Page 146 of The Devil Can Be Kind

He just laughed and held me tighter, supporting some of my weight and relieving the pressure off my toes.

While I enjoyed having a moment alone with my new husband after the craziness of the day, I was still relieved when the dance was over and I was no longer at the center of a ballroom packed full of people.

We went around greeting guests together for a while and afterwards I sat with Eliyana and Marco’s aunt Catarina. They were both a little louder than usual, having commenced their celebrations earlier than the other guests.

Apparently, the canapés, a four-course meal, and a slice of wedding cake had done little to slow down their alcohol-induced buzz and my anxiety was diminishing rapidly in their amusingcompany. We danced, talked about Marco’s childhood, and joked about the various men of the family.

I slowly sipped at my second glass of water for the night. My nerves had been all over the place for most of the week and my stomach had been tempestuous at best all day. Making alcohol a bad mix, and eating food certainly hadn’t helped.

I glanced up from the table and looked around the room, my eyes searching for Marco’s familiar dark features amongst the crowd. It had been some time since I saw him last.

It was only then that it hit me that something was wrong.

Very wrong.

The numerous security personnel that had lined the entirety of the room for the evening were gone. Only four remained now and they were gathered by the main doors, frowns etched into their faces as they hunched in muted discussion. The older men of the family, including Benny and Marco’s Uncle Leonardo were stood off to one side and engaged in tense, albeit heated, discussions.

The tension in the air had escaped the attention of most of the lessinvolvedguests in attendance or those who were too intoxicated to notice…but it was obvious for anyone who dared enough to look.

Panic started to latch itself onto my chest and I rose from my seat, looking about the room for Marco.

He’s not here.

Nor was Jesse, Alonso, Tom or any of the others.

Before I knew it, I was half-way across the room.

“Benny! What is going on?” I questioned, approaching the man whose shoulders were taut as another man spoke with him.

He looked warily from the unfamiliar man to me, but he didn’t say anything, his mouth settling in a grim line almost as if contemplating how much to say.

“Tell me, now! Where is Marco?” I demanded, fear and panic leaking into my voice.

The older man let out a short sigh, “There has been a…confrontationat the gate. It is being dealt with as we speak.”

Confrontation.

Fear dripped down my spine.

I immediately knew that my family were not behind it.

My family were not callous enough or naive enough to attack on Sicilian soil. The heart of the La Torre family dynasty. My father was a proud man that hated being outsmarted, but he wouldn’t have sent his people into a slaughter.

No.

This attack did not sit within the constraints of reason and certainly wasn’t the product of exceptional, unrivalled power. This attack was reactive and crude in design. A product of hatred or some other emotion that questioned the boundaries of sanity… and could only mean one thing.

He’s here.

A whisper of panic shuddered violently through me.

Flashes of Marco and Ricardo standing opposite one another with weapons drawn had me instantly racing toward the grand double doors, heavily guarded by unfamiliar men. One of the burlier ones intercepted me as I approached, holding up a hand in front of him placatingly, while the other rested on his gun.

“No one is to leave this room, Ma’am. It isn’t safe,” The six-foot-something Italian man said as I slowed, switching over to English.

“My Husband is out there. Let me out. NOW!” I ordered, making a move to go past him.

In truth, I didn’t know whether Marco’s men would listen to an order from his new wife, but fear was making me desperate.

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