Page 43 of Sacred Blood

“Always a marriage,” she groaned.

“I’m certain Peskov doesn’t want to see you on Knyazev’s arm, who’s nothing but a common killer in a tailored suit, and not even a very good tailor. No self-respecting father would want his daughter to marry a sadist like that.”

“Except mine,” she said bitterly. “Rego Calabretta, I mean.”

“Gaby, you must understand that he may not have had a choice. As a member of the 'Ndrangheta, he knows it is death to disobey their orders. He took a great risk even in warning you that a marriage was imminent, and he didn’t look for you very hard after you ran away, did he?”

She didn’t answer, but I could see her thinking about that.

“In any event, no matter what their exact plans are, no matter which of all these players wins, it will set up a permanent link between two very powerful groups and create a shift in the existing balance of power that will absolutely lead to war in the underworld.”

I stopped talking to give her time to process. It was a lot for anyone, and I could see her struggling to catch up to what I’d had time to assimilate for almost a week now. A shudder wracked her body.

Reaching out a shaking hand for her wine, she downed the contents of her glass and stood up. Her movements were erratic as she walked across the deck to the edge where she planted her feet. Was she gazing out at the horizon or were her eyes unfocused? With her back to me, imagination was all I had. Regardless of her expression, her posture shouted that she was overwhelmed. Time for this Dom to take over.

“Gabriella, come here.”

No response.

She stood motionless at the edge of the deck, staring out at the water.

Most people would have assumed she was looking at the sunset.

I knew better.

Her shoulders were rigid.

Her hands hung at her sides, fingers curled tightly into her palms.

She wasn't admiring the view.

She was retreating.

In the operating room, I'd learned to recognize shock in all its forms. Some patients screamed. Some cried. Others simply shut down when the truth became too much to process.

Gabriella had gone silent.

A few short minutes ago, she'd learned that everything she believed about her life might be a lie.

Her mother.

Her father.

Red.

Even her own identity.

The foundations beneath her feet had shifted, and she was struggling to find solid ground.

What she needed wasn't more information. Certainty. Someone to take the chaos from her hands for a little while and carry it for her.

“Gabriella,” I said more firmly.

She peeped over her shoulder, hesitating until she saw me stand up, and then at last, she scurried over to me. I sat back in my chair and pulled her between my thighs, making us almost eye level. “There is nothing to worry about, piccolina. I have everything under control. When we return, we’ll marry and remove you as a pawn from the game board. Neither Calabretta nor Knyazev is going to risk a war with the Vitales.”

“And a secondhand bride isn’t as valuable as an ignorant virgin,” Gaby said bitterly. A tear escaped and gently tracked down her cheek. “But how could my father do that? We’re close, you know, or I thought we were. Was it always a lie? Did he only ever pretend to love me while he waited until I was useful to him?”

I wanted to remind her that no matter his intentions, once Ivan Knyazev and Dimitri Peskov set up the board, Calabretta would have had no choice but to play the game. His wife and remaining two daughters would be the first ones they’d kill if he refused, and they would make him watch. But my girl didn’t need to know that.