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“I wanted to get to know the woman I fell in love with better.”
“Liar!” I jerk the gun around, yelling. “You’re a liar!” I screech, my body shaking from the shock of it all, my voice cracking from the strain of my screaming.
“I’m in love with you, firefly.”
That confession is the worst thing he could have said to me.
It’s cruel.
It breaks me.
Shatters me.
My eyes flood, stinging with burning, tormented tears. Without a second thought, I close my eyes and squeeze my index finger again, pulling the trigger for a second time. The bang is loud. The recoil, powerful. My now tired and emotionally weak body is not prepared. The jarring motion forcefully knocks me to the dirty ground. How fitting for the day. A naïve bride dressed in pure white now covered in filth from the alley behind the club where she was told deceiving vows. I howl at the thought. The ache inside me so excruciating, it’s debilitating.
A body lands on top of me with a thud. My head bounces off the black top. The air in my lung is expunged. I gasp on a silent cry. There isn’t a struggle for the gun. I willingly release my fingers and let it lay in the palm of my hand for whoever thought they had to fight for it. I have no more fight left in me.
I want to go home.
Home.
Back to Ireland.
To a place I feel safe.
Screams, shouts, hollers, and commotion surround me. The weight of the gun leaves my hand in a violent manner. Unforgiving hands pierce the skin of my arms. My body is jerked and jilted, placed roughly on my unsteady feet. Dirty water drips at my toes. I’m lethargic to those around me. In a haze of wanting to be somewhere else. If it wasn’t for the person holding me upright, I would fall to my knees.
A female’s high pitched scream makes my heavy eyelids lift. My body goes stiff after being slack. The hate I felt just a second ago, it is now gone and replaced with something else I can’t decipher when I connect eyes with the man in front of me. He sits on the ground with his inked hand now stained red from the blood I shed, covering the hole I put in his chest. Rivulets rush down his pristine white dress shirt, spreading like a spilled ink blot. The shirt I laid my palm against when I kissed him at the conclusion of our vows now ruined. The same shirt I buttoned up for him and ended the last closure with a kiss. His infuriated gaze is locked on me. So many emotions. So much anger. Hate. Resentment. Revenge. All of it thick between us. Even sorrow is silently spoken between our connection. It’s a foreign language being expressed between us. A wordless pull I can’t deny. I step in his direction. The need to go to him is overwhelming, but the hand that has captured my arm moments ago is brutal and merciless in its demand of keeping me away from him. I’m jerked back with such brute force, my head snaps to the side.
“Give me that bitch.” The enforcer I know as Giovanni rushes forward.
“Nah, G. I’ll take care of this little slice of delight when this bullet she penetrated my fucking body with is removed,” Demetri gruffly states, glaring at me as he tries to lift from the ground without hissing in pain.
His leer is held with the promise of retribution. It doesn’t even flicker the slightest movement from me. His eyes are dead pools of emotion.
“I’ll take care of her,” my brother states to the man half-sitting in front of me on the ground with a bloody hole seeping through his fingers.
“I’ll take her to the warehouse.” The pressure on my arm tightens as my jailer states what he is going to do with me. It makes me turn to see my captor. Holding me prisoner is the underboss, the Don’s son, Antonio. I should be beyond scared, but I’m not. I’m… numb to everyone but him, my husband.
“I don’t fucking think so,” Demetri says, grunting in pain as he moves to stand.
“Let her go!” Paisley yells, vigorously thrashing her body in my brother’s restrictive hold. “Get your fucking hands off me.” She flails around, slapping at him.
“I will take my wife. You gave her to me. Therefore, she is mine. Which means I get to take care of her as I see fit.” The venom that snakes its way through Demetri’s words is chilling. “She’s fucking mine to deal with. It’s time my wife learns what kind of man she’s married to.
“I hate you, Demetri Carbone.” My lip curls, my voice flat, distant. “I hate you with every fiber of my being.”
He steps up to me, a hair’s breadth away. His knuckles tenderly run down my face, leaving bloody streaks of red as his eyes become slits as if he is a venomous predator getting ready to strike. “There is a very fine line between love and hate, giovane cucciolo.” His hand drops to my throat, lifting my chin with his thumb as he squeezes. “Your virgin blood slicked my cock. It was your signature of consent. Get used to it, wife. You are mine whether you love me or hate me.”
“Yeah, stupidly this puppy is on the wrong side of the fence.” I glare at him until he releases me. I drop my head, feeling so reckless for believing in him, in us, in my heart. Knowing what is going to happen to me and not caring. I know what I just did. I shot a made man. A man I just vowed my life to. My husband stands in front of me, bleeding. He holds his footing with his boss, the Godfather of this family, and four others across the state of New York at his back. Mr. Heart stands behind him like the pillar of power that he is. A blatant sign of strength in numbers.
The one thing I take notice is that I am not afraid. I should be. I should be terrified, but I’m not. I feel numb. Not even when he reaches around his back and pulls his gun from his lower back.
My gaze is locked with his as I take note of his actions.
“You want me dead, giovane cucciolo? You want retaliation, make me pay? I see it in your eyes, wife.”
“Stop calling me that.” I grit my teeth.
