Page 42 of Marrying the Savage

“You understand nothing.”

I step toward him, but Damir’s hand closes around my wrist before I make it two steps.

“No,” he says.

I look back at him. “I need to speak to my uncle.”

“No.”

My laugh comes out sharp and disbelieving. “You just proposed a forced wedding in the middle of my forced wedding, and now you are denying me a conversation?”

“Yes.”

“At least you’re consistent.”

His expression doesn’t change.

I lean closer, lowering my voice. “Two minutes.”

“No.”

“Damir.”

His eyes narrow faintly at the sound of his name.

“You asked me to marry you in front of half the criminal world,” I say. “If you want me walking back to that altar beside you, give me two minutes with the man who raised me.”

His gaze moves over my face. For one second, the room around us fades into the background. I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me. Anger, probably. Fear, definitely. The bite mark on my neck. The ruined veil. The bride who invited him here and is now pretending this was ever under her control.

Finally, he releases my wrist. “Two minutes.”

I don’t thank him. I gather the front of my dress and walk toward my uncle. Two of Damir’s men shift with me, not touching me, but making it obvious that nobody is taking me anywhere without permission.

My uncle notices. His mouth tightens.

Good. Let him know how it feels to have his freedom managed.

I stop near the first pew, far enough from the others to pretend we have privacy, though there is no such thing in a church full of armed men.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks. His voice is controlled again, which means he is more dangerous than when he was shouting.

I smile without humor. “What does it look like? I’m saving your ass.”

His eyes flash. “Don’t speak to me like that.”

“Then stop earning it.”

“Sofia.”

“No.” My voice drops. “You don’t get to use that tone right now. Your men fired first.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I heard the shot. Everyone heard the shot.”

“You invited him.”

I say nothing.