Page 10 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

Once I said the words I was married.

Annulment, annulment, annulment.

Everyone stared at me. Yet I still couldn’t do it.

“Speak,” Buscetta hissed at me under his breath.

“Lo voglio,” I choked.

The priest made the sign of the cross with his hand and offered up a final blessing. Before I could prepare myself, Buscetta was turning toward me. Myhusband. It was absolutely surreal.

He sighed heavily, leaned down, and briefly kissed my forehead.

Relief poured through me. I definitely didn’t want to kiss him on the mouth.

“Evviva gli sposi!” everyone yelled and suddenly bits of wheat rained down on us like confetti.

“Basta!” Buscetta barked.

I could see the fury he was barely containing, the rage that simmered underneath his bulging muscles.He beat a man to death in the ring.I slowly edged out of his reach.

“Let us celebrate the happy couple,” Virga declared and clapped his hands twice.

I looked around at the room full of strangers. Celebrate? Were they crazy?

As if on cue, waiters emerged carrying glasses of champagne that were quickly distributed to Virga and his men.

Virga lifted his glass. “Auguri e figli maschi!”

Congratulations and may you have male children. Ugh.

The man at my side said nothing and I stared at my hands, a refrain ofWTFlooping through my mind. How was this happening?

Buscetta held a delicate champagne flute and I stared at his hand. It was large with thick fingers, his knuckles scraped and raw. Had he beat someone to death today?

No one offered me champagne. This was for the best. Doubtful I could’ve kept it down anyway. My stomach was tied in knots.

In the oppressive silence, Buscetta and Virga engaged in a mafioso stare down. Why on earth had Buscetta agreed to this? What secrets did Virga hold over on Buscetta to force a marriage between us?

I studied him out of the corner of my eye. Buscetta was big and thick, with muscles bulging under his clothes. His nasal bone had been broken once or twice, judging by the bump on the ridge, which made sense if he’d been a boxer. Dark brown eyes rested beneath heavy eyebrows, and full lips framed a wide mouth, with the lower portion of his face covered in stubble. His hair was cut short, almost buzzed, with slightly more length on the top than on the sides.

He wore a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, which revealed a myriad of tattoos covering his olive skin. Dark jeans stretched across strong, thick thighs, and his brown boots were spattered with—my god, was thatblood?

And it looked fresh.

I tore my gaze away, only to discover that the men in the room were watching me as they finished their champagne. What were they waiting for? Well, I wouldn’t cower or cry in front of them. These Sicilian mobsters didn’t scare me. I’d once been kidnapped by Russian sex traffickers. Nowthathad been terrifying.

I set my glass down and walked over to Don Virga. “Signore, a word?”

He ignored me and sipped his champagne. It was like I wasn’t standing there at all.

I tried again. “Signore, I did as you required. Now please, your men—”

Buscetta was suddenly at my side. “We are finished here. Zani,amunì sprigati!” When he reached for my wrist, I did my best not to recoil. Except then he began towing me toward the exit.

“Wait,” I said to the large man dragging me away. “I need to speak with Don Virga. He made me a promise.”

“Giacomo,” Virga said behind us, his voice cool. “You are forgetting the most important part.”

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