Page 54 of His to Honor

Livvy makes a gagging sound. “On that disgusting note, I’m out of here.”

She shoots me another anxious glance before slipping out of the room, leaving me alone with her intimidating cousin.

“You should be nicer to her,” I tell Lorenzo.

“When was I not nice?” He sounds affronted as if he really doesn’t know he shouldn’t tease her over Piotr Reznov. The Russian’s interest in Livvy is obviously unsettling her.

“You tease her. You all do.”

“So?”

“So you should protect her. She’s the baby of the family.”

“Si,” Lorenzo agrees. “My family.”

Message received. “I’ll keep my opinions to myself, then.”

“That would be best.” Lorenzo cocks his head to the side as he studies me. “Are you really so unhappy about marrying Matteo?”

I sigh heavily. “It’s not marrying him I object to, it’s the way he’s gone about things. If we dated for six months and then he got down on one knee I’d be ecstatic, but he’s acted like every other arrogant mafia brute out there.”

Lorenzo nods thoughtfully. “As an arrogant mafia brute myself, I can assure you he’s doing what any of us would to keep our woman safe.”

“Keep me safe from what? I don’t understand why he thinks there’s a threat.”

Lorenzo rubs his chin and purses his lips as if trying to decide what to tell me. “The man who spoke to you at Damiano’s club was also seen in the woods by the house. We think he was watching you.”

“Why?”

“We don’t know what his motivations are yet. He may be one of the last remaining Rossis or some associate of the Montalbano family who blames us for that girl’s death.”

“So why not let me go? Nobody has a reason to target me if I’m not with Matteo. I’d be safer in New York.”

“That’s not for me to say.” Lorenzo’s jaw clenches. I guess his patience with trying to appeal to me has already run out. He holds his arm out for me. “Come, Giulia. We’ve wasted enough time.”

There’s an edge to his tone that tells me not to argue. Threading my arm through his, I allow him to lead me out of the little room where I got dressed and into the chapel. There’s no music to accompany our walk down the aisle and I can’t help but think I’d have liked something soothing like Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major. I must have heard it at a hundred weddings, but it’s a classic choice for a reason.

Each step Lorenzo and I take seems to echo in the almost empty space. Apart from the Volante cousins and Piotr Reznov, there are a handful of men, some mafia and others Bratva, I’d guess. I don’t recognize any of them. Their presence brings my sense of loneliness to the fore. Nobody is here for me. Even though I’m sure he’d make me go through with this farce of a wedding, I want my dad by my side.

We reach the altar quickly and Lorenzo releases me. I glance sideways at Matteo. Wearing a black three-piece suit and tie, he’s devastatingly handsome, but his expression is grim. I’m not sure he wants to do this any more than I do. He takes my hand and tugs me around to face him. Then he leans in close so onlyI can hear him. I’m longing for words of reassurance, something to show his apparent change in personality is only temporary. Instead, what he utters is like a slap in the face.

“Behave in front of my family or there will be severe consequences.”

The priest clears his throat and Matteo backs off a little. He keeps hold of my hand. The man officiating over this sham is surprisingly young. He looks to be in his early thirties. His nose is crooked, like it’s been broken, but his eyes radiate warmth. When he speaks, it’s in Italian. Unable to understand a word, I furrow my brow.

“Inglese,” Matteo snaps. “Asshole.”

A shocked gasp escapes me. “Matteo!”

I would never speak to a priest that way, Matteo glowers at me like I’m out of line. I don’t know why he’s so pissed. He put us in this situation.

The priest doesn’t bother with a sermon on the benefits of holy matrimony, skipping straight to the vows instead. I wonder if he was told to make this brief or if he’s just adept at reading the room. Not that it would be hard to interpret Matteo’s scowl and clenched fist as signs of impatience.

It takes less than three minutes before it’s my turn to say “I do.” Matteo squeezes my hand in warning as I hesitate so I utter the words and he slips a simple gold band onto my ring finger.

The priest pronounces us husband and wife, and I brace myself for a punishing kiss. It doesn’t come. Matteo merely brushes his lips against mine as if he can’t be bothered to kiss me and drags me to a table behind the altar to sign the paperwork. Thewhole thing is over so quickly it hardly seems worthwhile to have gotten all dressed up.

“It’s done.” Matteo has the temerity to sound angry. “You’re mine now.”

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