Page 35 of Devil's Bride

“I wanted to check on you. That’s my right.”

I laughed and hugged her. “Where’s our brother? The priest is about ready to say a few words.”

“Marco isn’t interested in sitting with us. Why is he so angry?” Bella asked.

How could I explain the situation to a thirteen-year-old girl so that the details of what our life had been turned into wouldn’t terrify her? “We all handle grief differently. He’s suffering in silence, but after a few days, I’m certain he’ll be back to his old self.”

I hoped so. He’d purposely avoided me for the last two days, refusing to hear anything or give me his okay on the funeral arrangements. I’d wanted to get it over with quickly and that sounded selfish, but I’d received a few threats, something I’d kept from both Bella and Marco.

After torching the warehouse, I’d anticipated Jago coming out swinging, but he hadn’t so much as called me. That made me more nervous than if he was also issuing the vile threats.

Sadly, neither Antonio nor Emiliano had determined who they were coming from and had assured me they were likely from cranks who just wanted me rattled.

Well, it had worked. I was so far on edge I’d started keeping a gun with me at all times. That just wasn’t about living. I wasn’t certain how much longer I could keep up a strong front. At least I hadn’t been forced to deal with any other act of betrayal with the soldiers. However, I knew it was only a matter of time until something else occurred requiring me to act like a brutal drug lord.

That just wasn’t me even if it was in my DNA.

“Oh, great,” she huffed. “He’s surly most of the time.” We shared a little laugh as the priest moved toward the podium.

There was nothing worse than seeing so many people dressed in various shades of dark charcoal or black, myself included. The color was just another terrible reminder that this was final. That Papa wasn’t coming home.

At least it was a beautiful day, warm enough my shivering had been kept to a minimum. I tried to sit back, but as soon as the priest started to speak, I had a feeling I was being watched. Not just from the onlookers who were pretending to care about our loss while doing little more than sizing up the competition.

I slowly turned my head, tilting it over my shoulder so I could take a better look at the tree-lined knoll that backed up to the area where my mother was also buried. There were at least two hundred people here, very few I recognized, some simply because I knew them from social media posts or news online.

There was no telling how many people would be strolling through my house. Right now, I needed donuts. I bit back a laugh. The silly little thought kept me grounded.

And not screaming like some banshee.

Maybe my feelings were based on my nervousness on how to move forward. There weren’t any easy answers and the danger remained high. The estate felt more like a fortress than anything. I wanted to go shopping or to catch up with old friends and see a movie or go grab a drink, but that had been discouraged.

I’d never felt more like a prisoner than I had the last few days.

I tried to concentrate on what the priest was saying, but it was so difficult. My emotions were all over the place and if I allowedmyself to remember the horrible night or even wonderful memories with my papa, I’d burst into tears. The last place I wanted to show any sign of weakness was here at this moment.

The priest continued his sermon and every minute or so, my skin prickled. I scanned the area again, taking more time to search the surroundings. I noticed Marco, who was standing with two of the hitmen. His face was somber and he refused to allow me to catch his eyes. He looked so angry.

I wanted to shout at him that I was too. I was pissed at having our father taken from us, but that wouldn’t do any good or mend our relationship. We were both broken. Just as I was about to sit back again, I noticed someone walking and instantly the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

Jago.

He found a spot under a large cypress tree. Dressed in a dark suit, he appeared more handsome than before. My thoughts rushed to the half an hour spent in his home, hating that I could still remember how his touch had seared my skin.

Or that his kisses had left me hungering for more.

In his hands was a bouquet of flowers. I hoped they had thorns because I’d use them to scratch out his eyes.

Wouldn’t that bode well for diplomacy within the group?

He was flanked by one of his goons, the man scanning the area as all good soldiers should do.

At that moment he turned and almost instantly locked eyes with mine. I was torn from the combination of desire and fury but refused to look away. Everything else faded away at that moment. There was no sound, no focus on anyone standingaround the small group and the light breeze no longer even tickled my skin.

The fury erupted into rage, which drowned out the ridiculous sense of longing. The man was a murderer. Even if he hadn’t been lying and had had nothing to do with my father’s murder, he was determined to use the man’s death to his advantage.

To hell with him.

I remained seated, but my blood continued to boil.

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