Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
I met my uncle’s eyes and muttered the words without feeling. “Yes. A joke.”
Collectively, the church let out a relieved breath.
The priest looked mildly reassured. “Then, shall we continue?”
My nod was weak, but that didn’t matter. The ceremony recommenced and this time, when Father Francis asked me, “Vittoria Vero, do you take this man, Ettore Scala, to be your lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?” I responded quietly, knowing the words would almost certainly get me killed.
“I do.”
Bleeding from his shoulder, Ettore stood soundlessly with his jaw steeled throughout the proceedings. Rings were exchanged, more vows were spoken, and I attempted to not flinch every time he brushed by me.
The ceremony came to an end with, “You have given and received a ring as a symbol of your promises. By the power vested in me by both state and church, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may,” Father Francis wavered nervously on the last part, “kiss your bride.”
This was it. The moment Ettore Scala got revenge.
Where he would no doubt punish and humiliate me for the disrespect I had shown him. And really, who could blame him?
My eyes fluttered closed as I awaited whatever was coming.
I stood rigid, expecting to be reprimanded. I did not expect to be kissed, and gently at that.
My eyes shot open as my husband cupped my cheek and deepened the sweet kiss in front of our families and God alike. I would have been lying if I didn’t say it was nice enough that my stomach knotted itself into a sweater.
I allowed him to kiss me for as long as he wished and when he pulled back, our gazes melded. His expression held distrust. Mine, regret. And after we signed our names to the register, Ettore took my hand and held firm as he led me away from an audience, towards the long hall that joined the church to the reception hall.
I craned my neck back to find my uncle but instead found my sister, hiding in the shadows, bitterness cloaking her features.
Chapter 3
A bloody nightmare
Vittoria
I was having trouble keeping up with the long strides of his legs, stumbling a few times as my husband dragged me back into the room I had gotten ready in, slamming the door shut behind us.
A heavy thrum of tension surrounded us. He let go of me and I backed away, slowly, until my bottom hit the wall. And there I stayed.
Ettore made his way over to the floor length mirror and grimaced as he carefully removed his jacket. The white shirt was soaked red on one side. When he began to undo the buttons, he spoke. “Don’t worry, wife. It’s only a flesh wound.” His deadly hazel eyes met mine in the reflection of the mirror. “I will recover.”
A promise that very much sounded like a threat.
My chest panged, I shrunk in on myself and dipped my chin, hiding from his accusing stare.
The door opened and three men silently filed in, one after the other. I recognized them as the best man and groomsmen. One of them held what I assumed was a large metal toolbox, but when he set it down on the floor, knelt by it and threw it open, I saw it was actually medical supplies.
“Sit down,” groomsman one told Ettore, and he did. The man examined Ettore and muttered, “It’s just a flesh wound.” Then he turned to me, lifted his brows and asked incredulously, “How’d you miss? You were a foot away from the guy.”
“Tino.” Ettore growled the warning.
And Tino just shrugged. “What? I’m just asking.”
Groomsman two smiled, then chuckled and then he was laughing out loud, doubling over and clutching his gut.
Ettore was not impressed and asked the man, “Something funny about this, Sandro?”
Sandro, obviously not knowing what was good for him, simply nodded and kept laughing. He looked between us, chuckling, “Now that’s a wedding.”
Ettore glared at the man. I chanced a glance up at the third man in the room only to find his blank stare on me, but fire danced in his eyes. Shivers trailed the length of my spine and my stomach ached painfully.
Tino called him over. “Daniele, come hold this closed.”
The best man moved, surveilling me the entire way over, and when he reached my husband, he paused in front of him and asked, “You need something to bite on?”
Ettore clicked his tongue and shook his head in annoyance. “Just do it already.”
My curiosity had me observing from the opposite side of the room.
Sandro took some gauze and coated it with iodine. “This is gonna sting like a bitch.”
“It already stings like a bitch. Do it,” Ettore ordered, his jaw clenched.
My husband hissed as Tino cleaned the wound. As if he’d felt me watching, he lifted his heated gaze to mine. Our eyes locked and as Tino instructed Daniele to pinch the wound closed, he placed something metal against it and muttered a distracted, “Brace,” then began to staple the wound. Ettore’s expression screwed up and he bared his straight white teeth with every click of the device. Still, he kept his eyes on me, and I couldn’t look away.