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He didn’t wait for my reply. His hand was back on my wrist, dragging me down the aisle, only stopping at the altar.
A young priest walked through the side door, coming straight towards us, and I exhaled in relief. There was absolutely no way he would allow this to happen.
“Father Julio.” Giancarlo greeted, “I need you to marry us right away.”
The priest looked at him, his brows furrowed in confusion as he swerved from my face to Giancarlo’s. The worried look on his face told me he had recognized me for sure.
“Is this wise? Does Don Moretti know?”
Fuck! The priest is one of theirs.
“I don’t give a fuck what Don Moretti thinks. I’m either marrying her tonight or taking her back to her father tomorrow with my baby freshly planted inside her, against her will or not. What’s it gonna be, Father?”
Father Julio swept his thumb from his forehead to his heart, then from shoulder to shoulder, repeating the cross sign several times before resting his hand on his lips and kissing it.
“This is not right, Carlo. She is not in the proper attire, and it is not the time—”
Giancarlo huffed through his nose, forcing his anger out as he took two huge steps aside towards the table in front of the altar. He yanked the sheer, white cloth from the surface with one hand while dumping the contents of the offering bowl onto the ground with the other, returning to me with both. He pulled the white material over my head and face and placed the bowl on top, covering my features as if it were a veil.
The humiliation had my blood boiling, staining my cheeks with a heat made of betrayal and pure revulsion. How dare he?
“Does this fix it?” He grunted, taking my hand in his and looking me straight in the eye. “Come, Father. I don’t have all fucking night.”
“And the rings?”
“We’ll get them tomorrow. Do it.”
“Giancarlo,” I said in a warning, in a plea, in something that had absolutely no effect on the man standing in front of me.
“Don’t make me convince you in a church, Princess.” He said, squeezing my fingers tighter, the threat beneath his words unmasked to both me and Father Julio. “I have no problem using my methods of persuasion anywhere.”
With a small nod from me, the priest started the ceremony, and I was lost to a feeling I had yet to experience to this magnitude — hate. My glower was set on his the entire time, and not even the handsome, victorious grin on his face made me feel any less enraged.
How could I have thought he was the solution? He was a much bigger problem than what I had before. My father was going to kill me.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” Father Julio finished. Giancarlo reached for the makeshift veil, lifting it from my face before leaning in to kiss me.
“Papa won’t give you a thing.” I barked between gritted teeth, making him stop midway, my fury drenching each one of those words. “If you think this stunt is going to win you his position, his status, you are very mistaken.”
“Who ever said anything about status? Your father and his position in the mafia, his money, and everything he ever ruled over can go to Hell for all I care. What I want,” he stepped closer, the air between us so thick that I couldn’t breathe it in, “Is you. And now you’re mine, Princess. Forever.”
With that, he sealed our union with a kiss and blood that would wait for tomorrow to be spilled.
Chapter 4
Giancarlo
“Tomorrow morning. Don’t forget. And tell Mr. Marcel I'll pay for the rings with interest.” I urged Pipo, a ten-year-old boy whose dreams of becoming a Made Man had him thrilled to run any errand we threw at him.
He’d come back tomorrow with a pair of wedding rings for me and my beautiful wife before we made our way back over the tracks and marched into Battaglia manor to make it implode with the news of our marriage.
Wife.
The word, paired with the image of Elena, had my cock twitching to life. Although, going by the frown permanently fixed on her face since Father Julio started the ceremony, I wouldn’t be touching her anytime soon. Not even with a ten-foot pole.
She was waiting for me inside my apartment. If someone had told me this morning that Elena Battaglia would be sitting on my bed, I’d laugh in their face and then punch it bloody.
But alas, there she was.
