Page 49 of Precious Hazard

“Hey. I know there’ll be a ton of people there you won’t know. If you don’t think you can handle that, say the word. I’ll get rid of them faster than you can blink, and we can have a more intimate ceremony.”

“I’m fine, Drago. But thank you. You’re the best brother a girl could have.”

The tightness in my chest increases as I approach the building, and it feels as if something huge and heavy is pressing on me, making breathing almost impossible. My legs have turned to stone, weighing me down while I climb the slippery granite steps. Would the wedding be delayed if I accidentally slipped and broke a leg? Probably not. Satan would likely demand we complete the ceremony before he’d consider rushing me to the ER.

At the top of the grand stairs, two valets in red and gold uniforms are holding open the glass double doors. The lobby of the luxury resort chosen as the location for the nuptials is overflowing with white and sage flowers. They are everywhere. Along the walls, suspended from the high ceiling, arrayed in tall overflowing pots set up at the base of the chiffon-draped pergola. More arrangements create a tunnel-like structure of beautiful blooms that leads toward another set of doors. Beyond them, the conference hall that’s been turned into a wedding venue.

An epic, flower-framed aisle bisects row upon row of white seats, where at least five hundred people have gathered.

All of them, staring at me.

If I weren’t holding on to Drago’s arm, I’d have undoubtedly stumbled walking in. I school my features to hide the panic threatening to consume me and take careful steps toward the altar and the table covered in white satin on the far wall.

Every set of wide eyes I meet is gawking at me in curiosity, disbelief, and outrage.

All of them, except one.

Dressed in an impeccable black suit, Arturo DeVille is waiting for me at the end of my path. His dark gaze follows my every step. Despite appearing to be a dignified groom, I recognize the tightly controlled expression on his face. There’s no surprise, no shock concealed in his features. It’s pure, savage rage. Hidden behind the mask of a polite smile meant to fool all these people.

Murmurs trail behind me from both sides of the aisle, whisperedtsk-tsksdog me from the right. The groom’s side, where the Cosa Nostra members are seated. None of that makes the fine hairs on my nape rise as does the look in the devil’s eyes. I’ve come to recognize the carefully hidden hatred lingering in his chocolate-colored depths whenever his gaze turns to me.

That wrathful stare has been my constant companion over the past two weeks. Ever since that staged kiss Arturo laid on me atSlava. The kiss that, for me, didn’t feel fake at all. Up to that point, things between us were moving in a cordial direction. We even managed to have fun at times. But then, everything changed.

Since that day, DeVille has reverted to being Satan. He’s been acting annoyed, and occasionally, outright mean. We went out five more times to keep up appearances, and each of our interactions got progressively worse. His recent animosity rivals his behavior on the night he tried to pin Stavros’s murder on me.

I’ve asked myself, what the hell happened? What pushed him over the edge? I’m drawing a blank trying to rationalize his altered attitude, and frankly, the fact that I care is pissing me off. He wants to be an asshole, he can be my guest. All it’s doing is making me feel less guilty over my choice of wedding dress.

With every step I take toward my groom, I see his fury. And a vow of retaliation. I want to look away, but can’t. It’s asif he’s somehow ensnared me, forcing my eyes to lock with his. It’s the same hypnotic feeling as when he kissed me. What is this power that DeVille wields?

His kisses have burrowed into my consciousness, dug so deep that I can’t erase the memories or the sensations they stirred. And now he holds me captive, trapping me within his bottomless gaze. Why can’t I tear myself away from that dangerous glint in his dark depths that burn like the fires of hell are raging within them?

Maybe he really is Satan personified.

“DeVille,” Drago says beside me as we close the distance to the altar. “Don’t make me kill you.”

“Tara will never be the reason you try.” DeVille’s smile lights up his face.

Drago kisses my cheek and turns away, taking a seat in the first row on the bride’s side. Leaving me standing next to my soon-to-be husband. A man who’s barely holding it together, narrowly restraining his urge to wipe me off this earth.

“Well played.” The velvety timbre of his voice makes me shudder. A menacing smirk pulls at his lips as he reaches out and grasps my hand in his. “But you’ll soon realize that not all victories are sweet,gattina nera.”

My throat feels so dry, it’s as if I’ve swallowed a wad of cotton balls. I force myself to look away, to focus on the wedding officiant. Luckily, he doesn’t appear to have heard my groom’s words. Those were for me only. Was it a threat? It didn’t actually sound like one. More like… like a promise.

Oh God, what have I done? I allowed a few crooked smiles and two shattering kisses to make me forget who he really is. Went too far in a game I’m not sure I can win. Did I trulybelieve I could fuck with the second-in-command of the New York Italian Mafia? Did I expect to get away with it? Based on his steel grip on my hand, running is no longer an option.

My damn anxiety spikes to another level. Nothing I try seems to shake it off. It crawls up my spine like some multilegged creature, making me shudder and break out in a cold sweat.

I should have confided in my brother. If I had told Drago the truth, he would have found a way to get me out of this disaster, and we might have managed to resolve it without bloodshed. But I was too stubborn to ask him for help. Too proud to admit that I fucked up yet again. And too terrified of the possibility that my latest screwup would lead to his death.

And now, it’s too late. With so many Cosa Nostra members present, calling everything off would be akin to a slap in the face. A blatant and very public sign of disrespect. And a potential cause for an open war between our two organizations.

The officiant has started speaking, but his words just wash over me, without any of their meaning penetrating. I stare at his moving lips as panic builds and builds within me. It’s getting harder and harder to draw a breath.

“I do.” Arturo’s voice thunders next to me, nearly making me flinch. Everything inside me tenses. This is real. I am getting married. To Arturo DeVille.

Switching his attention to me, the officiant slashes me with his reproachful gaze, as if I’ve committed an unspeakable crime. He speaks, but his words continue to elude me. Everything sounds muffled, like it’s coming from deep beneath the sea.

“Tara.” A whispered rumble on my right, followed by a squeeze of my hand. “Say it.”

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