Page 25 of Savage Betrayal


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Accepting the handle of a large knife from Johnny, I step toward my prisoner. Fresh panic washes over his face as I reach for his hands. Then, once again, relief takes over as I cut him free of his bonds. Before he can get too comfortable, Rasco grabs his arm, slamming it down on the table beside him.

“Wait,” he pleads, his eyes growing round as I raise the knife. “Wait, wait, wait!” he cries, nearing hysteria as he sees what’s coming a moment before I bring the knife down.

And as cold steel meets wood, I cleave his hand from his body.

He releases a bloodcurdling scream.

At the same time, an impressive amount of blood spurts from his severed arm, catching me across the neck and cheek and nearly sullying my wedding attire.

I turn my head just in time, avoiding the worst of it. And as Rasco wraps a quick tourniquet around the man’s elbow, Johnny passes me a clean towel. I wipe my face and neck clean, trying to make myself presentable because I won’t have time for a shower after I’m done here.

Then I turn my attention to the thief once more as the man’s agonized screams taper into whimpering moans.

“This is what happens to men who steal from me. Next time, I might not be so merciful,” I state coldly.

He cradles his ruined arm against his chest, his face chalk-white as he looks up at me with bloodshot eyes.

“Go tell the rest of your family that under the Moretti rule, they don’t try skimming off the top. Understood?”

“Y-Y-Yes, sir,” he stutters, stumbling to his feet in his desperate effort to run away.

I watch him go, ensuring that he makes it back inside the warehouse building before I turn my attention to the mess we’ve made of the alleyway. “I’ll leave you boys to clean this up,” I state, nodding for Johnny to take charge.

“Sure thing, boss,” he agrees.

I glance at my watch once more, then I flash Rasco a grin. “I’m overdue at church.”

He chuckles darkly. “We’ll be praying for you that you won’t light on fire as soon as you walk through the door.”

Snorting a laugh, I throw my blood-stained towel at him. “Fuck off.” Then I turn toward my waiting car.

I’ve only seen my intended bride a handful of times during our very brief engagement. And that suits me just fine. I’m busy making a name for myself, elevating my family to a level of power and prestige that no single mafia family has achieved in this town’s history.

Still, I hadn’t intended to be quite so late to the ceremony when I left my house this morning. Running down the Valencia culprits took longer than I had anticipated.

Well, I suppose it won’t hurt Tia to learn the lesson now. I’m often late to dinner. So she can expect it of me.

“You’re very late,” my father growls as I climb the church steps to meet him, adding the cufflinks to my tux as I go.

“I ran into a few complications.”

“Is it taken care of?”

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t.” I accept my suit jacket from him, shrugging into it and closing the buttons before finger-combing my hair into place. I only pause a moment to check that my bowtie is straight before I push the inner doors to the chapel wide open with a resounding thud. The congregation is already gathered, and the music is done.

And my bride stands at the altar, waiting for me.

She looks stunning in a strapless white dress with intricate beading that covers the bodice and cascades down the back of the train. Her veil sits like a crown atop her head, her face left uncovered so I can see her elegantly natural makeup and the carefully blank expression she turns my way.

She can’t be pleased with me. I’ve kept her waiting for almost half an hour.

And yet she looks the picture of calm as she holds a beautiful bouquet of white roses, purple-centered calla lilies, and sunflowers between her palms.

“Sorry to keep you all waiting,” I project to the room. I stride down the aisle toward my bride, giving a nod to one side of the congregation and then the other, acknowledging their patience and showing my appreciation.

I lope up the steps to meet Tia at the altar, stopping with a huff before her.

“Are we ready, then?” the priest asks, his tone censored with the appropriate amount of inexhaustible patience.

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