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Doris jumps to her feet and leans over Celeste to hand me a makeshift bouquet of white roses. The stems are tied together with sellotape. Brad’s Spiderman pencil case lies open on the bench, his sellotape spilling out among his crayons. The sight makes me smile.
I mouth,thank you, aiming the gratitude at both Doris and Jared, and wink at Brad, who grins.
Colin looks me over when Ryan and I stop in front of him. Appreciation warms his eyes. Ryan kisses my cheek and takes his place next to Celeste. I smile at my family from over my shoulder as I place a hand on the arm Colin offers before facing the vicar.
Colin leans down to whisper in my ear, “Fuck. You look amazing.”
I mock-frown, whispering back, “Language. We’re in a church.”
The vicar picks up a Bible. “Shall we begin?”
“Yes, please,” Colin says, tearing his gaze away from me.
“As per the groom’s request, there won’t be a sermon today,” the vicar says. “We’ll dive straight into the formalities. Before we do, I’d like to read a passage from Psalms and say a prayer.”
Standing in a wedding gown in front of the nonjudgmental eyes of Mary feels unreal. I never dreamt about a wedding. I’m only nineteen years old. I always thought I’d travel the world and build a career first. It’s both scary and reassuring. My life with Colin will be stable and predictable. There won’t be nasty surprises like Mom had to endure, or did Mom think the same when she married Dad? Was she as sure of him as I am of Colin?
A part of it feels wrong too, so much so that I can’t breathe.
“Bella,” Colin whispers, nudging me gently.
I look at him.
He tilts his head toward the vicar, who says, “Repeat after me. I, Sabella Daphne Edwards, take—”
The rest of the vow is cut short as the doors fly open, banging against the walls. Sunlight spills into the space, the rays lighting Mary’s face. The vicar’s eyes go wide. The muscles of Colin’s forearm tense underneath my palm. The gasps of the people I love fill my ears as we spin around.
The bouquet of white roses drops from my hand.
A man stands on the threshold, the sunbeams bouncing off his dark shape. He takes a wide stance with his arms hanging loosely at his sides. He balls his left hand, drawing my gaze to the action. My heart pounds in the cage of my ribs as I focus my attention on the gun he holds in his other hand. The sight reminds me of a scene I don’t want to remember.
Angelo Russo steps into the church, into the light. The chandeliers illuminate the harsh features of his handsome face. The look in his black eyes is more devious than I’ve ever seen. Dressed in a bespoke suit with a silk tie, he stands there like a god, flaunting the truth for the whole world to see. There’s no mistaking who the real groom is.
I swallow as an army of men enter behind him, all carrying guns. A choked sound comes from the vicar behind us.
Angelo advances slowly, trailing a path with his gaze over me. What I see in those dark eyes sends shivers through my body. Possession. Fury. A promise of vengeance.
The women make themselves small. Only Doris gets up, but the men have surrounded them, cutting off all paths to the exits. Celeste covers Brad’s eyes, whispering something about a game.
Someone closes the doors. They shut with a heavy bang.
I swallow again, trying to get my vocal cords to work, but Angelo beats me to it.
His smile is wicked, and his voice drips with evil sarcasm. “Did I arrive before the part where I get to object?” He lifts his arm, aiming the gun at Colin. “Or am I going to have to make you a widow before I can marry you,cara?”
ChapterTwenty-Six
Angelo
My bride is a deceitful traitor. She steps in front of the man she has or is about to marry, protecting him from the bullet meant for his heart. She fucking shields him, placing the body and life that belong to me in the path of danger. By doing that, she puts herself head-on in the way of my wrath, because the fury that ravaged me a minute ago is nothing compared to the inferno of violent rage erupting inside me now.
I’ll fucking kill him. Them. Every single man. Right here. I don’t care if I do it in a church. The grace of a holy place won’t save them. You have to possess some reverence to respect a house of religion, and I don’t have a dignified bone in my body.
My voice doesn’t betray the level of my anger. My tone reflects a well-practiced calm. “Aren’t you going to answer me,bella?” I turn the gun on the vicar. “Should I askhim? Does he need a bullet in the stomach as motivation?”
“No,” she cries out, raising her hands in a placating manner. “We haven’t made the vow.”
I take her in, how beautiful she looks in the dress I chose, the dress in which she was meant to marryme. So help me, I’ll strip that dress off her perfect body and make her regret every second of her despicable, insulting betrayal.
