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I step off the bridal platform and place my own hand on the mirror to steady myself.
Thump-thump, thump, thump, thump-thump, thump.
He scoffs before a harsh laugh escapes his lips.
“If you would’ve had that much of your skin on display, I would have turned you away back to your father. It’s quite unfortunate that’s how you remember things, Elena.”
The poor seamstress has backed herself into a corner and is doing her best to not watch this family shitfest unfold, but there’s a reason reality television exists. Drama is hard to look away from. She casts her gaze onto the pins she’s still holding, rolling them between the pads of her fingers.
“Gabriel, please,” my mother whisper-shouts frantically, but he cuts off anything else she planned on saying by holding his palm up and turning toward me.
“I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave this up to your mother. Thankfully, I assumed as much and swung by on my way to my meeting. I can’t imagine what Roberto would think of seeing his new daughter-in-law walk down the aisle with her most intimate parts on full display,” he seethes, gesturing to the same neckline my mother was just admiring.
He points to the slits on both sides of the fabric, showing off my legs. “Patetica.” He turns to the seamstress, and with a snarl, walks over to her, pointing his finger in her face. “No more changes to this outfit made for a fucking whore.”
Spittle flies from his lips, his red cheeks burning with anger. “No more money spent on this. In fact, you can have it.”
He looks back at me as I walk toward the two of them, wanting desperately to pull him away from this kind woman who has nothing to do with any of this, knowing I can’t.
“Take it off, Giana. Take it off and give it to her.” He points to the seamstress. “She can give it to a piece of trash for her wedding day. By the looks of her, she knows plenty of scum.”
And with that, tears gather in my eyes for an entirely new reason.
My father leaves, slamming the door behind him, walking out into the cold winter that’s as bitter as his heart. I apologize to the seamstress while my mother tells me we have mere days to find another dress; she’s already on the phone with another boutique as I grab hold of the woman’s hands and tell her how sorry I am.
Two weeks.
The reminder is a slap in the face.
Just when I thought my life couldn’t be more fucked up…
I’m being married off to the heir of the Blood Syndicate Cartel.
The DeSantis Family
“You touchedsomething that didn’t fucking belong to you.” I grit the words out from behind clenched teeth, my jaw aching from the tension.
Quickened heartbeats turn into full-on organ thrashing, thunderous jolts in my chest in anticipation for the blood I’m about to have on my hands. This bastard is only a mere pawn in this fucked up game of chess we’ve been playing for years.
But still. He’ll be one more piece out of my way.
My endorphins fucking spike from the thought of tearing the skin off this man’s bones, ripping every last limb from his body using nothing but my bare, calloused, spiteful hands.
Sweet fucking revenge. It’s a mouth-watering dish that’s long overdue.
But not yet.
He doesn’t deserve the peace death brings.
I wrap my fingers around the crystal rocks glass extended to me from one of my soldiers and yank the bourbon toward my lips so quickly some of it sloshes over the perimeter and runs down the sides. Rocking my head back, I let the liquid slide down my throat, willing it to numb me—just a little.
I do my best to lead my men. To teach them that if they want to rise in the ranks of this family, they need to face our obstacles head-fucking-on with a cool and calm demeanor—though that’s easier said than done for a man who was born and bred to react, and react quickly.
Still, we don’t let weakness show. Not ever.
But here I am letting this Amato fucker get the best of me.
I sink back down to eye level with the piece of shit sitting in front of me and force his gaze to mine, cracking each of my knuckles painstakingly slow. The rings on my fingers cool against my burning skin as I imagine, with each crack, that it’s a blow to his skull.
