part of Nestore capable of tears died long ago.
Niccolo tugged at my arm until I followed him down the rose path. Some faces were distantly familiar as I passed them. The compassion on the women’s faces tightened my belly. In the front row, Remo Falcone, his three brothers, and his enforcer, Fabiano, waited. I looked away from them. I couldn’t help but blame Remo for Nestore’s further descent into darkness.
When we arrived at the front, my gaze moved up to Nestore’s face. His expression held triumph and a dark hunger that made me want to take flight again. The music slowed, then stopped, and Nino Falcone stepped to the front, holding a book in his hands. Was he going to hold the ceremony?
Nestore held out his hand for me. His palm bore burn scars. But movement in a small cage off to the right caught my attention. Had Nestore put one of the wild animals into a cage for entertainment?
My heart shriveled when I realized the creature in the cage was my father, or what was left of him after years in Nestore’s vengeful hands. I didn’t love my father. Most days, I feared and despised him and wanted him dead. He deserved what Nestore had done to him, and my heart didn’t break for him at the sight of his suffering. It broke for the man who’d soon become my husband. With every act of cruelty, a little part of Nestore died. Or maybe I was foolish for believing there was still anything left of my Nestore.
“Amelia.”
His low command forced me to shake off my shock and put my hand in his. My eyes moved up to the crown on top of his black hair. This was different from the other crown he’d worn. Gemstones had been glued to the top of the fingers where the nails should have been.
Lowering my gaze from the disturbing sight, I put the bouquet on the black chair beside me, then we faced Nino.
The ceremony was short yet not sweet. It spoke of triumph and overcoming the things that held us back. It talked about devotion and loyalty. I glanced at Nestore’s face, hoping to see glimmers of love, but his expression was as cold as marble. Niccolo came with a plush red velvet cushion with our rings. It was the first time I saw them. As with everything else, Nestore had made the decisions.
He took a beautiful yellow gold marquise-cut ruby ring and put it on my finger. Small diamonds sat beside the massive ruby gemstone. His own ring was black with a fine line of tiny red rubies in the center like a rivulet of blood. My fingers shook when I put it on him. For a heartbeat, he closed his eyes, and an almost peaceful look passed his face, but then it vanished, and he fixed me with a possessive stare.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Every pair of eyes in the room was on us. I didn’t dare look into the cage to see if my father was watching, too. I focused on Nestore. This was his show. His act of dominance. My leaving had broken his heart. Now he wanted to break mine, and if that failed, break me.