Page 23 of Chains of Recompense
It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
Because I know Sandro’s reputation—and if he considers me or my family a threat to his brother, there’s no doubt in my mind that he could, and would, kill us with his bare hands.
His eyes say as much, though he hasn’t spoken more than three words since we walked through the front door.
I find it fascinating to see how close the Chiaroscuro brothers are—and yet Raf doesn’t understand why I would marry him for my family’s sake.
Then again, I suppose I’ll be the one stepping into the wolf’s den for this alliance.
So perhaps Raf isn’t too far off to think I’m crazy.
Maybe I am.
Because I’ve just agreed to marry a man I hate—all to teach the Tanakas a lesson.
3
RAFAEL
My collar feels too tight, my tie a noose around my throat, and I tug at it as I stand halfway up the pews of the Catholic church, studying a stained glass window depicting the Virgin Mary and her child.
“This will be perfect for the ceremony,” Lindsey Murray says in her lilting Irish accent as she walks arm-in-arm with Aisling down the aisle. Her hair is the same striking shade of burgundy as her daughter’s, with just a hint of white lightening her temples, but rather than the impossible blue of Aisling’s eyes, Lindsey’s are a heather green, and they meet mine as she says, “And we’d be happy to host the reception afterward at our home.”
A gentle way of saying the Chiaroscuro estate is in no shape to be hosting her daughter’s wedding.
I give a silent nod of acknowledgment, casting my gaze quickly to Aisling before turning my attention back to the stained glass. “It truly is a beautiful venue,” I say, though it feels sacrilegious toeven stand on hallowed ground. I’m vaguely surprised I haven’t burst into spontaneous flames.
Miko and Sandro downright refused to come with me today, though they did say they would come to my wedding—even if it’s held in a church.
Our father might have taught us faith, but it wasn’t of the religious variety.
The faith he taught was for our family, to believe in our right to power and command, to bend this world to our will.
“It’s also the only venue I could book on such short notice,” Lindsey admits, her fair skin flushing slightly. “Good thing I still go to mass every Sunday and make large enough donations to have some sway with Father Malcolm.”
Aisling gives her mother’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Thanks, Mum.”
I don’t know why the term of endearment catches me off guard. Maybe because I never really knew my mother—but I can’t imagine having ever called my father anything but “Father” or “Don Augusta”. And hearing Aisling say it does something strange to my insides.
Because it reinforces her claim that she’s marrying me—pretending to marry me, that is—for the sake of her family.
Because she loves them.
“What do you say, Don Rafael?” Callum asks, striding toward me with who I can only presume is Father Malcolm at his side. “We can set the date for two weeks from Sunday.”
I have no idea how the Murrays intend to put together a wedding in that amount of time, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter to me.
The alliance is all I need.
“That’ll do,” I agree. “Perhaps you’d like to join my family for dinner tonight so we can discuss arrangements.”
“We’d be glad to join you,” Callum says.
I nod. “Then, perhaps you’d allow me a moment to speak with your daughter.”
The barrel-chested Irishman looks at Aisling, who gives a subtle nod. Then he turns back to me. “Of course. Lindsey and I have a few more details to discuss with Father Malcolm, anyway.”
He gestures for his wife, and Lindsey gives Aisling’s hand a squeeze before she joins her husband at his side.
