Page 23 of Of Murder and Matrimony

“Do what?”

“Marry Olesya.” His lips flattened. “Don’t do it just because I got shot. It’s not worth spending your life with somebody who will never make you happy. Conflicts come and go.”

“You’re so fucking vain,” I scoffed, trying to lighten the mood. “You get shot once, and suddenly everything is about you.”

Niccolò rolled his eyes. “It’s not exactly a secret that you hunted Olesya down to give the Russians something to think about.”

“I’m not just doing it for you,” I murmured. “Sometimes, we make decisions for the good of the family, especially in my position. I’m more convinced now that this is the right thing to do. For my men. For the wives and kids.”

Niccolò’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing at the implication. It would hit him hard; he and Mia desperately wanted a baby. “Women and children?”

I nodded. “So, you see, it’s the fastest way to minimize the collateral damage of decisions made by men who don’t value life.”

It was rich coming from my mouth since I’d murdered a fair share of men. Never had I lifted a hand against anybody other than a man. Though my anxiety still pulsed with every beat of my heart, I found peace knowing I was doing something worthwhile.

“I’m guessing there’s no talking you out of this,” Niccolò surmised, carefully pushing himself up off the bench and standing before me.

“No.”

He slapped me on the shoulder. “I guess it’s time to walk down the aisle, then.”

He accompanied me to the staging area, where Cosimo and Romeo awaited. The organist played the first chord of the processional, and we walked down the aisle like pallbearers at a funeral. There was no levity in the air. Guests sat stiffly in the pews, and guards flanked the church walls. I was leaving nothing to chance today.

The bridesmaids entered separately, wearing purple dresses that matched whatever purple flower was scattered among my mother’s white roses and greenery in their bouquets, and somebody’s kid tossed white rose petals like it was the most important job in the world. Finally, the music changed, and Olesya appeared in the doorway, a sleek, white wedding gown practically poured over her curves. Her shoulders were bared, revealing a modest portion of her ivory skin through her veil. The translucent material floated around her body as she walked down the aisle alone. She was regal, the picture of what a good little mafia bride should be.

Her expression was demure when she stood before the priest, makeup subtle and matching her natural coloring, with a hint of pink on her cheeks and lips. I found myself listening to her soft voice while she recited her vows, my eyes focusing on a single shiny blonde curl, unable to look into her eyes where they reflected the strain I felt. While our vows were true, they were not heartfelt.

I refused to let the niggling doubt about my actions take root in my mind, repeating my vows loud and clear. When it came time to seal our union with a kiss, I wrapped my arm around Olesya’s waist, feeling her body stiffen as I dipped her for show.

“Kiss me like you mean it, mia piccola fantasma,” I whispered against her mouth before pressing my lips to hers. I didn’t draw away quickly, instead taking my time tasting her until she relaxed into my hold and her lips parted, allowing my tongue to twine with hers. When I brought her upright again, her face was flushed, and her breathing rapid. She could hate me all she wanted—the feeling was mutual at the moment—but she couldn’t deny her body’s reaction to mine.

Instead of walking down the aisle toward the exit, I closed my hand around Olesya’s wrist and directed her to the table behind the priest.

“One more thing.” I picked up the pen and signed the marriage certificate before handing it to my new bride. She gripped it tightly, but I saw her lip tremble before a loathing glare replaced her reticence. “Try to sign the correct name now. We wouldn’t want there to be any question about the validity of the marriage.”

“There’s always divorce.”

“Not for us, there isn’t.” I smirked and wiped a smudge of lipstick from under her bottom lip, briefly dipping the digit into her mouth. “’Til death do us part.”

Chapter Eight

I looked up at my new husband, anger heating my face. “We’re in the middle of a war. I may be a merry widow soon enough. Perhaps we should have shared vows of murder and matrimony.”

Dante’s glare told me he didn’t find my words so amusing. A growl rumbled low in his throat, and he practically ripped the pen from my hand after I signed the marriage license. The priest quickly added his name to make it official, and Dante handed it over to Cosimo.

“Let’s go. Be a good girl and smile now.” It was unsettling how quickly Dante affected a satisfied smile and walked me down the aisle like we were besotted newlyweds.

I could have pulled my hand away from his or dug my heels into the carpet, but I didn’t. Any warfare I’d engage in with Dante would be covert and out of the public eye. I wanted him to feel bad for what he’d done—at least a little. Then I could figure out how to forgive him one day because a lifetime was a long while to stay angry with a person.

Dante dropped my hand like I’d burned him as we exited the chapel doors, turning and walking briskly away. He barely spared a glance over his shoulder when he barked out, “Be ready to go in fifteen minutes.”

Coletta came to my side and offered me a sympathetic look. “Come on. Let’s get you changed for the reception.”

Dante’s cold demeanor shouldn’t have affected me. I was angry at him, wasn’t I? So why did his rejection sting?

Wordlessly, I followed Coletta back to the changing area, where my reception dress awaited. Dante’s sisters-in-law didn’t follow us. They’d stood up with us with all the enthusiasm of silent mourners at a funeral, and I could have sworn Mia’s quickly blotted tears were shed in sympathy for Dante. He didn’t deserve it.

Growing up in a Bratva family, there was plenty I wasn’t allowed to know or participate in, but while my brothers sometimes acted like I was a nuisance, they’d never shown me hostility. I’d been sheltered from much of the harsher aspects of the crime family life. Facing the harsh reality of what Mia and Niccolò suffered at my family’s hands was startling. I’d spent my adult life learning to heal others but couldn’t take away their deep-seated pain.

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