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The girl definitely had homicidal tendencies—she was a murderess wannabee. Rather than being an angel as her ma had claimed, I was beginning to think that the girl was, in fact, a hellcat.
CHAPTER 8
LORENZO
The last two weeks had sped by, and it was already the day of the wedding.
I stood at the front of the altar at St. Napoleone’s—of course, Anni’s papà had insisted on having the wedding at his namesake church.
I wore a black tux, as did my younger brother, Aloysius, who stood at my side. He was three years younger than me, and today he would act as my best man.
“Do you think she’ll turn up?” Aloysius asked with a chuckle. He thought Anni’s actions to date were hilarious.
“She will unless she has a death wish,” I muttered.
Marco approached us. “I wish they would hurry this up,” he gritted out. “I’m fed up of having to make pointless small talk with people I don’t even like.” His arms were crossed over his chest and he was scowling—he didn’t even attempt to mask his body language, which shouted loud and clear that he was annoyed he even had to be here in the first place. “There better be a fuckable bridesmaid or two to relieve me of my boredom before this day is out, otherwise I’m going to have to shoot somebody.”
“Screwing the Veneti virgins is hardly conducive to a good working relationship with the Imperiosi,” I pointed out, but Marco clearly wasn’t interested in my opinion.
I looked across at my children who sat with my mother in the pews. When, in my anger, I had brought forward the date of the wedding after the pool incident, I hadn't considered that it would give Clara and Clemente even less time to get used to the idea of it.
But then, no amount of time would ever be enough to allow them to get over the loss of their mother, particularly for Clara.
When I had sat the children down to explain that I was going to be getting married again, Clemente hadn't really understood. He was only two years old, and he soon became restless and bored with the conversation, running off to play as soon as he could, shouting, “Car, car!” He was obsessed with cars, and that was his favorite word at the moment.
Four-year-old Clara, on the other hand, had sat very still, looking even more lost than she normally looked.
I knew she’d been trying hard to understand what I was saying and what was happening. For the last few weeks, people kept saying to her that she was getting ‘a new mom’. My own mother, in particular, kept repeating this, although I had asked her not to phrase it in such a manner—because every time someone said that, I could see that it drove home harshly to Clara that her mom had been ripped from their lives and was never coming back.
My mother was over the moon that I was getting remarried. She thought it was high time that I got over Rita and her betrayal, and she kept saying that I needed to overcome my anger for the sake of the children.
But just as I didn’t think Clara would ever get over her grief, I knew that nothing would ever allow me to banish the anger that raged so fiercely inside me.
I watched Clara as she sat quietly. I couldn’t look at her without guilt piercing my heart. She was wearing an off-white satin dress with a tiered skirt, while Clemente wore a blue and white sailor suit. Clemente was doing everything he could to try and get down from his grandmother’s lap—he was an energetic toddler who was into everything and never sat still.
Ma Veneti scurried down the aisle and took her seat, and I knew this meant that my bride had arrived.
A hush descended over the guests as the music started up.
The Venetis had arranged all the music, including a string quartet, to play in the church. As the deep, soulful notes of the cellist rang out, I closed my eyes for a long moment. They were playing Johann Pachelbel’s Canon in D—the tune to which Rita had walked down the aisle during my first wedding.
The Venetis couldn’t have known this, but it still sent a shot of pain and bitterness through me. As the first violinist began the sweeter tones of the melody, I mentally shook myself out of my memories, banishing them to the recesses of my mind as I opened my eyes.
Then, as the second violinist joined in, flower girls appeared, scattering rose petals in front of them. They were closely followed by Anni’s older sister and another girl, who entered as the third violinist began to play. They were the bridesmaids and were dressed in burgundy silk dresses.
I tried to let the sound of the quartet soothe me.
Then came the moment I had been waiting for, and all tension left my body as I saw my bride appear at the top of the aisle on the arm of her papà.
Anni looked absolutely exquisite, and, in that moment, she did look like an angel.
As she slowly made her way toward me, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Her white dress was made of fine lace embroidered with small pearls. I ran my eyes up the full skirt, over her narrow waist, and then to the strapless fitted bodice. Her green eyes were solemn, and she had left her white-blonde hair down and it shone through her sheer veil.
Her lace neckline dipped into a ‘v’, emphasizing her shapely breasts and making my loins stir.
I couldn’t wait to have her under me tonight, using my body inside hers. She wouldn’t be able to disobey me then: it would be just me and her, all alone, with no one to help her.
