I widened my eyes.
The few men that were close to me, put a whole five feet of distance between us. In fact. . .I didn’t think many men would ever come near me again.
Gianni walked around with the hand in the air. Blood dripped onto his designer jacket and shirt. “And let this be a lesson to anyone who dares to touch what belongs to me. . .in any way. . .do not even give her a fucking handshake!”
What?
I widened my eyes even more.
“Don’t even give her a high-five.” Gianni tossed the hand aside with casual indifference, as though it were nothing more than trash. The hand fell on the ground. Gianni glared at even his men. “Touch my wife, and prepare to die.”
Jesus. He’s a. . .lot. . .
My stepfather’s men grabbed Vito and lifted him up. He’d just passed out in the pool of blood.
Another man grabbed the hand and rushed away as they surely took Vito to the hospital.
My stepfather didn’t even look at me as he hurried off.
Gianni called back, “And don’t you put that fucking hand back on his wrist!”
Oh my.
My stepfather, Vito, and all their men disappeared out of view.
I could barely breathe.
The horror of what I had just witnessed still pressing down on me to the point that it was suffocating.
But even in my terror, I couldn’t deny the strange sense of relief that washed over me.
If anything, there was at least one silver lining to this terrifying shit show. . .for better or worse, Gianni would protect me.
That was. . .something.
Gianni turned to me, and his face softened. The harsh lines faded. His expression was calm, almost serene, as if he hadn’t just committed an act of unspeakable violence.
His dark green eyes locked onto mine, and in that moment, I understood something with chilling clarity.
I was bound to this man, not just by the marriage we were about to enter into, but by blood.
And I knew, with every fiber of my being, that there was no escaping this.
I could see it in the way he looked at me.
This was my life now.
I could never leave him.
I could never run.
Not because of some lingering affection or misplaced loyalty, but because of pure, unadulterated fear. Call me fucking crazy or even weak, but I would rather live as a coward at his side than face a life without my hands—or worse, my life at the end of one of his merciless punishments.
This man—my new husband, was capable of horrors that I could scarcely comprehend. The thought of defying him, of trying to flee from his grasp, was more terrifying than anything else I could ever imagine.
I had seen what Gianni was willing to do, what he was capable of when his honor—or mine—was threatened.
And I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would do it again if necessary.
