Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Are you flattering me?” I mutter.
“Is it working?”
I note the heat in my chest and the way I’m oddly pleased he wants to keep me as a wild card. “Yes.”
A swift curling of his lips tells me he’s pleased before he turns away again.
I do what he says and casually slide my gun back into the holster. I like the familiar cold heft of it against my naked skin.
Ten minutes later, his men have given the all clear, and Romeo’s guard have indeed ferreted out the men near the shoreline. Ironically, the Rossi crowd manages to get local authorities involved and returns to the ceremony in record time. By the time they do, staff is pouring out glasses of wine in disposable stemware, as if we’re starting the reception early.
Don’t mind if I do. I take a glass of champagne in each hand.
Salvatore clears his throat. “Let’s have a wedding.” I down both glasses of wine and hand them to a nearby server.
My feet feel wobbly, my head a bit fuzzy, as I take my place at the altar with him. It passes in a blur, a jumble of prayers and well wishes and vows I’ve heard before. I say my part and he says his, though I stumble a bit over the love, honor, and obey part. Whereas modern weddings have struck the archaic language from their vows, my family and his still maintain them as a necessity.
I won’t love him. It’s silly to even take that vow. And that promise to honor and obey, which I knew was coming thanks to witnessing my sister and brothers’ weddings, is a huge pill to swallow.
The crowd erupts into cheers when Salvatore takes my hand and makes a fist, raising our joined hands like a victorious boxer. Romeo kisses my cheek, then walks away. Seeing his retreat pings my heart, as if he’s turning me away from the Rossi family.
I stare at the crowd in front of us. I look to see the rest of my family, but only Romeo has come, for reasons I don’t understand. Maybe it was less risky.
I look at the faces of his family and guests. I don’t know them, but I already know they aren’t my family. They aren’t the Rossis.
No one is.
I hear a startling chuf chuf in the air above us and quickly look up. Everyone does, as a helicopter circles above us. When I look at Salvatore, however, he’s not surprised. He only takes me by the elbow and walks away from the crowd.
“Uh. What’s up with that?” I ask him. “News footage? Someone getting a ride somewhere?”
“Changed my mind on the honeymoon,” he mutters, as his mother rises from her seat and marches over in front of us to block our way. Her pale skin seems paler than ever, though bright splotches of red unnaturally dot her cheeks. Girlfriend needs a makeup artist.
“You can’t mean this, Salvatore,” she says in a tone that implies he will not.
But I just watched this man command several hundred people to sit, and I just watched several hundred people obey him like well-trained dogs. I believe whatever it is he wants to do, he can, and he will.
Honeymoon. He said honeymoon. He wants us away from the crowd. My cheeks flush pink when I think of the implications…
“I’ve about had it with the can’ts and shouldn’ts,” he mutters. “My wife and I are taking a short honeymoon. The location will be closely guarded and we’ll return in a week. You will not hinder us. No one will.” He looks over at me. “You look pouty, Marialena.”
“I wanted that cake,” I say with a frown. “It’s chocolate. And those finger sandwiches are my favorite.”
When I see the note of disgust on his mother’s face, I put a little whine behind my complaint. “They had little wedges of cheesecake, Salvatore. Mini appetizers and those twice-baked potatoes slathered in butter and cheese. Mmmm.” My stomach actually growls. “And did I see chicken alfredo? Crusty bread with whipped butter? Tiramisu?” I sigh.
His mother doesn’t even try to hide her disapproval. Fine with me. I’ll eat her food, too.
“Fill up a plate of food for my wife,” Salvatore orders someone to our right. “Everything. A generous amount.”
My wife. The very words terrify me.
“Wait, what about you?” I ask.
“There’s plenty of good food where I’m bringing you.”
“We’re leaving now? I haven’t packed yet!”
“It’s been done already.”
Of course it has. He’s planned this all out.
“Why did you change your mind on the honeymoon?” I ask.
His mother cocks a brow at him and crosses her arms over her chest. “Why, indeed?”
“On second thought, don’t answer,” I say when I think about his possible response. He only clenches his jaw and holds me closer to him, marching me toward the waiting helicopter.
Cheers erupt around us. A tight circle of guards waits for us as we climb aboard. I feel a bit shell-shocked and bewildered as I look out at the mass of nameless faces before us. In the distance, the flash of red and white indicates police are dealing with the brawl on the shore, as if they couldn’t care less that Tampa’s most wanted are wining and dining only yards away from them.