Page 23 of Silent Vows

“I’m not afraid of the dark, Matteo.” Her eyes meet mine, challenging despite our intimate position. The gold flecks in her hazel irises seem to glow in the chandelier light. “I paint with it, remember?”

A new song begins, and Carmine appears at my elbow, wrapped in the scent of expensive cologne and ambition. “May I cut in?” His smile doesn’t reach his cold eyes as he holds his hand out to his niece.

Every instinct screams at me not to release her. But this is part of the dance—the political minuet we must perform. I surrender my bride with obvious reluctance, my eyes tracking them as Carmine leads her away. Her back is straight, her movements graceful, but I see the tension in her shoulders.

I make my way to the bar, needing scotch to maintain my composure. Watching another man’s hands on her, even her uncle’s, sets my teeth on edge. The possessiveness surprises me with its intensity—I’ve never been a jealous man, but something about Bella brings out the primitive in me.

“Beautiful ceremony,” Johnny Calabrese’s voice comes from behind me, dripping with false sincerity. “She looks so much likeSophia did on our wedding day. Oh wait…” He smirks. “That was your wedding day.”

I turn slowly, letting him see exactly how close to death he’s dancing. “Careful, Johnny.”

“Tell me, does she know?” His voice drops to a whisper, though his dark, soulless eyes glitter with malice. “About how Sophia came to me first? About how you?—”

“Mr. DeLuca?” Antonio appears at my elbow, a guardian angel in a Zegna suit. “Your wife is asking for you.”

The word “wife” pulls at something in my chest. I force myself to walk away from Johnny, though every fiber of my being wants to end him right here, splatter his blood across the elegant parquet floor.

I find Bella surrounded by chattering society wives, their designer dresses and surgical enhancements a sharp contrast to her natural beauty. Her throat works as she swallows repeatedly—a tell I’m learning means she’s suppressing anger. Her smile remains perfect, but her knuckles are white around her champagne flute.

“Dance with me,” I say, not caring that I’m interrupting their conversation. Relief flashes in her eyes as she takes my hand, letting me lead her back to the dance floor.

“Thank you,” she breathes, melting against me more naturally than she has all day. “If I had to hear one more story about their sons who would have been much more suitable…”

“You’re mine now,” I remind her, pulling her closer. The possessiveness in my voice surprises even me, but I can’t help it. Not with Johnny’s threats still ringing in my ears, not with the way she feels in my arms. “No one else’s opinion matters.”

She looks up at me through dark lashes, and the mix of defiance and desire in her eyes makes my blood heat. “Yours barely matters.”

I chuckle despite myself, sliding my hand lower on her back. “Still defiant, even as my wife?”

“Especiallyas your wife.” But there’s heat in her voice that wasn’t there before, and when my fingers trace her spine through the lace of her dress, she shivers. The reaction shoots straight to my groin, making me want to forget this whole reception and take her somewhere private.

The moment shatters at the sound of breaking glass. We turn to see Bianca, face flushed from too much champagne, squaring off with Elena near the fountain. My daughter sways slightly in her bridesmaid dress, all teenage fury and inherited stubbornness. In the background, I see Johnny watching the interaction with interest.

“Tell them!” Bianca shouts, her voice carrying across the ballroom. Heads turn, conversations halt, and I feel Bella tense beside me. “Tell them what kind of man they’re celebrating! Tell them what he did to?—”

I’m there in an instant, my grip firm but controlled on my daughter’s arm. “Enough,” I growl, steering her toward the exit. Every eye in the ballroom watches us, and I can practically hear the whispers starting.

“Let me go!” She struggles against me, tears streaking her perfect makeup. “She deserves to know! Bella! Ask him about the video! Ask him what he?—”

Two of my security team materialize, escorting her swiftly and discreetly from the ballroom. But the damage is done. Whispers ripple through the crowd like wind through dry leaves. I catch fragments of speculation, see the calculating looks being exchanged.

When I return to Bella’s side, her society smile is firmly in place, but her eyes are arctic. “Video?” she asks under her breath as we pose for photographs. The camera flashes highlight the tension in her jaw. “What video, Matteo?”

“Not here,” I murmur, pressing my lips to her temple in what appears to be a loving gesture. The scent of jasmine fills my nose, making it hard to focus on anything but how badly I want her.

“Then when?” Her voice is steel wrapped in silk. “Because I’m starting to think tonight’s revelations will be more interesting than either of us anticipated.”

I turn her to face me, uncaring of the photographers or our watching guests. In this moment, I see everything I could lose—not just my new wife, but any chance of her ever trusting me. The secrets I’ve kept, the truths I’ve hidden…they could destroy whatever is building between us.

“Do you trust me, Bella?”

“No,” she answers honestly, and the bluntness of it surprises a laugh out of me. Her lips quirk slightly. “But I’m beginning to think I might want to.”

The admission hits me harder than her defiance ever could. Because I’m about to destroy any chance of that trust taking root. Unless…

“Change of plans,” I say suddenly, decisively. “We’re leaving now.”

“What? We can’t—the reception—” Her eyes widen as she sputters, looking more natural than she has all day.

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