Page 140 of Vicious Intentions
I take her ring between my fingers, feeling the cool metal against my skin, before losing myself in the soft blue of her eyes.
“I, Matteo, take you, Annamaria, to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.” My gaze remains locked on hers as I slide the band onto her finger, right beside the fifteen-carat engagement ring I gave her just a week ago. “With this ring, I thee wed, and from this day on, I promise to be the husband you deserve,” I add, keeping my voice low so only she hears what I say next, “Whether you want me or not, I’m yours now. And I’ll spend every day making sure you never regret it.”
Anna’s brow creases, as if my words unsettle her in ways she doesn’t understand. But she doesn’t have time to dwell on them, her attention shifting to Father Benedetto as he raises his hands and declares us husband and wife. She then turns to me, panic flickering in her eyes.
It’s done. Our fates are now one. All that remains is to seal our vows with a kiss.
I’ve kissed her a thousand times in my head.
In whispered conversations over the phone.
In dreams I never let myself fully have.
But this… this kiss will be real.
My hand settles at the small of her back, pulling her gently closer, while my other hand lifts her chin just enough that she has no choice but to look at me. Those blue eyes search mine, filled with equal parts trepidation and something else… something that looks a lot like curiosity.
Good. I can work with that.
Even with a full church watching, I don’t rush it. Not our first kiss. So I lean in slowly, giving her time to wrap her head around the fact that this is happening before I close the small bit of distance between us. Her eyelids shut the second my lipsbrush against hers, soft and careful, as not to frighten her. Still, the moment they meet, something stirs awake deep in my chest. I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times, and none of them come close to the real thing.
Anna places her palms against my chest, her breath hitching as my lips begin to claim hers. I pull her closer, guiding her arms around my neck as I deepen the kiss just enough to remind her what this means. What she’s become. Mine. And fuck me if she doesn’t melt into it. Like her body remembers me, even if her mind hasn’t caught up yet.
My tongue aches for more, to slip past Anna’s lips and taste her fully, but I’ve given our guests enough of a show as it is. Reluctantly, I break the kiss and pull back, only to admire how her cheeks are beautifully flushed, and her lips swollen to perfection. My pulse races as she forces her hooded eyes open, and for a split second, I see it. How deeply our first kiss has shaken her. And how impossible it will be for her to hate me if I keep kissing her like that.
There’s only one problem. If I kiss her again, I’m not sure I’d be able to stop, and I’ve manipulated our relationship enough. No. If Anna wants me to kiss her again, she’ll have to be the one to initiate it. I promised I’d be the husband she deserves, and I meant it.
I can wait. I’ll wait an eternity if need be. But the next time I kiss my wife, it’s because she wants it just as fiercely as I do.
As wedding receptions go, ours isn’t anything to write home about. Not when the theme of tonight’s party feels more like acelebration of how we one-upped the Outfit than the vows two people just made in front of God and all that’s holy.
Everyone is patting themselves on the back, celebrating that Romano’s daughter now belongs to theCosa Nostraand that we’ve driven the Irish mob back to Boston, where they belong.
A week has passed since I had a sit-down with Romano, but it seems that’s all anyone wants to talk about.
Just as I predicted, before Vincent and his entourage arrived in my city under the pretense of wanting a parley, they had already reached out to the Irish mob, hoping they would ambush me during theconferenza.Unfortunately for them, I was already two steps ahead, with Don Vitale ready to rain hellfire on the Irish. While Vincent was demanding that I return Anna to her family, the Old Fox’s men were cutting down every mobster with a Bostonian accent.
The ones who were spared ran home with their tails tucked between their legs. I doubt anyone will be lining up to help Romano any time soon. Not after what we did to the Irish.
It’s reason enough for a celebration like this. The opulent reception hall hums with it—laughter, crystal glasses clinking, men talking over each other as if it were the victory lap they so eagerly wanted. As if tonight weren’t the beginning of something bigger. Something bloodier.
Still, it’s not the heads of family celebrating prematurely that have my hackles rising. It’s the somber expressions on Niccolò and Don Moretti’s faces that put me on high alert. And it’s all due to my own betrayal.
Everyone here has been fed a diluted version of what really happened at thatconferenza. Only a handful of my people know what went down that night. Niccolò is one of them, and to my chagrin, Rocco is another.
My brother would never tell anyone that I broke a centuries-old tradition by killing my father and, by default, claiming thetitle ofCapo dei Capifor myself. His loyalty to me runs too deep. Even if he didn’t agree with how I handled things, even if he feels that I misled him, he’ll take that secret to the grave.
Rocco, of course, has no such loyalty. He once told me his loyalty would belong only to a boss he deemed worthy. Kidnapping and marrying Anna already made me unworthy in his eyes. Killing my predecessor only destroyed whatever loyalty he had left. There is no doubt in my mind that Rocco told his father the truth about what happened at the parley. That I refused to give the order to anyone else, preferring to do the killing myself. That I was the one who killed my father.
And if Moretti knows…How long do I have until everyone else knows too?
Maybe he’ll keep my secret.
Maybe he won’t say anything.
Maybe…
Cazzo.
