Page 25 of Of Murder and Matrimony

I caught the briefest flicker of amusement in Dante’s dark eyes, and the flash of his straight, white teeth looked almost devilish. It did something to my body, causing a flush to creep up my chest and no doubt darkening the color of my cheeks more effectively than the makeup I wore.

He could tell, too, the asshole. His tongue trailed hungrily across his bottom lip as he ran his thumb across my traitorous cheek, his eyes heated and capturing my undivided attention. I could easily get lost in the sensations Dante’s smoldering gaze elicited.

“You look fucking edible,” he rasped, thumb moving to stroke across my bottom lip. He dipped it inside, and I closed my lips, my eyes drifting shut as I tasted and sucked on his flesh. His stifled moan gave me a heady sense of power over the man who could crush me with a single word.

I didn’t care that Dante’s men were likely watching. I flicked my tongue along the pad of his thumb and swirled it around the digit as I imagined sucking an altogether different—and much larger, if memory served—appendage.

“Olesya.” My name was barely a whisper on his lips, and I opened my eyes to find him panting only inches from my face. He slipped his thumb from my mouth and replaced it with his lips and tongue, leaving me breathless when he pulled away.

It took me a moment to gain my bearings, and I realized Dante’s arm wrapped around my waist to steady me. Damn heels. That must have been it.

“There,” he breathed. “Now you look like a proper blushing bride.”

Dante took my hand and placed it on his arm as we approached the front door, his men opening it so we could enter a house full of cheering family and friends. His. Mine wouldn’t have been allowed on the property at all.

“Here they are!” Ettore’s voice boomed from near the staircase, where he carefully balanced a couple of steps up with the aid of his cane. He tried to hold it as close to his leg as possible like people would overlook the mobility aid.

The family patriarch raised a glass of champagne, and I had a flashback to the disaster of an engagement dinner. I blocked out whatever he said next, mindlessly plastering on a smile and lifting my glass when appropriate. The words were false, anyway.

It was all a façade, and no doubt the photographers flitting around the room, endlessly snapping photos, would ensure several made it to the tabloids. Dante wanted my brothers aware of our marriage—too late to stop it. He’d succeeded. I had no doubt my brothers would have launched a rescue attempt had they had any inkling of the Neretti heir’s plans.

I played the part of the new mafia bride, smiling and graciously accepting the guests' thanks. Dante and I cut an elaborate three-tier white wedding cake decorated with perfectly white sugar roses. They looked almost lifelike, and the younger, naïve version of myself would have been duly impressed by the food and how the backyard had been transformed for the reception. White tents decorated in tulle and tiny white twinkle lights speckled the massive lawn, shading people as they mingled and took advantage of the free bar.

A band played under one tent, the instrumental music drifting across the space and adding a pleasant yet nondescript background score. I danced stiffly with Dante, but the onlookers didn’t notice how we didn’t utter a word to each other.

Finally, after an early dinner, I escaped and found a quiet corner of the garden. I swiped another glass of champagne from a passing server’s tray and leaned carefully against a decorative fence where Antonella’s famous roses struggled to survive. It didn’t look like anybody had been caring for them. I remembered how lush and vibrant her garden had been when I was a child. I used to pretend I was a princess in a fairy tale and Dante was my prince as I meandered through the shrubs and flowers.

It didn’t have the same air of whimsy through adult eyes. Now I could see the thorns that threatened to rip into my flesh if I moved too close. It was like a reflection of life in a crime family. Even the most beautiful moments hid danger.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to get a bit of relief for my aching feet. A man’s angry voice drifted from the other side of the arborvitae that offered shade at the end of the patio. I glimpsed Coletta with her husband, Bosco. He gripped her jaw hard enough for me to see her wince from across the space. She cowered under his looming form and rushed away when he finally released her.

She collided with a tall, broad, impeccably dressed wall in her haste. The man towered over her slight form, and she bounced off. He caught her by the arms, saving her from falling and probably breaking her tailbone. Coletta shrunk in on herself, ‌glancing up at him with panicked eyes and wrenching free of his hold before rushing off. The man stood there, staring at his empty hands, a black expression on his face.

Then he shook whatever it was free from his mind, smoothing his expression and surveying the area. He nodded to himself, then turned and strode in the same direction my new sister-in-law had vanished.

I looked around for Dante, startled when I spun and found him not even a foot behind me. I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle my shriek, which only made him chuckle as he wrapped his arm around my waist, his fingers flexing against my stomach.

“Time to retire,” he murmured against my ear.

I noticed the guests gathering on either side of the path leading up to the patio, preparing for our grand exit… upstairs. That wasn’t how I envisioned things ending for the night, but the day had been underwhelming.

Dante’s face transformed when he smiled; I could almost believe he was genuinely happy to be with me. He took my hand, and we hurried through a shower of white rose petals and cheering guests, racing upstairs to our wing of the house.

“I’ve left something for you to wear.” Dante dropped my hand outside my bedroom door. “Go get ready. I’ll be with you shortly.”

He opened the door and gently pushed me inside, leaving me standing there in my dress, mouth hanging open as I took in the purple lingerie set laid out on the white covers of my bed. Apparently, we were going old school, Dante working on getting me pregnant while maintaining separate bedrooms. Fine by me.

I ran my fingertips over the soft purple silk and lace. Dante remembered my favorite color. The thought tainted the outfit, and my body burned with anger. I fisted the fine material and pulled with all my strength until the sound of tearing lace cut the silence. I pulled at the seams, and when they wouldn’t give, I used my foot for leverage to pull the pieces apart.

Panting from exertion, I tossed the shredded fabric on the floor and stripped out of my dress. If Dante thought he was getting me wrapped up like a pretty package for his pleasure, he was in for a surprise. I removed my underthings and kicked my shoes off, leaving everything discarded on the floor.

I could climb under the covers and close my eyes for a few minutes. It wouldn’t be so bad.

A slow clap broke through the sound of my heavy breathing, and I gasped, whirling to find Dante leaning against the closed door. He made a show of locking it, then circled me like a predator sizing up his prey. He’d removed his jacket, tie, and cufflinks, his shirt hanging open and exposing his muscled chest.

“Miss me, wife?”

“Like a vampire misses a silver bullet,” I replied curtly, balling my hands into fists at my side. I refused to budge as he moved around my back, even though my heart pounded and every instinct told me to flee.

---