Page 9 of Immoral

I yank open the door. "Can you—"

A man, who I assume is the officiant, gapes at me.

"Don't look at my wife or I'll slice you to pieces!" Gianni threatens.

"I-I..." The officiant tears his eyes off me.

Gianni lurches toward me, and I back up until my knees hit the bed. He slams the door, steps in front of me, and grasps my chin. My adrenaline ignites, and I don't fight back. I loathe how much my body responds to him. And Gianni knows it. Still, his dark eyes sear into mine. "Do you think I'm bluffing?"

Tears blur my vision.

"Do you want Uberto or the other Abruzzos to come after you?" he asks.

I shut my eyes, slowly shaking my head, wondering how my life has come to this. I have a successful career and have lived all over the world. I've always been free until now. At this moment, it seems like I am owned. The thought freaks me out. I can only envision Gianni taking full advantage of this situation.

"What other option do you have?" he questions.

I rack my brain, but I can't think of any. I'm still foggy from the drugs, but I also know Gianni is right. No one would come after his wife. The Marinos are a crime family. They rule New York. I've known it since I was in high school. It's part of what attracted me to him. He's always been danger and sin wrapped in a perfect package of muscle. And no one messes with Gianni. If anyone tries, he's ruthless in his revenge.

Somehow, I made the mistake that since Uberto was an Abruzzo, they would be the same as the Marinos.

Gianni firmly asks, "Do I need to dress you?"

I can't think, and my head won't stop pounding. I have no fight left. "No."

"Are you sure?" he challenges.

I push his chest, but he doesn't budge. "Go away."

"Five minutes. We have to get back in the air," he warns then steps back and leaves once more.

Taking a deep breath, I go into the bathroom and wash my face. My brand of cleanser is on the counter, which adds to my irritation. How well did Gianni plan this? How long did it take him to make it all happen?

Probably seconds. That's the thing about him. He can make anything happen in a blink of an eye. He's the most determined person I know.

I used to admire that trait. Now it's annoying me.

I dry my face, go to the closet, and freeze. Maybe it's the drugs or situation I'm in, but I start to laugh through my tears. An expensive, delicate, white lace wedding dress hangs inside. It's form-fitting and barely has a train.

I know this dress. Every inch of the white fabric haunted me over the past few years. I first saw it when I was with Gianni.

We were in Italy several years ago. I had fled to Europe to get over him, and after a few months, right as I started getting serious about another man, he showed up on my doorstep. Like all the other times, he promised me the world, told me to dump my boyfriend, and vowed it would only be us going forward. It took longer than usual for him to convince me, but I finally did what he wanted, falling for his sweet talk.

One day, we were shopping. I saw the dress through the window. He stood behind me, wrapped his arm around my stomach, and pulled me close to him. He declared, "I'm buying that dress for when you marry me."

I froze. It was the first time he ever mentioned marriage. In the past, anytime I brought it up, he would run.

That night, he was an animal in bed. All night, we made love like it was the last time we would ever be together. Little did I know, that was exactly what it was.

It was the final night of so many things.

Those hours were the last time I would ever allow myself to love him, feel his arms around me, or fall for his lies.

I finally fell asleep. It was almost noon when I woke up, and Gianni was nowhere. A note next to my bed read:

Tesoro,

I needto return to the states. Look me up when you're back in town.

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