Page 202 of Vicious Intentions
Like I’ve done so many times these last few months, I walk toward the altar with Matteo close behind me, then kneel before the cross and quietly send out a prayer while my husband’s warmth settles at my back, his fingers absentmindedly playing with my hair.
And like it always does, my heart skips a beat at how incapable my husband seems of going even a second without touching me.
When I rise to my feet, I move toward the rows of candles and light them one by one, hoping that somehow my prayers will be enough to keep the people I love safe from the horrors waiting outside these walls.
As I place the wick back where it belongs, Matteo steps closer, brushing the ends of my bob away from my neck before leaning down to whisper in my ear.
“I’ve never really liked going to church much,” he murmurs. “But this one…” His lips graze the shell of my ear. “This one is growing on me. Especially since it holds my favorite memory.”
I smile, knowing exactly which memory he’s talking about.
“Say it again,” he whispers, almost desperately.
“I love you.”
Matteo closes his eyes like he needs to savor every word, every syllable.
“Fuck,” he breathes softly. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say that to me.”
“Good. Because you’ll never have to.”
He’s about to reach for me, needing to seal my promise to love him always, when his phone starts ringing in his pocket.
“Cazzo,” he mutters under his breath, glancing at the screen. “It’s Nico. I should answer.”
I smile softly as he steps away to take the call, wondering for the thousandth time how I ever got lucky enough to be loved by a man like him.
And then hell descends.
It happens so fast my mind can barely keep up.
One second Matteo is standing a few feet away from me, and the next Marcello’s arms are locking around my body from behind while silver flashes through the air.
No.
No. No. No.
This can’t be happening.
“Matteo!” I scream, violently struggling against my brother’s hold. “Let me go! Please!”
But Marcello’s grip is crushing, impossible to escape.
And Stella’s aim is deadly.
I watch in horror as dagger after dagger buries itself into Matteo’s back.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
His body jerks violently with every hit before he stumbles and turns around, blood already staining his shirt.
Stella looks terrifying. Almost inhuman. Her eyes wild, her smile monstrous as she reaches for more blades strapped to her thigh.
