Page 53 of Corrupting Lily

“Fine,” my little flower grits out, her hands balling into tight fists. She is losing her temper, and I fucking love it.

“There is something wrong with you, seriously. But there must be something wrong with me, too, because I’m jealous. Is that what you wanted to hear? Because you should be marrying me, not her.” The angry words flow from her while she jabs her thumb in Sam's direction. When she looks at the poor woman, the daggers in her eyes are downright comical.

“There she is. No more walls,” I say to her before lowering my gun and issuing the command.

“Everyone, go.” Lily steps forward but is halted when I pin her with my gaze.

“Not you.”

The exodus of people takes less than a minute. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Nero practically dragging an arguing Holly toward his room at the back of the property. He prefers his privacy, a flat separate from the rest of the mansion. Probably better considering the tirade coming from Holly towards an unflinching Nero. Only the look in her eyes gives away her true feelings. Lust. Desire. This is not dissimilar from the feelings coming from Lily, except that hers were diluted with anger, frustration, and jealousy.

Lily is looking anywhere but at me until I take a step toward her. Her eyes snap up to meet mine as she takes a step back.

“So,il mio fiorellino, you are jealous and nearly caused a man's death because of it. I was angry with you and pretended to take another as my wife. I guess we are even.”

I take another step toward her while she takes one back, the waterdroplets from her hair running down the valley of her breasts—a path my eyes eagerly devour.

“W-what? You are not going to marry her?”

“Of course not. She is already married and a lesbian. I will pay for that ruse later when her wife gets here.”

“So, we are still getting married?” I take another step toward her while she steps back.

“Yes. Of course. You are mine.”

“I don’t understand what that means.” She wants me to spell it out in words she would understand, as if my actions don’t speak loudly enough already.

“It reflects what you feel for me,il mio fiorellino.” Her brow dips, the look in her eyes almost desperate. This time, when I step toward her, she does not step back. She is not running from me.

When I cup her face, her eyes close, and she leans into the touch, the innocent, subconscious act speaking volumes.

So, I will give her what she clearly needs: words. Then, I will show her with my actions just what those words mean, as I have already been doing.

“I am in love with you, little flower, as much as you are in love with me.”

“You. Are. Mine.” I. Love. You.

Chapter 33

Lily

The look in Dominico’s eyes is downright feral. It has been since I walked down the aisle a few minutes ago. An event I am still struggling to root in reality, the far-fetched truth that I am now Lily Sante, not wanting to solidify. It is preposterous that a nobody like me is now tethered, in the truly traditional sense, to a man who should exist in my fantasies only. To the unattainable Don of the Mafia. All powerful. All untouchable. Until now.

The last twenty-four hours have passed in a blur. Following the poolside incident yesterday, Dominico moved the wedding date up to today, perhaps to avoid any further incidents or hindrances to the wedding occurring.

I glance to the right, where the entire congregation of over two hundred stares at us. No one from my life. Justfamiglia, members of the Three Families. Including Rochelle, Sam's wife. The same woman who had interrupted the moment between Dominico and me yesterday when she barged onto the patio, angrier than a bull in a china shop.She was ballsy, threatening Dominico with castration if he ever used her wife like that again. He laughed, which fueled her rage until Sam eventually ran outside and calmed her down with some gentle cooing and sexual distraction. The two were like horny rabbits. I know this because I could hear them the whole night.

More clearly than the night before, when it was actually Sam and her brother Killian making all the noise—not Dominico and her, as I had been led to believe. When I heard that, I felt both relieved and angry. But that anger faded when Dominico used the same gorilla tactics as Rochelle, distracting and disarming me with a fierce kiss that sent all my thoughts and feelings scattering in the wind. Until only lust remained. And it remains even now as Dominico eyes me with barely-there restraint.

He looks absolutely lethal in his all-black suit. He has shaved, his sharp jaw twitching as my eyes roam his face. His black hair is styled neatly, but I want to run my hand through it and mess it up like he likes doing with mine. Even now, I can feel the tingle on my scalp where his hand had delved into it yesterday, pulling on the strands as he angled my head just right while his tongue dominated mine. I blush, and my heart rate increases, bringing a smirk to that far too gorgeous face as if he knows exactly my thoughts.

My eyes dart toward the pastor, a grumpy old Italian who looks like he has been drinking, when his words finally make sense to me. Everything else has been in Italian, so I am surprised when I finally hear English. His accent is so thick that it takes me a minute to understand what he says. The words only resonate with me because I have heard them before at weddings.

“Do you, Lily Valentine, take Dominico Sante to be your husband, to have and to hold, in rich and in poor, in sickness and health, until death do you part?” Traditional words that do not encompassanything traditional. The ‘until death do you part’ section of that sentence holds a more worrisome meaning, knowing who I was marrying. And it wasn't just Dominico I was marrying; I was marrying an institution made up of things I didn't quite understand.

Dominico raises his eyebrow, his silver-grey eyes mesmerizing me, and I am reminded that I have not yet responded. My palms are sweaty, and my heart is racing. I should run far, far away, but instead, I utter the two words that bring a brief, nearly indiscernible flicker of relief to the man I will soon call my husband.

“I do.” His smile is glorious, and I blink a couple of times, still unsure how I ended up here. I know many women would literally kill to be in my beautiful, custom-designed, white-diamond-studded high-heeled shoes.

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