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Was there such a thing as life after death?
I continued to ask myself that question given the only acceptable way out of a marriage within a mafia organization was death.
Murder was acceptable.
I smiled to myself at the thought, wondering whether my mother had considered the same thoughts during her term of obvious imprisonment with my father.
Was it possible my mother was with me, holding my hand through the worst time in my life? The priest had mentioned that my mother had always been by my side, protecting me. Guiding me. I wasn’t certain I could believe that any longer.
Agony tore through me, the horrible act my father was holding over my head the only reason I was here today. But what good would it do me now? How could I change anything?
Francesco. Where are you? Time is running out.
Trust.
I repeated the word in my head. That wasn’t the issue. The nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach was.
Swallowing, I glanced into the mirror. I was gaunt and lifeless, barely a shell of the woman I’d been before. Death. Birth. Life. They were all comingled into a web of absolute deceit. But I doubted I had a hero coming to save me.
It felt as if something terrible had happened to Francesco.
My father’s smugness. Dante’s confidence.
The fact I was standing here in a goddamn ugly wedding dress.
Stop it. Just stop it.
My stomach churned and it was almost impossible not to allow another round of tears to fall. I’d cried myself to sleep more than once, but I’d only been this despondent twice in my life.
The death of my mother, murdered by a supposed stranger. A fucking lie.
And the death of…
Both had been horrible lies fabricated by a man I’d believed had my best interest at heart. What I’d been forced to accept over the last few lonely days was that saviors only came around once in your life. I’d had my opportunity and had almost allowed it to get away. Now I’d face not only the penance for my past sins but a life of misery as well.
Even now, even though the wedding was minutes away, all I could think about was Francesco. His face. His piercing eyes. His gorgeous body. The desire that had ignited the second we’d seen each other. Had I simply lived a dream the other night? I bit back a laugh. The man had filled me, fucked me, and I’d enjoyed every moment of it.
When Cayman had driven back to the brownstone, letting me off around the corner from the church, returning had been the most difficult thing I’d been asked to do. I understood why given everything Francesco and I had talked about, but that didn’t mean leaving hadn’t been horrible, painful in every way. Yet Francesco and his entire regime knew they had to shut down the Bianchi family once and for all or their soldiers would keep coming.
The memories of our time together remained prominent in the front of my mind. His face was the same yet different, as if three years had made him even more of a man. Gone was the hint of softness I’d seen before, replaced with a hard edge that was even more evident in his dark eyes as they’d roamed over my body.
I’d felt so electrified, just like I had so long ago, but the sadness inside both of us had been devastatingly difficult.
So had seeing his face upon admitting he knew about our son. Our son. I couldn’t believe there was even a remote possibility that the little boy I’d thought I’d lost over two years before was alive. However, getting my hopes up wasn’t in my best interest.
While there was a good reason, I was having difficulty believing what my father had told me, although the devastating news had certainly kept me on a tight leash. If there was any possibility that I could affect someone’s life in a positive way, I had to take it.
Hate. Hate. Hate.
Calm down. This isn’t going to do you any good.
There was something off about my fabulous wedding day, at least two dozen of Dante’s soldiers surrounding the church, the same church I’d sought refuge in. Did they anticipate a war? The man I was supposed to marry was obviously playing the same kind of cat and mouse game. Either that or placing my trust in Father Saltori had been a stupid move. Could it be possible that a priest would betray his best friend?
I wasn’t certain what to believe any longer, but the agony of not knowing and being inside the building was tearing me apart. I wasn’t stupid, the wedding meaning so much more for Dante than I’d originally believed. But with no attempt to rescue me as Francesco had promised, I feared the man I loved was already dead.
When the door opened, I was hopeful. Then my emotions tanked seeing Olga. Her expression was stern, but I sensed she wanted to lord over me that she was here to make certain I didn’t try to escape.
There was no doubt something was going on in the background, but without any real information, I’d already assumed the worst.
