Page 82 of A Fine Line

She laughs as she packs up her stuff. “Clean or not, you’re a beautiful canvas. Your groom is going to be breathless when he sees you.”

My smile falls from my lips at her words, sadness blanketing me as my breath catches in my throat. My groom. My fucking groom.

“Are you all right, Carolina?”

Amalia’s question startles me out of my racing thoughts, and I nod, pasting the smile back on my face as I reply, “Yes. I’m fine. I’m ready.”

She studies my face with a furrowed brow but then nods. “They’re waiting for you. Out the door and to the left, and you’ll come to the aisle you’re looking for.”

I swallow the lump in my throat as I open the door and walk out into the hallway. I turn to the left and slowly make my way toward the narthex of the congregation, intentionally dragging my feet even more when I spot a man standing at the altar with his back to me.

He seems familiar from this angle, and the closer I get, the more curious I become, my heart doing the occasional pitter-patter in my chest.

He appears to be dressed in an off-the-rack suit that isn’t quite ill-fitting but also obviously not tailored—almost like someone purchased it in a hurry. I find this odd, considering if I’m going to be entering into a union with someone who has the power and balls to protect me and Flora, they would likely dress the part.

I stop a few feet away from him, clear my throat, and choke out, “Hello?”

The man spins, and my breath catches, anger building up inside me as the realization hits, and my mouth falls open in shock. My heart pounds in my chest, exhilaration, and happiness bursting inside me as I begin my walk down the aisle, my eyes focused on the figure waiting for me at the end.

But then, the figure turns, and I catch sight of his profile, and my steps falter, but it’s too late. I’ve already been spotted, and he turns to me fully, glowering at me. I swallow, painfully recognizing my error too late, so I straighten my spine and continue forward to what appears to be my future.

Chapter Thirty

Tony

Bythetimeweland in Italy, we’re quite a few hours behind Carolina. We made up some time when they decided to land in a more obscure area, and somehow, Matt managed to secure us landing much closer to Rome. Our transportation is waiting for us right on the tarmac, but that doesn’t save us from the traffic and Italian drivers.

We’re slowly closing in on Carolina’s location when one of Matt’s many devices ping, and he pulls one out, looks at it, and then frowns and mutters, “What in the fuck?”

We all look at him, and I ask, “What?”

He gives me a resigned look and replies, “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I got a ping on Carolina’s name for a marriage license dated five days ago.”

My blood runs cold, and my heart jackhammers in my chest. “And who the fuck is she marrying?”

Matt gives me an incredulous look and replies, “I think the bigger question here is, how is there a marriage license backdated five days? She wasn’t even fucking here.”

“Tell me who the fuck it is,” I snarl, making a grab for his phone, which he quickly pulls out of my reach. “I swear to fucking Christ, Matt. If you don’t tell me who the fuck it is right now, I’m gonna come over there and chew your throat out.”

I look at Matt expectantly, and finally, he says, “I don’t know who it is, Tony. It doesn’t say. I’ll get someone working on it, but we’re probably gonna find out with our own eyes before we get the information back electronically.”

“How are we gonna do that?” Dare asks.

Matt holds out his phone that’s now showing a clear map. “She’s at a church. And I can’t imagine she’s going to confession.”

Now, my stomach drops right out of my fucking body. “I swear on everything holy, whoever he is, he’s a dead man. She’s gonna be a widow twice.”

I’m sweating, a little nauseated, and completely at a loss of what I’m supposed to do to fix this. Whatever the fuck ‘this’ is supposed to be. I throw my hands up in disgust. “Are there any guns in this fucking car?”

“This may not be the place for guns, Tony. You’ll probably have to old-school it.”

“You better be fucking kidding me,” I snarl.

He laughs, then looks at the driver and asks, “You got a gun?”

The driver says nothing but points to the glove box, which Matt opens, pulling out a small handgun. Taking it by the barrel, he hands it back to me, and I happily take it as Matt says, “Don’t wave the fucking thing around, Tony. We’re not in America, all right?”

I check that it’s loaded and operational, then flip the safety on and put it in the inside pocket of my jacket. We’re less than a kilometer from her, but we’re moving so slowly it’s gonna take days to get there, so when the vehicle stops again due to traffic, I say, “Fuck this shit,” and open the door and step out onto the street.

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