Page 65 of Marriage of Revenge

It's a declaration of war.

And I'm the first casualty.

CHAPTER 33—ANTONIO

My bride comes wrappedin white lies and silk. I don't move, don't give her father the satisfaction of seeing me react.

But my eyes devour her - mapping every curve the dress highlights, every inch of skin I'll claim. Soon. Hard and slow, until she forgets everyone who came before.

She'll surrender willingly - that's the sweetest part of my revenge. She'll give herself to the Beast, and then she'll learn exactly what life's been like since flames remade me. I won't break her body - that's amateur hour. But her spirit? That's mine to crush.

Franco stands beside me while Naomi watches from across the aisle - witnesses to make sure every family knows. This union's carved in stone, in blood, in betrayal. Not like the joke of a marriage her father forced on my mother.

This time, the chains are permanent.

This time, I own what I claim.

This time, she'll understand what losing really means.

These jeans and shirt? Just another fuck-you to ceremony, to everything her father holds sacred. But when she reaches me, breath catching as the first notes fill the chapel, something shifts. Because that music - it's from the last dance she performed for me, before everything burned.

Her father decided on that music. Or maybe she did.

Another reminder of what we lost.

What she helped destroy.

“Tonio.” My name barely whispered on her lips is burning my skin, but all I do is glare at her—and then smile as the song switches to a piano ballad that was played at my mother’s wedding to her father.

A wedding that turned a marriage into blood.

She inches back. Only slightly. But she knows. There’s no hope of a happily ever after. Not for us. Not after what she’s done.

“Isabella,” I growl back at her. “You okay?” My tone is cold. Icy even.

And she nods.

Doesn’t she know my mother told me the words that mattered the most? Bella. Betrayal. Me.

Doesn't she realize I know? Her lies don't matter. Not anymore.

Does she think I believe her act of pain and regret and heartache about the murder she helped orchestrate?

Her father stares at me with contempt. Like I care about what he thinks.

The priest is waiting for us, clearing his throat, not uncomfortable, after all he's part of my team, of my men, of my family.

The one I had to make for myself because she destroyed everything I had. Everyone I cared about.

I lift my eyes briefly, then fix them back on her. Her damn honeysuckle scent is all over this place, clashing with the musty air of the old church. The veil she's wearing hides too much; I can't see the look in her eyes. I'm itching to. That dress – it's a damn costume, not her. It's wrapping around her like some fairytale, but it's all wrong. She's no princess, not anymore.

There's this new fire in her now, the way she's standing tall, like she's ready for a fight. Her voice, when she speaks, it's not soft or scared. She asks, "Are we starting?" like she's challenging the world, not just walking into a wedding that's supposed to change everything. I catch this slight tremble in her words, though. She's putting on a brave face, but I can tell, she's scared underneath it all.

And that moves something deep within.

"Tonio." Her whisper hits like a bullet to the chest, and I force my face into granite, into something that can't crack. But fuck if that name on her lips doesn't burn like acid under my skin. I let my smile turn cruel as the piano notes drift through the chapel - the same fucking song they played at my mother's wedding. The day she signed her own death warrant by marrying Isabella's father.

Blood wedding. Blood marriage. History repeating its bullshit cycle.

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