Page 22 of Gilded Saint

My nerves are haywire over the unknown. If growing up in the Lupi Grigifamigliahas taught me anything, it’s that in every negotiation, each party gains. Otherwise, it’s a poor deal.Pessimoaffare. Not to be trusted. He gets nothing from our arrangement.

The twinkling of piano keys breaks through the quiet, my legs tremble, and light-headedness forces me to lean on my father.

My heart thumps so hard my ribs vibrate and light perspiration coats my skin. I risk a glance at Papa, wondering if he can hear my heart thundering. Does he care?

“Tesoro mio, are you ready?”

No.

My feet are lead, rooted to the spot. I should’ve asked more questions last night. I shouldn’t have done this. My father shouldn’t have put me in this position. He should have stood up to thefamigliaand said his daughter would not be forced to marry, tradition be damned.

My papa’s palm smothers the back of my hand, and I’m tugged forward. A fog blankets me as I am handed off to an American I barely know, and the nuptial mass begins. Words spoken by a priest I’ve known my whole life echo against the ancient walls. Father Francisco never asked if I wanted this. He never inquired if I’m prepared to take on this commitment because he knows I have no choice. He understands our world. This is my destiny.

Scarlet stands to my back, holding my flowers. There is no train, but the gown Mamma chose skims the floor and Scarlet adjusted it with the care one would give to a lengthy train. If I need her, Scarlet will help me.

“Do you promise to be faithful, in good times and bad, in sickness and in health, to love and to honor him, all the days of your life?”

This is what the priest asks me. My throat closes, and my tongue thickens in my dry mouth.

Pressure on my hands calms my erratic heartbeat, and I lift my gaze to soothing, golden, deep-set brown eyes. Kindness. That’s what I see. A gentle kindness beneath a fierce, predatory exterior.

“I do.” Because this is my best option. I have no choice.

He hears my unspoken words.

As we stand before the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, I don’t comprehend my groom’s unspoken words. He has a choice. By virtue of being a member of the syndicate, he already possesses connections to Titan Shipping. Why is he helping me? Why is he being kind? What does he want?

“Are you tired?”

He’s being nice, or at least his tone sounds amiable, but I can’t bear to look at the man I married, so I keep my gaze focused on the passing scenery. “Where are we going?”

We’re in the back of a limousine, and the dress digs into my hips and itches.

The car turned onto theautostradaa while ago, leaving my town and life behind.

“Rome. Flying home tomorrow.”

“Your best man, what was his name?”

“Nick.”

“He refused my father’s limousine. Nick had him move my luggage into the car he provided. Why? Does he not trust my father?”

The man I am contractually bound to glances away from his phone. From what I glimpsed, he’s reading a news article. “Honestly, I’m not sure what that was about. The next time I speak to Nick, I’ll ask him. It might’ve been his insistence that he perform his best man duties, or there might’ve been something more to it.”

His eyes narrow and he pushes a button that raises a felt divider between us and the uniformed driver. I had assumed the driver could hear anything we said, but perhaps that’s not how the syndicate operates. My father trusts the men in the family. Growing up, it was assumed he trusted anyone, man or woman, he employed.

After the divider meets the ceiling, sealing us in privacy, Leo adds, “This car features bulletproof glass. That might have been a reason he insisted we take it. We’ve got several hours’ drive in front of us. If you want to get some sleep, you’re safe.”

“Why wouldn’t I be safe?”

He lifts a glass water bottle and twists the top off. A chilled champagne bottle, crystal champagne flutes, chocolate-covered strawberries, and an assortment of petite sandwiches are set out on a small table with a recessed center, presumably to prevent the items from sliding. The champagne holder is built into the table.

“Were you surprised when your father rushed your ceremony and held it without others in attendance, on a weekend when all those who matter in the Lupi Grigi were in town?”

“We didn’t want to take away from Carlos and Maria’s engagement weekend.”

The censure in his expression tells me he expects more of me. Reality hits in a flash, like a lightning strike.

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