Page 17 of Wedlocked

Chapter Ten

Ethan

The roast chicken and vegetables Sarina and I had consumed for dinner—neither of us had eaten lunch—had been done in silence, each of us in contemplative deep thought.

I was usually glad for my private dining area, where each of us brothers had our own self-contained wing of the mansion, but I would have been happier to dine as a family like we did most nights. Even my father’s gimlet stare would have been preferable to the tension between me and my soon-to-be bride.

I was happier now though, lying in bed wide awake as Sabrina quickly succumbed to sleep. There was something fascinating about the way her porcelain skin gleamed in the moonlight seeping through the net curtains, the way her dark lashes and eyebrows contrasted so vividly against her silver-blonde hair.

She radiated innocence while she slept, with her bravado and insolence switched off.

What would it have been like to have met her under normal circumstances as a normal guy with a normal job? And without the menace of her death hanging over our heads?

I hated that I’d have to dispose of her, sooner rather than later, but what other choice did I have? As the don my first priority was the greater good of my family, and that included not just my father and blood brothers and sister, but my soldiers and all the men I commanded.

My control was only as strong as my cunning ruthlessness, my strategy and willingness to do whatever was needed to exert my influence and better my criminal activities. One sign of weakness and even my own men would turn on me.

Lord only knew I’d seen enough death; committed enough murders to know what would happen if I slipped off my merciless and sometimes brutal path.

A wave of tiredness swept over me as I rolled closer to the woman who threatened my very existence. Yet still I curled an arm around her waist, locking her against me before my eyes slid closed and I allowed sleep to finally claim me.

The next second I stood looking out the window to the grounds below, only half-aware of my boyish reflection in the glass as I focused on two birds that squawked and fluttered around something on the ground. Everything was sodden thanks to a storm the night before, with leaves blown all over my Papà’s usually pristine lawn.

I leaned closer to the pane as one of the birds landed on the ground, then tucked its wings close to its side even as it sat and fluffed out its feathers.

It hit me then. A nest with chicks inside had been blown out of the tree and the distraught, feathered parents were trying to shelter them, despite the fact the chicks were now literally homeless.

I stepped back with a sharp inhale. I had to help them! While the chicks were on the ground they were vulnerable to attack. I ran out of my room and raced down the staircase, ignoring Nico’s shout as I shoved open the door and jogged down some more steps, slowing only once I reached the lawn and approached the nest and bird.

It flew off and I hurried over to the two pink, featherless chicks in their nest. They cheeped weakly as I carefully picked up their home of sticks, carrying them to the tree where it had likely fallen out of. I was about to climb the lowest hanging branch when my dad’s voice rang out.

“Ethan! What the hell are you doing?”

I froze, my heart in the throat. But I managed a look of indifference as I turned around slowly and said, “Papà. I’m returning these birds to where they belong.”

My oldest brother, Nico, stood beside our dad, a knowing smirk on his face. He’d enjoy watching me deal with our dad’s scathing rebuke.

Papà crossed his arms. “Are you going soft, boy?”

Dread swirled low in my belly. My dad hated weakness, no doubt he’d see me helping the birds as exactly that—weak. “No, I’m not. I’m just helping—“

“You don’t help! Not ever!” he marched toward me and grabbed the nest, tossing it aside like it was nothing but sticks.

I couldn’t look at the hapless chicks that had fallen out, not when I was so busy blinking my eyes that were stinging with tears. I should have left the birds alone, at least then they might have had a chance, no matter how small.

“Come with me,” my father said quietly, but with such menace I knew disobeying him was not an option. Disobeying him was never an option.

I trudged back to the house, my palms sweating and my belly churning. But instead of him taking me upstairs to my room, he grabbed the back of my shirt and propelled me to the bottom of the staircase, where he opened a concealed door to a dark room that was used for storage.

“Wh-what are we doing?” I asked.

“You are going in here for the rest of today and tonight. No food. No water.”

“But y-you know I hate the dark.”

“Why do you think you’re going in there?” my father said with a curled lip, my fear making me even weaker in his eyes. “Your mama would be filled with shame if she was still alive.”

I screamed, but it was all on the inside. As far as I was concerned, my father had killed my mother the moment he’d locked her away because of her illness. He didn’t tolerate weakness of any form, and she’d gotten weak, fast. Young onset dementia or something like that it’d been called.

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