Page 52 of Blackmailed to the Altar

The tension in the room ranked higher, and I could see the moment Sebastian changed into Riccardo. His eyes darkened for a second, and then the man before me changed his demeanor.

The idiot who opened his mouth kept shoving his foot deeper. “I mean, a cunt is only good for one thing, right? She should be on my dick, not interrupting this business me–”

Riccardo exploded and attacked the man, fists flying. He growled out his displeasure each time his fist made a connection. It almost reminded me of a child getting their ass whooped.

“Keep. Your. Fucking. Eyes. Off. My. Wife.” Each word was emphasized with a harder punch.

The other two men were quiet, as their colleague was beaten to a pulp. But Riccardo wasn’t done. He dropped his beaten, bloody prey to the ground, and walked over to his desk while he rolled up his sleeves.

He didn’t seem to mind the blood splatter.

“Gentlemen, meet my soon-to-be wife, Dr. Mya Rivers.” Riccardo spoke to the other business consultants like they hadn’t seen him beat the shit out of their colleague, for being so rude to me. “I will reiterate, my future wife is a goddamn doctor,” he growled.

Both men spoke over the top of each other, trying to show how impressed they were.

“That’s ama–”

“Truly wonderf–”

It was hard to hear either of them over the other’s adoration.

“I am not your wife,” I mumbled.

It went quiet. I couldn’t hear anyone breathing. I think even the man on the floor was playing dead right now. Fire blazed in Riccardo’s eyes.

“I beg your pardon?” Riccardo growled, his nails digging into the desk as he glared at me.

I cleared my throat and threw my shoulders back. “I am not your wife.”

“Indeed,” Riccardo mumbled, surprising me.

He abandoned what he was doing and grabbed his phone. He dialed and held it up to his ear, never removing his gaze from mine.

“Get here yesterday,” he barked on the line.

“What are you doing?” I took a step back.

He took a menacing step toward me. “As you so elegantly pointed out, wife, we aren’t married. Yet.”

I didn’t like how he said that. I didn’t like the gleam in his fucking eye. I couldn’t read him, and I was spiraling.

“S-so?”

“I’ll rectify that.” He shrugged. “And when I’m finished, I’ll fuck you so hard, you won’t question who you belong to ever again. You’ll feel me for days.”

I shuddered. The man had a way with words, I’d give him that. But he was just Sebastian’s evil doppelganger at best. He wasn’t the original, and I couldn’t have feelings for someone who wasn’t truly real.

I mean, I won’t say that to him. It’s my own prejudice, something I’m working on. But I couldn’t help feeling that alters, while an extension of ourselves, formed after trauma in some way.

That made their reality a little shaky. But I could persevere. I always did.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Riccardo

I stared out the window of my office, the morning sun casting a harsh light on the city below. I didn’t give a damn about the view; my mind was fixed on one thing: Mya. My firecracker. The woman who occupied my every thought, whose defiance and fire only made me want to consume her more. I was done waiting, done with her constant hesitation, and her weak excuses. She was mine, and it was time the world knew it. Of all the things for my counterpart to forget. Maybe I’d been intervening too often. He had been foggy every time I allowed his consciousness back in control.

I whipped out my phone and contacted our family priest. It was too short of notice to get the Vatican, but he could marry us in a larger ceremony. “Marcello, why aren’t you at the family villa with the marriage license yet?”

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