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Though maybe death is the only way we can be together, comes the dark thought as I kiss her forehead and rest my chin on her head and gaze out the window into the hazy nothingness high above the world.
Because I don’t see a realistic option for us to be together. If we run before the wedding, we destroy her family reputation, publicly insult Ralph Romero. Both the Romeros and Amelia’s father will put hits out on me, maybe even on both of us to salvage his reputation for being a ruthless mafia boss with total control over the Family.
If I kill Ralph Romero at the wedding, it starts a war between the families. I’d be killed immediately, of course. It’s not clear what Amelia’s fate would be as a widow, but it wouldn’t be good. Especially not with a war brewing. She could become a hostage, a sacrifice, a peace-offering, or just killed in the crossfire. The Romero Family might even get the marriage annulled, which would leave her tainted, an untouchable in this hypocritical mafia world.
So there’s no way I’m committing a suicidal murder that leaves my princess alone to face the aftermath. I’ll have to let the wedding proceed, even if it kills me to watch another man kiss her honey lips, know that he’s going to touch that perfect pussy with his vile dick.
The idea sickens me, but nothing can taint the true love I feel for Amelia. If I have to let the wedding proceed, I’ll fucking do it. But even if I can control my jealous rage and not kill Ralph Romero, there’s no way I’m staying away from this pussy.
And anything that happens between us after the wedding puts Amelia in direct danger of being straight-up executed.
Which means we’re both fucked because I couldn’t control my damn dick today. Sure as hell won’t be able to control it for the next three weeks while she’s still unmarried, still untouched by another, still mine all the way.
As for the wedding day itself?
Will fate turn in our favor?
Will destiny shift in our direction?
We’ll find out in three weeks.
11
THREE WEEKS LATER.
WEDDING DAY.
AMELIA
Fate failed us.
Destiny deserted us.
Here I am alone in the bride’s dressing room, waiting for the clock to strike noon like I’m waiting to be led to the gallows of my execution, not the altar of my wedding.
Zedd wasn’t invited to the wedding, and I’m relieved even though my heart died last night when we said our final goodbyes. It was my last night in my warm cozy bedroom. A bedroom that holds the best memories of my childhood.
And what I know will be the best memories of my womanhood too.
Because every night Zedd snuck into my room and made me his woman over and over again.
I don’t know how he managed to get past the guards and the cameras every night for twenty-one days straight. Every night I lay awake watching the cracked window for him, panicking if he was even a minute later than his midnight entry.
But sometimes my mood would flip, and in those dark moments I wished for Zedd to be caught. I’d fantasize about running down the stairs in my nightshirt and bunny-slippers, ordering Father’s guards not to hurt him, then having a showdown with Father, trying to break him with my will, with my determination, with my love.
But Zedd was too careful for that. He knows Father just as well as I do—maybe even better, since I spent half my teenage years away in Italy, the dark mafia-boss side of my father hidden from me, allowing me to partially deny that my princess-privilege was paid for with the blood of others, with crime and cruelty, darkness and death.
And death is what it feels like now. My glum face stares back at me from the flower-framed bridal mirror. I look like a fat painted whore, comes the self-loathing thought as gloom settles over me like a dark cloud. For one awful moment I see my future as Ralph Romero’s wife, with dark circles beneath my eyes from sleepless nights pining for Zedd, deep worry-lines creasing my forehead from the endless days of despair.
The despair reaches so deep into me I wonder if I should just end it.
Then suddenly the despair lurches into blind rage, anger that Zedd isn’t here, isn’t just killing everyone and running away with me.
He said I’m his, so why isn’t he just killing everyone and making me his, comes the sulky pouty thought that I know is childish and unrealistic, that works great in the fairytale of my fantasy but would end with Zedd full of bullet-holes and my life destroyed even worse than if I just submitted to my fate and married Ralph Romero.
Which I’m going to do, comes the resigned reminder pouting back at me from the mirror. It’s over. Three weeks is what you had with your true love, and it’s over now.
Sure, Zedd swore he’d find a way to sneak into the Romero estate once I moved there, but we both know that’s far too dangerous—for both of us. Ralph Romero wouldn’t hesitate to execute his own cheating wife, and although Father might be tempted to start a war of vengeance, the depressing truth is the Consortium of Families would rule that Ralph was justified and Father needed to stand down or else face censure by most of the American mafia families.
