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All the air is sucked from my lungs, tears stinging in my eyes as she is level with me. For some kind of punishment, I roam her body. Her dark hair curled, cascading down her back.
That horrid fucking dress.
My gaze stops on her left arm. The small bruises scatter on the outside of her bicep. She keeps her eyes forward and continues walking down the aisle.
I sit forward, getting a better look as she passes me.
Distinct fingerprint bruises mark her skin. He marked her.
No one touches my Rosa.
As I go to stand,Maria’s nails dig into my arm and she pulls me back down. She leans into me. “Unless you want the next one to be Rosa’s funeral, I suggest you stay seated, Luca. We are ready for war. Are you?”
My heart pounds, sweat beads on my forehead.
I look over at Frankie, who shakes his head at me.
The violins come to a stop and the room falls silent. Everyone watches as Rosa approaches Dante. He turns to the crowd and smiles straight at me, fresh scratch marks on his cheeks, leaving me shaking with rage.
The priest introduces himself and who knows what else he says. My ears are ringing so loud I can’t concentrate. I can barely remember how to breathe. Every ounce of will power is being used not to get up and shoot him between the eyes.
And slitting the throat of the bitch who has her claws digging into my thigh.
CHAPTERSEVENTY-THREE
rosa
Itake my final steps towards him.
My Abuser.
My Husband.
“Welcome, you look beautiful. Are you both ready?” the gray-haired priest asks with a beaming smile.
I nod, and Dante takes my trembling hands. My throat is closing in on me.
“You made the right choice,” Dante whispers.
He leans closer. “I told you that first time. You’ll be mine forever.”
Bile rises up my throat, and I swallow it back down.
I go up on tiptoes and whisper in his ear, “You mean when you raped me?”
He squeezes my hands tighter.
“You’ll never escape me, Rosa. Never.”
He releases me and takes a step back, smiling to the crowd.
The priest raises his arms and begins his speech.
“Welcome to the wedding of Rosa Francesca Falcone and Dante Pierre Capri.”
I hear rustling coming from the guests. My eyes meet Frankie’s ice cold ones. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and his nostrils flare.
“Rosa?” the priest says, handing me my vow card.
