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“For someone who doesn’t want to anger Leone, he has no issue kissing his wife,” my father mutters next to me. I swallow thickly, glancing at my father.
“I may be marrying Leone, but I don’t just belong to him,” I whisper to my father, and he stops dead in his tracks, pulling me to a stop.
“What?”
I grit my teeth when my father speaks again. “He’s pimping you out to his men?” he asks, then cringes at speaking in such a way about me.
“No, just Milo, I don’t have time to explain, but don’t say it like that. I haven’t slept with either of them, and it is not like I have a choice, is it?” I whisper.
“Leone is bisexual?” my father whispers, and I shake my head.
“No, and it’s just Milo. Apparently, Milo had a thing for me before all this; he was worried it would drive a rift between them,” I tell him as we follow the stairs to the second floor and then to the first floor.
We weave through the opulent hallways, stepping into the makeshift chapel bathed in golden afternoon light. It seems to be some conservatory that’s been done up for the occasion. The ceremony space is lavishly decorated, with an altar draped in red roses and ivory lace as the centerpiece. How Leone orchestrated all of this so quickly is beyond me—it’s just another display of his power, his reach. A few unfamiliar faces glance our way, their eyes cold and calculating, clearly Leone’s associates from his world.
“Fallon,” my father whispers as we wait for the music to start so we can begin our walk down the aisle. “I have a plan.” His grip on my arm tightens slightly.
“So do I,” I admit as I glance at him. We both keep our voices low, knowing Leone’s men are at our back. “Take Emma and flee when you can,” I reply through gritted teeth.
“I won’t leave you,” he states, his grip tightening.
“You don’t have a choice. Leone will use you against me,” I argue. “I’ll find a way to join you, but for now, you need to focus on getting out of here. I can’t escape if I know he can get his hands on you and Emma.”
My father falls quiet for a second, and the music suddenly starts, and he leads me to the aisle.
“Remember when you and Emma were kids? Where we used to live with grandma?” he asks, and I swallow. I hated that wicked old woman, yet after Mom left us when she realized she no longer wanted to be a mother to an 8-year-old girl and a sick newborn, Dad needed help. Grandma was cruel, but she was the only family we had.
I meet his gaze, memories swirling of the dilapidated old cabin hidden in the woods—the one in Bumfuckville that Dad inherited. He had tried to sell it, but you couldn’t give that place away for free. “We’ll wait for you there,” he says. “Once you get there, we’ll flee the country.”
He’s laying it all bare now, the desperation, the shred of hope. Yet, getting there to meet him will be the real challenge.
“Emma can’t leave the hospital for another three weeks. I’ll find a way to let you know when we are ready,” he murmurs.
“Good. That gives me time to plan.” I squeeze his arm slightly. “But if I’m not there within a week of you leaving, go without me. Get Emma somewhere safe.”
“Fallon, I—” My father begins, but we’ve reached the end of the aisle, and Leone’s piercing gaze roots us both to the spot.
“You will.” I offer a reassuring squeeze to his hand.
“Promise me,” I whisper; his slight nod is the only indication he agrees as he kisses my cheek and pulls away, placing my hand in Leone’s. I suck in a breath, facing the man I’m about to marry—a man I could never love.
My father sits while I stand at the altar, my hand trembling like a leaf in Leone’s. The priest’s words are a dull murmur against the pounding of my heart.
“Smile, Fallon. You don’t want your sister to worry now, do you?” Leone whispers and my eyes dart to him. I force a smile on my face.
The ceremony is a cold, hollow affair, with vows that scold my tongue. Leone squeezes my fingers hard in warning when the priest asks me to repeat after him.
“I, Fallon, take thee, Leone Presutti, to be my lawfully wedded husband...” Each promise I make—to honor, cherish, love—feels like another shackle tightening around my soul. I see the smirk playing on Leone’s lips as he vows his devotion, and I wonder if he even knows what those words mean. Does he understand that love is not something you can force or steal? No, this man only understands possession.
“Until death do us part,” we both say, and I wonder if death would be a mercy compared to a life with him.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest announces. I hesitate; the mere thought of his lips on mine is enough to send my heart racing.
But Leone doesn’t wait. His hands are firm on my waist as he yanks me close, his kiss an iron brand that sears through my defenses as he forces his tongue into my mouth.
There’s no joyous celebration after the wedding, just a murky gathering of Leone’s associates—monsters masquerading as men. He parades me around like a trophy, his grip on my arm shy of bruising. I play the part, my smile painted and brittle, while inside, I’m screaming. My father had to leave right after the wedding to return to Emma, which is one slight relief. I don’t need my father to draw more attention to himself or see me like this.
Seeing a servant move toward me, I stop the man and grab another glass of wine, catching a glare from Leone. I drink the entire wine glass in three mouthfuls and set it back on the tray, grabbing another. Leone waves him off, and I sip from this glass when he leans into me slightly.
