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"Is your devoted refusal to tell a story about almost losing your life something you're willing to lose your life over?"
"I'd die because I didn't tell you how I almost died?"
Michael chuckles again, his shark-like teeth glimmer in the early morning sunlight.
"I want to know who you are. If I can trust you. You can tell a lot about someone from the stories they tell, the experiences that formed them, that shaped them like clay. What shaped you, Owen? What experiences fired the clay that forms you into the man I see in front of me today?"
Friendship and loyalty formed me.
Two bonds that I've broken.
"I’m not clay, I’m a Marine. But, to tell you the story: my unit was on guard duty, escorting a resupply convoy to a combat outpost that had recently taken a heavy enemy assault. Our assigned course took us through enemy territory and rough terrain. There was a canyon on the route..." As I dig up that story, one of the hallmark moments of my life that has defined me as a man, each word is one I rip out with pain that feels like a knife in my gut.
I betrayed the man who saved my life.
I betrayed my best friend.
I fucked his sister.
No, I've done more than just fuck his sister — I've fallen in love with her and I've let her fall in love with me, too. It's an uncrossable line, and I fucking jumped over it, laughing and giddy, like I'm fucking playing hopscotch.
My story ends and Michael Vertucci nods, satisfied, while I feel like killing myself for the disgusting betrayal I've carried out against everything that I believe.
Then he rolls up his sleeve, revealing his tattoo.
"I received this tattoo from my friends in the Santoro Syndicate. You've heard of them?"
Those words shove all feelings of disgust and betrayal into the back of my skull. It's just like Rook's warning said — the Syndicate is involved and this entire wedding just got a lot more dangerous. I force myself to nod calmly.
"I've heard of them."
"A short while ago, I'd gone to them with a business proposal. A merger, of sorts. They're looking to expand into our area, we're looking to expand, too. It seemed like a natural fit. But before they'd even consider my proposal, they had a test. They wanted to verify my loyalty, my dedication, my manhood. So they put me in a locked room with two of the Syndicate's enemies that they had recently captured, and they put a knife in the center of that room. There was one rule: if I survived, they'd consider my proposal. If one of my two enemies survived, they’d let that survivor go. They gave everyone an incentive. But I was quicker than them. I got to the knife first. One man, I sliced him open from sternum to pelvis and his guts fell out in a waterfall of blood. The other, he was better. He even hit me with a few punches while I was busy cutting open the first man. Then I hit him back, broke his nose and stunned him, and then I slit his throat so deep that it severed the spinal column and his head dangled like a marionette."
"God damn," I murmur.
I'm not the only one. Several groomsmen mutter in shock.
Michael nods, smiling and proud.
"Absolutely ruined my suit, but it was worth it. They considered their proposal, and this tattoo marks me as a member of their organization. It's all still fresh, still new, but they'll be sending some men tomorrow to watch my vows. This wedding isn't just a celebration of my union with Riley. No, it's a celebration of an even bigger, more important union. My family with theirs."
Holy fucking shit.
It takes everything I have not to beat a retreat in that moment and race back to my room to grab Danielle out of her slumber and fucking drag her as far away from this vile wedding as I possibly can. Instead, I keep cool, the same way I've done before when enemy combatants are firing AK-47s in my direction. I raise my beer and tap it to Michael's, a smile on my face.
"Seems like congratulations are in order a second time."
"Thank you, my friend," he says. "And, if ever a man like you should need work..."
"I'll keep it in mind," I say.
At the earliest opportunity, I excuse myself, and I leave the group, my mind racing. Every word from Michael weighs on me like a ton of bricks. The reality of our situation — Danielle's and mine — hits hard. We're in deeper than ever and getting out won't be easy. Shame and worry gnaw at my heart as I walk back, knowing I must act, and act fast, to protect the woman I love.
I have to get her out of here, no matter what it takes, or else we're both dead.
Chapter Eighteen
Danielle
