Page 117 of Brutal Revenge

Chapter 37

Matteo

The post-vows event is a blur of camera flashes, clinking glasses, and people offering congratulations they know I don’t deserve. Hours pass in an instant. Our guests dance, drink, and laugh. Shockingly, my brothers are the best behaved of the bunch. Giovanni and Valentina tear up the dance floor as if they’re not weeks from the birth of their first child. Dante and Lucia’s dance moves are more subdued since Camille stands between them, arms curled around their thighs, tethering them together as her conception did, and Nico flirts as if his eyes aren’t continually flicking to Alora. I don’t have the faintest notion where Elio is throughout most of the reception. He floats in and out all night.

And Azra?

She avoids me like I have the plague.

Every time I get close, she slips away or someone interrupts.

Now, her luck has run out.

Our guests are leaving one by one, so soon it will be just my wife and me.My wife.Those words have escaped my mouth hundreds of times in the past seven hours. I’m hopeful that if I say them often enough, Azra will stop dodging the truth.

She hasn’t looked at me once with anything close to warmth through our vows and reception, but she’s smiled at everyone else with an effortless grace that makes her the belle of the ball.

“Mrs. Dominick,” she says sweetly, her voice like honey. “It was so lovely to see you again. Thank you for coming.”

Mrs. Dominick beams, pats Azra’s hand, and then leaves.

The second she’s out of earshot, Azra scans the rapidly emptying ballroom.

The realization that we’ll soon be the only two people in the room finally breaks her silence. “I didn’t need saving.”

“Didn’t say you did.”

“No… but you implied it.” She smiles at the next guest approaching to bid us farewell. “Mr. and Mrs. Halden,” she greets warmly. “Thank you so much for the new crockery. I will put it to good use. Perhaps before I’ve even left the reception.”

They gush over her, and she glows for them.

I don’t know who the fuck Mr. Halden is, but he has two seconds to get his eyes off my wife’s rack before I bury him under six feet of dirt.

He must be a dumb fuck. He practically drools on my wife’s shoulders while leaning in to farewell her with a hug. Azra steps back at the earliest convenience, but it’s obvious he’s made her uncomfortable. I hear the rattle of her bones when a shiver tracks up her spine.

“Halden.”

With a grin masking my dark interior, I extend my hand in offering. He foolishly wraps his hand around mine, and I break several of his fingersandtoes. His loafer-covered foot collapses under my weight as I step up to him, mimicking how he greeted Azra.

To anyone outside our inner circle, we appear to be lifelong friends. I know better. His screams are silent, but I don’t need to hear his squeals to imagine him mentally scheduling an orthopedic appointment.

The pain in his eyes is extremely telling.

When he shadows his wife out of the reception area, or should I say hobbles behind, since he can barely see through the pain rippingthrough him, Azra turns back to me with eyes sharp enough to cut through bone.

“See how you just hurt Mr. Halden? I’m going to do the same to you the instant we’re alone.”

My growl comes out throatier than it should in front of an audience. “You need to stop threatening me. It’s not having the effect you’re aiming for. I’ve been hard all fucking night.”

Banding my arm around her slim waist, I pull her back until she can’t deny how hard her anger makes me.

Azra freezes scarcely long enough for me to register, then recovers, lifting her chin. “You’re a sick fuck.”

“Yoursick fuck,” I correct.

The veins in her neck bulge as she struggles to hide her unexpected yet highly craved smile. “This isn’t a game. What you did was wrong. I have every right to hurt you,” she warns, quieter this time. “Slowlyandpainfully.”

Before I can respond, another guest approaches. This one is far more important than the ass-kissers we’ve been farewelling for the past hour.