Page 66 of Marriage of Revenge

Isabella takes a tiny step back, like some scared little bird finally realizing it's in a cage. Good. Let her know there's no fairy tale ending here. Not after what she did. Not after my mother's blood-stained marble floors.

Not after seeing her body look like a broken doll, bloodied up and sad.

"Isabella," I growl, the name tasting bitter on my tongue. "You okay?" I make my voice arctic, the kind of cold that freezes everything it touches. Makes her shiver in that ridiculous white dress.

She nods like a puppet on strings. Stupid girl still doesn't get it. My mother's last words weren't some sweet fucking goodbye - they were a confession.

Bella. Betrayal. Me. Three words that changed everything.

Her father's glaring daggers at me from the front row. Like his contempt means shit to me anymore. The priest clears his throat. Getting impatient.

I glance up briefly before my eyes lock back on her. That damn honeysuckle scent of hers floods the musty chapel air, making my head swim. Can't see her eyes properly through that veil - another thing pissing me off. The wedding dress hangs on her like costume armor, trying to sell some princess fantasy. But she lost the right to play that role the day she chose her father over my mother.

There's something different about her though - a steel in her spine I don't remember from before. When she asks "Are we starting?" her voice carries a challenge, like she's ready to throw down right here at the altar.

But I catch that little tremor underneath. She's terrified behind all that bravado.

And fuck me if that slight shake in her voice doesn't stir something in my chest I thought I'd burned away years ago.

Her father's perched in the front row like some smug king on his throne, almost cracking a smile at her words. Like he's finally seeing something in his perfect little ballerina that makes him proud. I shoot him a smile over Isabella's head - all teeth, no warmth - and he nods back. That nod hits me wrong, carries weight I can't decode. Makes something twist in my gut like a knife being turned.

"Make it the short version," I cut off the priest's droning about unity and souls and all that bullshit. My eyes stay locked on her father's face, reading every micro-expression. He's too calm. Toosatisfied. Makes my skin crawl, because in our world, that kind of calm usually means blood's about to spill.

Then Isabella lifts her veil and fuck if my heart doesn't stutter. I thought I was forged in steel, hardened by years of hate, but seeing her face... Christ. She's not just beautiful - she's fucking devastating. The kind of stunning that makes you forget how to breathe. How to think. Makes you want to believe lies so you can forget she's the reason your mother's dead.

She licks her lips - nervous tell I remember from years ago - and something primal in me wants to trace that path with my tongue. The priest's still talking but all I can think about is whether she'll actually go through with this. Part of me, the part that's been burning in hell since my mother died, expects her to bolt. To prove once again that Isabella Moretti only looks out for herself.

But when her eyes meet mine, there's resolve.

"I do," she whispers, and for one stupid second, I let myself imagine another world. One where she didn't betray us. Where my mother's watching this with that knowing smile of hers, instead of lying cold in the ground because of the woman I'm about to make my wife.

When the priest turns to me, repeating words that don’t mean shit, I force another smile. One that should scare her.

"I do." The words tear from my throat like gravel, like violence. Like promise.

The priest's barely finished declaring us man and wife before I'm on her. My hands find her waist, fingers digging into silk and flesh, yanking her against me. This isn't some sweet wedding kiss - this is claiming. Marking. My mouth crashes into hers with enough force to bruise, tongue demanding entry, teeth scraping her bottom lip. Let them all watch. Let them see who she belongs to now.

Fuck. She melts into me like honeyed sin, like she's been waiting for this. Her little gasp of surprise turns into a moan that shoots straight to my cock. Those delicate fingers of hers - the ones that used to dance across stage - clutch my shirt like she's drowning, like she needs this as badly as I do. She's fighting it, fighting me, but her body knows better. Knows she's mine.

She takes this shuddering breath that makes me want to devour her right here, church be damned. Her silk-soft hair brushes my face, carrying that damn honeysuckle scent that makes me want to bury my face in her neck and just breathe her in.

Christ. I need to stay focused. But with her lips parting under mine, her body trembling against me... This isn't just possession anymore. This is dangerous.

Gunshots crack through the air like thunder, ripping us out of that kiss and straight into hell. Isabella's whole body goes rigid against mine, her fingers digging into my arm hard enough to leave marks. The fear in her eyes is raw, unfiltered - none of that carefully constructed grace she usually wears like armor. For a split second, my body moves on pure instinct, wanting to shield her before my brain catches up with what my heart's doing.

Through the chaos, I spot him - Naomi's father. Fuck. The man I once trusted, who my mother trusted, is storming down the aisle like vengeance incarnate. The air crackles with the kind of tension that usually ends in blood.

"Dad!" Naomi's terrified scream cuts through the mayhem like a blade.

"Wait, Naomi!" Isabella's voice carries that mix of fear and fierce protection that threatens to stir something in my chest. She's reaching for her friend, trying to keep her from rushing into crossfire, and shit - there's that protective instinct of hers I used to admire before everything burned.

Then time freezes.

Naomi's father whips around, and suddenly I'm staring down the barrel of his gun. Our eyes lock, and the cold calculation in his gaze tells me everything I need to know. This isn't some desperate father trying to save his daughter. This is an executioner who's been waiting for his moment.

The realization hits like a punch to the gut - we're not his allies.

We're his fucking targets.

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