Page 19 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
I snap the cylinder closed and move over to a person-shaped bull’s-eye beside the circular one. This time, when I fire, I hit the pretend figure right in the head and fantasize that it’s Giulia Wolfe.
“You’re good at this,” Grey muses, grabbing a gun from another one of the ridiculous mafia goons and taking a few shots of his own. I notice that he’s given a full cylinder. Interesting. So I’m the bigger threat here? Not bad for some backwoods biker bitch, am I right?
“I’m a club daughter,” I say with a snort, opening the cylinder yet again and waiting for another round to be placed in it. “I got my first gun when I was six.” I nail the next shot and then sigh. It’s just not as fun this way. And I have a feeling that Grey is the only one who’s impressed by my shooting. Ivan’s just checking to see where I’m at, if I’m willing to lie about my skills for a chance at escape. If I were to act as if I didn’t know what I was doing, things wouldn’t go well for me.
The Grey Wolfe Mafia will never trust me, no matter how well I toe the line, but I need them to believe that I’ve been cornered and chained, that I’m an animal who’s smart enough to wait for the hunter to free them from the trap and put them in the cage … rather than one who’d chew its own leg off to escape.
“The wedding is next week,” Grey reminds me, and I glance over to see him with the gun pointing at the target, but his eyes on me. “Are you going to behave?”
He fires off several shots. I wait until he’s done to put my bullet right in the center of his, and he frowns.
“What choice do I have, Grey?” I query, tossing the gun to one of the goons and heading inside to try on my dress.
It’s a day that many girls fantasize about.
It’ll be the start to a new nightmare for me.
Typical.
I’d have rather married one of my father’s dickhead officers.
I hate how much that sentiment appeals to me.
I don’t see much of the Don in the weeks leading up to the wedding, but I’m inundated with Giulia’s presence. She brings me white lingerie and makes me try it on for her under the pretense of selecting the very best for her only surviving son. In reality, I’m certain it’s an exercise in humility for me. A humbling, if you will.
“Those scars …” Giulia tsks, looking at my rippled and ruined legs. “You’re lucky Grey is a man of heart. This body …” She sighs again, walking a circle around me while I stand there in a white teddy and stripper heels.
In order to control my temper, I’ve sent a good portion of my psyche into the clouds. I’m experiencing a level of depersonalization disorder that’s never happened to me before, like my body isn’t really mine, like I’m not really here at all. I’m just an observer, watching it all from on high. Or down below, drenched in hellfire. That seems more appropriate.
“I’m hotter than you’ve ever been—scars and all,” I murmur, but Giulia just laughs at me, snapping her fingers to call her servant girls forward. In their hands, they have the dress.
It’s a hideous, gaudy thing, but undeniably expensive. That, and it weighs about a million pounds. I’ve worn it a handful of times during fittings, but tomorrow, I’ll be wearing it for real.
Walking down an aisle.
Getting married.
As far as grooms go, there are worse ones. Grey is a good man, and every day that I get to know him better, I know that I made the right choice in saving his life.
That being said, I’m not happy about any of this.
The servants slip the dress over my head, adjusting the long sleeves, rearranging the train, and draping the lace veil over my face. Giulia makes a few tweaks here and there, selecting several pairs of shoes that are slipped onto my feet, examined, and then rejected. I’m draped with diamonds, primped and prettied up for the mafia to gawk at like a sideshow freak.
“This will have to do,” Giulia muses with a sigh, studying me with a distasteful expression on her hideous face. The more I look at her, the more I think she looks like a witch, one with a candy cottage who bakes and eats babies. Fuck you, you stupid bitch. I’m going to rip you apart, first chance I get. If I have to marry your son and play mafia wife just to get a chance to kill you, then you best bet your fake tits, that’s what I’m going to do. “Can’t put lipstick on a pig.” She turns back to her servants and gestures for them to undo all the work they’ve just done, removing the dress, the jewels. When they go to take the lingerie, I slap their hands away and give a little curl of my lip. “Gidget, don’t be a beast.”
