Page 30 of Hot-Blooded Killer

When I dance with Pop, his whispered comment is, “Remember why you’re doing this.”

Instead, I’m filled with rage when I’m reminded of the way men in my life control me.

But not forever, I promise myself.Not much longer at all.

I barely touch my dinner, though it’s being catered by La Sérénade. Adele and Sarah assure me it’s delicious. As far as I can tell, though, it might as well be cardboard. I wash down my few bites with too much wine, followed by too much champagne.

I dance, I feed Lorenzo a bite of wedding cake and allow him to do the same for me. When Lorenzo and I wrap our arms around each other to drink champagne, I’m glad to have something to wash down the lump of cake in my throat.

I feel like a doll being put through the motions. I say all the right words and go through the motions, but I might as well have a pull string in the middle of my back for all the thought I put into any of it.

I dance with my friends, then again with Lorenzo—and this time, it’s to a song with a fast beat, so there’s little time for talking.

In the end, that’s all I remember of the reception.

And then comes the moment when Lorenzo and I have to leave.

I’ve tried so hard not to think about what comes next, despite Lorenzo’s continued seduction of me—in the bathroom at the country club, in the back seat of his town car, and through every word and every touch over the last several weeks.

We dash through the bubbles blown by everyone still at the reception, running to the limousine waiting for us. My heart is pounding.

This is the one night I can’t say no to Lorenzo.

The contractually obligatory consummation of our wedding.

After this, it will be more difficult to get an annulment—though not impossible, particularly with a priest as willing to take donations to his church as the one who performed our wedding ceremony.

Six weeks ago, being married for two years in order to earn my freedom for the rest of my life didn’t seem like such a long time.

Now it stretches out in front of me like an eternity.

And I’m terrified.

CHAPTER12

LORENZO

As the reception winds down and we climb into the limousine, I glance at Gia and realize that her face has gone completely pale—porcelain white with bright red splotches in her cheeks.

Under other circumstances, I might think it was the wine and champagne.

But somehow, I know that she’s thinking about the night ahead of us.

I’ve spent the last several weeks seducing her, so I know she wants me. But still, her father traded her off as payment for a gambling debt. She might not know about the poker game, but she knows how our world works, knows she’s merely a part of a larger game rather than a player.

I expect to feel nothing, but compassion for her rushes in, twisting my stomach, and I find myself wanting to reassure her.

And the best way I know to do that is to make her want me as much as I want her.

In the backseat of the limo, I take off my jacket and slide it over Gia’s shoulders. I had taken my father’s tuxedo jacket—the last one he ever wore—and had it altered to wear during the wedding.

As far as everyone else is concerned, wearing the jacket is a sentimental gesture. But for me, it’s a reminder of exactly why I’m marrying Gia. No matter how much I may want her, my goal here, my true goal, is to avenge my father’s death. Similarly, I wear a set of cufflinks that belonged to my brother Frederico and a bowtie that belonged to Leonardo.

All night long, wearing their clothing has reminded me that I’m here for a reason. And it has nothing to do with marrying a woman I love.

It’s all about revenge.

But at this moment, the only use I see for the jacket is making her feel better.

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