Page 47 of Hunted to the Altar
When I reached the garage, the sight in front of me was all the confirmation I needed.
Nina stood there, clutching a small bag to her chest, her dark curls a chaotic halo around her head. Her breaths came fast and shallow, her knuckles white from her grip on the bag.
Beside her, Marcello shifted nervously, his gaze darting toward the exit as if he could outrun what was about to happen.
They didn’t notice me at first.
But when I stepped into the light, my shadow loomed over them, and Nina froze.
Her wide eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I saw guilt flicker across her face before she shoved it down deep inside.
“Going somewhere?” My voice was crisp, a blade slicing through the air.
Nina’s shoulders stiffened. “Samuel,” she began, her voice trembling slightly but firm. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
I let out a humorless laugh, my lips curling into a predator’ssmile. “Really? Because it looks like my wife and my priest were about to betray me.”
Marcello took a step back, his jaw tight. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn’t need to speak. His guilt was written in the hard lines of his face.
"Inside," I ordered Nina, my voice like steel.
She hesitated, her gaze darting to Marcello as if hoping he'd intervene. He met her eyes — something unspoken passing between them — but he didn’t move. He knew as well as she did that there was no escaping me.
"Now," I barked.
She flinched but didn’t argue. With one last glance at Marcello, she turned and walked back toward the house, her steps stiff with tension. I watched her until the door closed behind her, then turned my full attention to Marcello.
"You," I said, my voice dripping venom, "come with me."
Marcello didn’t cower. His hesitation was brief — more defiance than fear — but it was enough to stoke the flames of my anger. He fell into step beside me, matching my pace down the hall as we descended into the basement. His shoulders were squared, but I could see the strain in the set of his jaw.
The air grew colder with every step, the walls closing in like the tomb this place often became.
My men were already waiting, their expressions grim. They knew better than to question me. When I entered, they parted silently. A table was set revealing the tools they laid out for me in advanced.
Blades of various sizes, a set of pliers, a hammer. Each one gleamed under the dim light, a promise of pain.
Marcello’s breath caught when he saw them — not from fear for himself, but from the certainty of what was coming.
"Samuel," he began, his voice steady despite the sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Please. Listen to me?—"
"Listen?" I interrupted, my tone mocking. I picked up ablade, letting it catch the light. "That’s rich, coming from someone who clearly forgot his fucking vows."
He stiffened but didn’t back down.
"She was scared," he said hoarsely. "Trapped. I was only trying to help her."
"She’s my wife," I snapped, my voice rising, echoing off the walls. "You had no right. You were supposed to protect her for me, not from me. You were supposed to protect us. Instead, you tried to take her away."
His silence was answer enough.
I stepped closer, holding the blade between us like a guillotine’s promise.
"You betrayed your vow. TheFamiglia. Me." I slammed my fist against my chest. I grabbed my knife from its holster.
Marcello didn’t tremble.
He looked at me with something that almost resembled regret — but not remorse.
