Page 83 of The Serpent's Bride
“Stop embarrassing yourself,” Papa hissed viciously. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are? That man could have any woman in the city.”
Fresh humiliation flooded me. “I don’t care. I don’t want him anymore.”
Papa grabbed my arm hard enough to bruise. “You will marry him.”
“I won’t,” I hissed. Panic surged violently through me. Before either man could react, I yanked free and ran.
The cathedral hallway blurred around me in flashes of gold and white satin while guests gasped nearby. My heels slipped against marble as adrenaline tore through my body. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t walk down that aisle knowing the truth. Knowing I meant nothing.
“Chiara, come here, you disobedient brat!” Papa caught me before I reached the staircase. His hand tangled viciously in my hair, jerking me backward hard enough to make me cry out.
“Stop fighting me!” he snarled into my ear. Tears streamed down my face.
“I hate him!” I sobbed. Papa spun me toward the massive cathedral doors just as music swelled from inside. The ceremony had started.
“No,” I whispered. But Papa shoved me forward anyway. The doors opened. Hundreds of people turned to stare.
Candles glowed like stars beneath towering cathedral ceilings while white roses lined the endless aisle ahead. Mafia royalty filled every pew in black designer suits and diamonds.
And at the very end, Leo stood waiting for me. Tall. Dark. Beautiful. The Serpent himself.
His expression shifted the second he saw my face. Saw the tears. Saw Papa’s bruising grip on my arm. Something dangerous flickered behind his eyes. But I didn’t care anymore. Because now all I could think was…
He only chose me because my body could give him something.
Chapter Fourteen: LEO
Thereceptionsmelledlikeexpensive liquor, melting candle wax, white roses… and the sharp metallic promise of violence.
It saturated the ballroom beneath the music, hidden under the polished elegance of a Moretti wedding. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead like hanging knives. Gold candlelight reflected across marble floors so glossy they looked wet. Waiters drifted between tables carrying champagne that cost more than most men made in a year while soldiers with concealed weapons watched each other over the rims of their glasses.
Every smile in the room was fake. Every handshake carried the possibility of betrayal. My wedding reception had become a battlefield wrapped in silk and diamonds. And I loved it.
I stood near the edge of the ballroom with one hand tucked into my pocket, bourbon burning low in my throat as I watched Chiara across the room. My wife.
The word still hit me like a drug.
The gold wedding band locked around her finger gleamed beneath the chandeliers every time she moved, and everyglimpse of it sent dark satisfaction curling through my chest. Mine. Publicly. Permanently.
Nobody could touch her now without going through me first. Nobody would survive trying.
Chiara stood near the center of the ballroom surrounded by flowers worth a small fortune, looking heartbreakingly beautiful in white silk and misery. The fitted gown hugged every soft curve I’d spent months fantasizing about ruining with my hands. Pearls shimmered across the corset while diamonds dripped from her throat and wrists like she was some precious little offering laid at my feet.
But it was her hair that nearly destroyed my restraint. Loose.
Soft blonde waves cascading down her bare back exactly the way I’d ordered. The candlelight caught strands of gold in it every time she turned her head. I could practically feel that silk sliding through my fingers already.
For me. Always for me now.
Heat spread low and vicious through my stomach. Jesus Christ. I wanted her so badly my jaw physically tightened.
Not just sexually. Though that hunger was becoming unbearable. No, this obsession had sunk deeper than that. I wanted every expression she made. Every trembling breath. Every furious glare. Every soft sound she tried to hide when I touched her.
I wanted her completely consumed by me. And somehow she looked further away than ever tonight.
She barely reacted when people spoke to her. Barely smiled. Barely moved. Her hands stayed clasped tightly in front of her bouquet like she was holding herself together by force alone.
She was too quiet. That bothered me.
