: Chapter 8

Nervous didn’t even begin to cover my feelings. Sara had hardly talked to me when we’d met last time, nor had she replied to my last message. I hadn’t pushed her, hadn’t asked her about the baby or anything about the apartment. I’d given her the space she obviously craved. We’d have to spend enough time together in the future.

I wasn’t fucking sure how that would work. Our encounters had been polite but distant.

“You look ready to puke,” Amo commented. He was my best man and currently lounging on the sofa, ignoring the messages from his wife that popped up on his phone.

“Your marriage stories don’t give me much hope for myself.”

“Sara isn’t Cressida. She’s lovely, and you’ll soon have a child, so you’re bound to make a real effort.”

“Plus, I’m not in love with anyone else.”

“Nor is Sara. That bond was simply a convenient union,” Amo said, ignoring my jab.

The door opened without warning. “It’s time.” Primo sent Amo an annoyed look. “It’s your job to make sure he’s not late to his own wedding.”

Amo got up with cocked eyebrows. “You did before I could.”

Primo gave me a nod before he left again.

“Is he still mad that you picked me as best man?”

I shrugged. He never said it outright, but I was sure he was. My brother and I were close, not as close as we’d been as kids, because we found different friends as we grew up, and I simply shared more of my shit with Amo. Primo was family, and I’d die for him, but I’d always known Amo would be my best man.

“He’s right, though. We need to go.”

I followed Amo out of the room where I’d spent the past hour getting ready, even if it had taken only ten minutes to get dressed, and I still didn’t feel ready.

When I entered the church with Amo and we headed to the front, everyone’s eyes were on me. Being muscled, tall, and tattooed, plus a member of the Famiglia, I was used to attention, but this attention was different. It was curious, concerned, or condemning.

I didn’t return anyone’s gaze and simply nodded at the priest before I stopped in front of him. I had never been a churchgoer, nor was my family. We didn’t talk about God. I wasn’t even sure what Dad believed or didn’t believe. Mom was spiritual but not in an organized church kind of way. I wasn’t sure what I believed. But I wouldn’t have chosen a wedding in a church if it weren’t for our traditions and the fact that everything had already been planned before I entered the picture. To me, entering church felt sacrilegious because I was committing sins on a daily basis and had no intention of stopping. It felt hypocritical to ask for the blessing of an institution that should condemn me to eternity in hell. But most Made Men didn’t have trouble becoming pious when it suited them.

When the music began playing, I turned around to the entrance. Romero led Sara toward me. She was breathtaking. I’d always found her attractive, but she was simply stunning today. Her dress wasn’t as modest as I’d suspected. Maybe she would have chosen a different dress knowing who she was marrying and why. My gaze briefly darted to her belly, but the way her dress was tailored with a narrow waist and a wide skirt below, you couldn’t make out a bump. Did she even have one yet? I hadn’t seen her in more than two weeks, and she’d always worn loose sweaters when I’d visited.

I fucking wished our bond hadn’t begun the way it had. I wished I could fantasize about my gorgeous bride and what we might do tonight because Sara was definitely a woman who gave you plenty of reasons to fantasize about her. I tore my gaze away from her neckline and focused on her face. She was smiling, her gaze focused straight ahead but didn’t meet mine. When she arrived at my side, one look at her eyes told me the smile was as fake as I’d suspected. Tension radiated from her.

My collar felt too tight, pressing into my still tender burn scars at my neck. Burn dressing covered the skin on my back. It had started healing, but I hadn’t been as “gentle” with myself as my mother had begged me to be. I could only hope I didn’t ruin my white shirt.

Sara’s gaze briefly lingered on the dressing on my neck before she turned to the front.

I almost told her how beautiful she looked, but I kept the words to myself.

“You may kiss the bride,” the pastor said.

Maximus frowned down at me. My belly twisted. If we didn’t kiss, the gossip would be even worse. Why was he hesitating? “Kiss me,” I pressed out.

He bent down and pressed a short, passionless kiss to my lips. I knew our bond was built on a very shaky foundation, but I’d hoped he’d pretend in public. I’d given up my dreams of a romantic first kiss a long time ago.

After our kiss, we headed out of church for the obligatory congratulations. I’d experienced many awkward ceremonies, but this was worse. The people who knew what had happened sent me looks of compassion or pity, and the people who based their judgment on the gossip that had spread like wildfire since Maximus and I had announced our engagement sent me looks of condemnation. The latter speculated I was pregnant because of an affair with Maximus, and that was the reason for the quick wedding—and groom exchange.

Maximus’s expression remained hard and unperturbed throughout it all. His face almost always harbored a certain air of hardness and threat. The only time it hadn’t been like that had been during our short captivity and when he’d visited my parents. I knew there was more to him than he let on and more than I’d thought in the past, but I wasn’t sure I had the strength to find out. Maybe one day.

Maximus was careful not to touch me, but when it was time for our first dance, we couldn’t avoid it anymore.

“Are you ready for the dance?” he murmured as the band waited for us to enter the dance floor. I nodded with a forced smile and took his extended hand. He held my hand loosely in his, giving me the feeling that I could pull away anytime.

With everyone’s eyes, I wouldn’t, and it wasn’t as if Maximus scared me. The demons of our shared past did. People watched our every move, and they continued to do so for a while. They wanted a huge scandal. The last one—Marcella marrying a biker—was getting to be old news, and they were hungry for fresh meat.

When we arrived on the dance floor, Maximus gave me a questioning look. I nodded, and he pulled me against him. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he put one hand on my back, not too far up and not too low. Our gazes met, and that felt more intimate than our closeness. It was almost as if I could see the guilt burning in his eyes and thus the reminder of what happened. I lowered my gaze to his nose, not wanting to remember. My eyes registered the dressing over his neck once more. He was moving a little stiffly as if his neck wasn’t his only injury.

The music began. Only now did I realize that Maximus and I had never danced together before. I had never even gotten the chance to rehearse the dance with Paolo. Maximus didn’t look like a man who could dance, at least not any standard dances. The dance clubs he and Amo had frequented didn’t require that sort of thing.

Maximus took the lead without any prompting and surprised me with his dancing skills.

“I asked my mother to teach me how to dance. I knew it would be required today, and I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of all these people,” he murmured. His voice was naturally low and very deep. It was a voice that exuded manliness but also a subtle danger.

I gave a small nod. I doubted anything could ever be more embarrassing than knowing that half of the people in this room had probably seen the video of Maximus and me. It was a thought I rarely entertained, and whenever I did, I wanted to crawl into a hole and never emerge. I couldn’t escape the cruel gossiping of our world unless I left, something I’d never even consider.

“You’re doing good,” I said simply. Maximus was much taller than me, so it wasn’t easy to find a flow, but his efforts shone through, and I didn’t feel as uncomfortable in his proximity as I’d thought. I was glad when we were out of the spotlight and returned to the table, though even without the lights directed at us, we were of course still the center of attention.

Mom leaned over to me and touched my hand, her eyes seeking confirmation that I was okay. I gave her a smile, which seemed to convince her.

Despite things going smoother than I’d expected, I could feel myself getting overwhelmed by the situation. My mind always judged people’s expressions, wondering what they were thinking and how much they knew.

It was exhausting.

I needed a moment to myself, some peace and quiet. My nausea had become increasingly worse despite the meds I’d taken. Nervousness and lack of food definitely didn’t help.

After ten minutes of convincing my mom that I didn’t need her support, I left the ballroom and strolled through the quiet corridors. In the past, I’d often enjoyed solitude. I loved being part of a family, but I also liked being alone. It wasn’t long before I heard steps, and two guys from Paolo’s circles headed through the corridor. Their parents were Captains like Paolo’s, and Dad had decided to keep them and their families invited for that reason.

Their expressions told me they weren’t happy with me. Luca’s attempts to keep the gossip down only led to colorful rumors that made the rounds among those who didn’t get the chance to see the video. And even some people who had seen the video chose to believe that the reason I had been with Maximus in a car in the first place was because we were having an affair. My “It’s okay” in the video only confirmed their ridiculous assumption.

“Whore,” one of them hissed as he passed me by, stunning me.

The other added, “Paolo’s lucky he didn’t marry your cheating ass.”

I wasn’t sure if I’d come up with a good comeback. I wasn’t fond of confrontations, but I never got the chance to figure it out. Maximus stormed past me, grabbed the first guy by the neck, and smashed him face-first into the wall. Then he grabbed the second by the throat and thrust his fist into his mouth. Blood spurted everywhere. I froze, my belly doing a roller-coaster ride that was bound to end in disaster. Silver flashed on Maximus’s knuckle, and I realized why his punch had left the guy’s face a bloody mess: he was wearing brass knuckles. Both guys sank to the floor and remained there, moaning and clutching their bleeding faces.

Maximus’s chest heaved, and every muscle in his body was ready for more violence.

I stepped to his side and briefly touched his bicep. Even through the fabric of his shirt, I could feel his heat and steely muscle. “It’s okay.”

I’d said those words before, and the way Maximus’s eyes flashed with recognition and regret told me he thought the same thing.

“It’s not,” he growled, not looking at me but at them. His eyes burned with barely contained rage and brutality. “Our Capo gave an order. If you don’t keep your fucking mouth shut, I’ll shut you up.”

The guys exchanged a look that spoke of fear. I didn’t pay much attention to gossip, but I knew what people called the Trevisan men: Butcher.

“Leave now and don’t come back. Next time I hear you talking shit, I’ll break more than your noses.”

They scuttled away, leaving a trail of blood drops in their wake. A blood smudge also covered the wall where one of their noses had been smashed.

I swallowed down bile as the nausea in my body increased.

“I don’t like this violent side of you,” I said quietly. Maybe it was hypocritical of me, considering I’d grown up in the mafia world. Every man in my life was involved in violent crimes.

“Then you won’t find much to like,” he growled, the remnants of aggression still swirling in his amber eyes. I’d always found them astonishing. They reminded me of toffee. If only they didn’t also remind me of the past…

I swallowed. I hadn’t considered what life with Maximus would be like. We’d live under one roof. We’d have to get along, even if we didn’t live a real marriage. Was he the raging kind of man? With a horrible temper? I’d made a choice for our unborn child and my family’s honor. My own happiness hadn’t been part of my considerations.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he glanced around. We were alone. “I’m trying to redeem myself. You don’t have to fear this side of me.”

Redeem himself? By marrying me?

I didn’t get the chance to ask him what exactly he meant because my younger sister Inessa entered the corridor. She didn’t know what had happened, for which I was eternally grateful. She had Mom’s honey-blond hair but Dad’s brown eyes, and how Aunt Aria always said “Mom’s old temper.”

Maximus gave her a nod, then he left us alone. He was probably glad to cut our conversation short.

“Did you fight?” she asked with huge, curious eyes.

“No, we didn’t.”

She pulled a face that made it clear she didn’t believe me. “He looks good in a suit despite the tattoos. Do you know how many he has and where?”

My cheeks heated while my thirteen-year-old sister stared at me without shame. “I don’t know.”

I probably wouldn’t find out anytime soon. I shivered. Images of what happened threatened to pop up. I fought them. I wasn’t sure what to expect of tonight. Our wedding night. I hadn’t dared think about it. So far Maximus hadn’t sought my closeness, and I had a feeling our wedding wouldn’t change it. I was relieved I wouldn’t have to push him away.