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“Rosaleen, get out of the car this instant, or I will call my men and have Gabriella shot next!”
And he will. Because he’s just crazy enough to go through with his threat. But at least I know Gabriella hasn’t been hurt...yet.
The guard levels me with a look and a raised brow like he’s actually daring me to make any other choice. I shove him to the side as I climb out and glance around the empty street and sidewalk, searching for my son. Some bastard guard ripped him away from me when we left the penthouse, and I don’t know where he went. For all I know, he could be halfway out of the city by now or sleeping in the other car idling at the curb, completely unaware of the danger. Either way, he’s not in my arms and at my father’s mercy.
“I want my son. Where is he?”
“Safe,” Dad answers vaguely. “So long as you do what you’re told, he will stay that way.”
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“Because that baby is more useful to me alive than dead. But if you do not fulfill your end of the bargain, you will never see that boy again. Do you understand me?”
He means marrying Igor Mikhailov. That was the agreement. Leave the penthouse with him, marry that sick old man, and he wouldn’t hurt my son or my friends.
“What about Enzo and Gabriella?”
“Maybe if you hurry this along, I might just feel grateful enough to send an ambulance.” Dad’s phone pings. He checks it and then turns to one of his men. “Igor’s arrived. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Dad has me backed into a corner with no way out, and he knows it. I’m completely defenseless when all I want to do is fight. And I will because I’m not helpless. I’ll bide my time, and when the moment’s right, when I know my son and friends are safe, I will escape or go down fighting, taking as many of these assholes as I can with me.
When I pictured my wedding as a little girl, I always imagined beautiful flowers, billowing fabrics, and a room filled with our closest friends and family. I would walk down the aisle of scattered rose petals toward the love of my life. His face was always a mystery, but I remember his warm presence. The calm that settled over me was like a heavy blanket of comfort. The peace in knowing I was right where I was always meant to be, with the man I was always meant to find.
And for a brief time, I dreamed Michael was that man. Despite all the secrets and the unanswered questions, I still want him to be. I want Michael to be waiting for me at the end of the aisle. Not this piece of shit, perverted man, grinning at me like he’s won a prize. Which, I suppose, I am to him. Because for my entire life, that’s what I’ve always been. Something to be bought, to be owned, to be controlled. Until Michael, that is. He’s the first to see the real me. To see the girl hiding behind the name. To see the girl trapped in a dark cage, craving to be set free and feel alive again.
“Move,” Dad snaps as he shoves me forward.
I stumble a few steps down the worn-out rug and sneer over my shoulder at my father. “Mom would be ashamed of you.”
Dad reaches out and grips my hair with his fist, pulling my head back with one hard yank. I can’t help but cry out before swallowing the pain down. His eyes are livid, and his teeth clenched as he spits in my face, “You brought this on yourself. I’m practically paying Igor to marry you.”
“Then why bother?” I pull free of his hold and twist around to face him. “Marry me to Michael instead. That’s what you want, right? A powerful marriage between the High Table families? Who better than a DiAngelo?”
Dad barks out a laugh. “You think I want to be tied to that family? The DiAngelos are a sinking ship; they just don’t know it yet. And now with your son in my possession, they’ll just sink quicker.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Can we hurry this along, Patrick?” Igor barks down the aisle.
Dad grips my arm tight and practically pulls me down the aisle. He shoves me forward in front of Igor and a clammy-looking, pale priest. It’s clear he’s as much of a prisoner here as I am. He clears his throat before glancing at the shaky Bible in his hands and reciting, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to—”
“The short version will do, Father.” Dad cuts in, gesturing with his free hand not holding me captive before the altar.
The priest clears his throat again, tugging at his collar as he does. “Right. Of course, Mr. O’Leary. Do you, Igor Mikhailov, take Rosaleen O’Leary to be your lawfully wedded wife to have and to hold from this day forward, for better and for worse, till death do you part?”
Igor licks his lips as hisdark eyes skirt up and down my body. “I do.”
“Yes. Good.” The priest turns to me with a sympathetic gaze before he looks away. “And do you, Rosaleen O’Leary, take Igor Mikhailov to be your lawfully wedded husband to have and to hold from this day forward, for better and for worse, till death do you part?”
Dad’s grip on my arm tightens to the point I whimper from the pressure. I’m trapped. Even if I say no, it won’t make a difference. If anything, my stubbornness will only anger him, and put my son and friends in danger for sure.
“Yes,” I hiss. That single word sounds like a guillotine blade slamming down on my neck.
“Excellent. Then, by the power vested in me by the State of Florida and our almighty Lord, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Igor steps forward, his beefy, sweaty hands reaching out toward me, but just before he reaches me, a loud explosion breaks the silence and all hell breaks loose.
33
