Page 64 of Revenge on the Mafia

When I was finally ready, she stared at me. “I was confused, but now I understand.”

I didn’t want to ask her what she meant. Didn’t want to show my weakness even to her. But I couldn’t help myself. “What?”

“Why he would break.”

I stared at her.

She took my hand in both her hands. “Nico never breaks.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

NICO

“This is so strange,” my cognata remarked, looking around the marriage bureau with contempt clearly marked on her face.

She was pushing my limits on a day that I was already on edge. I wanted to remind her how her marriage had started, but her next words brought me to a stop.

“Anna deserves a church wedding.”

I followed her gaze. My bride sat on a bench, staring at the wall. She’d been at it for the past twelve minutes. I hated that she was wearing white. I hated that I couldn’t wait long enough for her fucking dress to arrive. More than that, I hated that I was the one forcing her hand.

Magda was seated next to her. On the other side, the new girl held her hand, but she didn’t seem to notice. Inconveniently, a memory of Juan popped into my mind. An iron grip fisted my lungs. Standing in front of the window, pipe in hand, heart in his eyes as he watched his girls on the beach. He should have been there. So should her mother and her sister. But I wouldn’t have leverage if I had brought them there. A twinge of regret filled my chest. I squashed that thought fast. She didn’t give me a choice. I couldn’t lose her. I was too fucking selfish to take that chance.

Daria stepped toward her. I flashed Enzo a look. He gripped her hand and pulled her back with a look of warning in his eyes. She ignored it. “Someone needs to comfort her.”

“That’s my fucking job,” I snapped, shocking her into silence. If she wanted to be comforted, I’d do it. If I thought she could handle me being alive next to her.

In the split second that my attention had been on Daria, Stefano had squeezed in next to her. With one arm draped around her shoulders, Prince Charming was giving her his full fucking attention. I hadn’t even registered the fact before my feet were moving. If anyone was going to comfort her, it would be— she laughed. I froze. It was so soft I almost missed it. Another two steps, and she did it again. Fuck, the sound caught in my chest. I’d missed that laugh. Magda gave me a small shake of her head. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew she’d go stiff the instant I slipped into place. But I couldn’t help myself, and before I knew it, I had moved into her line of sight. Her laughter died away. Her happiness washed off her face. Inside, I died another death.

Stefano shook his head at me. I ignored him and held out my hand. “Come.”

Marry me. Laugh for me.

She stared at my hand for six long seconds. Does she know that I’m calculating the profit of the next shipment to keep my hands steady? With a sigh, she finally put hers in mine. Small. Fragile. Mine. I pulled her to her feet. Without a word, she followed me to the fluorescent-lit room where the plastic smile of the city clerk officiant awaited us.

Next to me, my bride switched from agitation to numbness like a fluctuating graph on one of my screens. Ridiculous when they never twisted my emotions like she did. Made my pulse skyrocket and heartbeat plunge with each peak and dip.

For one fucking month. Thirty days. Seven hundred and thirty hours.

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Fucking mine.

Which was why I gripped her hand the entire time. Kept her by my side. When she bent to sign her name, the pen shook so hard in her hand that I had to steady hers with mine. She didn’t even notice it. She was too intent on staring at the dotted line. A teardrop stained the paper. I felt it like a cut down the center of my chest. I knew what she was thinking. She was losing her father again. Still, bravely, she signed her name. Anna Vales. It looked ridiculous on paper. Like a child had taken to it.

“Name after marriage?” the clerk's casual tone broke in.

Her throat bobbed.

I answered for her. “Anna Vales-Martello.”

She stared at me, brown eyes pooling with a twinge of liquid. A thousand questions framed in them. I brushed her cheek. Coiling one curl around my finger, I pulled her to me. “My wife for one month, but your father’s daughter forever.” ‘After I’m dead and gone’ hung between us like a silent promise. Then, fisting my hand in her hair, tugging her bun loose, I kissed her. Her lips didn’t yield under mine. They were as stiff as her feelings for me.

When I stepped back, she surprised me by tracing her lips with her tongue. I felt it like electricity zapping to my cock. I took her hand in mine and kissed the inside of her wrist. Her pulse fluttered like an insane thing. She couldn’t back out anymore. Finally, she was mine.