There is no way in hell I’m going to allow her to fuck everything up ten minutes before the goddamn wedding is supposed to start. For the last three days, I spent most of my time listening to wedding plans and putting names on guest lists. It annoyed the fuck out of me. No one could explain to me in goddamn English why the fuck it’s necessary for it to be the wedding of the year. My family knows this is nothing but a charade. My dad knows I don’t want to do this, that I’m only doing it because of him. And my mom knows Leandra is just a name, a signature to be placed next to mine on a marriage certificate.
My Italian leather shoes hardly make a sound as I rush down the stairs, anger rippling through my veins. There’s a fucking reason I’ve been avoiding Leandra. The sight of her reminds me of what I have to do—of how I’m sacrificing every ounce of freedom I have for this family. For him. My dying father. And I’m starting to hate her as much as I hate what I’m forced to do here today. While my father makes my decisions for me in life, I’ll be damned to let him do it even in death. I love my father. I always have. But I’m not going to pretend that the idea of being free to do things my way doesn’t appeal to me. It’s the silver lining around my father’s coffin.
Once he takes his last breath, I’ll be king of this empire, and I will undo what’s being done here today.
Nicoli leans against the doorframe, waiting for me. “Dad’s about to have an aneurysm, and I’m thinking that won’t be beneficial to his condition.”
“Your sympathy toward his condition shines through, dear brother.”
“What can I say? I’m an empath.”
“The fuck you are.”
“Seriously, though.” Nicoli squares his shoulders. “Where have you been? Dad wants you greeting the guests.”
“I had something that needed taking care of.”
Nicoli glances down at my crotch and back up, frowning. “Now?”
“Jesus. Grow up, would you?” I straighten my sleeves. “Leandra and I had to have a very important conversation before the festivities start.”
“Did she agree?”
“To what?”
He steps closer. “To having your babies?”
“God, you’re an asshole.” I shove him back, and he lifts his dark brows, holding out his arms.
“Oh, come on. I’m serious. You know the next conversation you and Dad are going to have is about you making sure there’s an heir to the proverbial throne.”
“This is the twenty-first century, Nicoli.”
“Yet here we are, preparing to witness your forced nuptials.”
I shoulder past him. “There’s no need for me to produce an heir. Dad had enough sons to make sure there’s always a Del Rossa sitting in his seat at the table.”
Nicoli follows me onto the patio. “What if we all die in a plane crash?”
“We won’t.”
“It’s a possibility, though.”
“Shut up.”
Caelian and Isaia are waiting for us behind the last row of guests. Isaia’s discomfort in his suit is plastered all over his face, his finger constantly reaching for the collar of his dress shirt.
I greet the guests with a few simple nods, smiling every now and then, pretending like I’m about to marry the love of my fucking life. Heavy white curtains are draped to the sides of the aisle at five row intervals. It helps me to miss eye contact with a few of the guests.
“Alexius.” The man’s voice grates against my spine, and I roll my shoulders before turning to face him.
“Uncle Roberto.” My enthusiasm to see him is as fake as the smile on my fucking face.
He stands up from his seat, not even attempting to button his suit jacket to hide his big belly straining against his belt. Life’s been good to him…too good, if you ask me. Fucker didn’t deserve half the luxuries my father’s hard work bestowed on him.
The scent of his cologne is overpowering as he leans closer. “Have you seen Jimmy?”
“No. Why?” I don’t even bat an eyelash.
“I haven’t heard from him in days. And no one’s seen him after the incident the other night.”
“And I haven’t seen him since I had to clean up the mess of that incident.” There’s enough ice around my words for him to pick up that I’m still pissed about what Jimmy did. He just doesn’t know that it was the last time Jimmy fucked up.
I tap him on the shoulder and shoot him a half-assed grin. “Don’t worry, Uncle Roberto. Jimmy is probably on some luxury yacht somewhere, having fun.”
My brothers don’t say a word—our bond un-fucking-breakable—and as we walk over the white carpet to the front, everyone’s eyes are glued on our backs. So many guests. So many so-called friends. So many oligarchs who would turn on you in a heartbeat if you no longer had the power to enhance their social stature so they can keep their bank accounts as big as their fucking egos.
Things are going to change once I take my father’s seat. Uncle Roberto wants to expand our tentacles and snap up more allies and partners, while I want to cut and exterminate most of the leeches we already have.
Nicoli passes me a knowing look as we take our place. More heavy curtains are draped behind a white marble fireplace set with a flower arrangement of lilies stretching over the top and down the sides. More white fabric is arched to the side, a chandelier hanging from the canopy above us. If it was not yet clear to everyone that my mother had an affair with lavishly extravagant chandeliers…it is now.
“Are you ready for your life to come to an abrupt end, brother?” Caelian chirps from next to Nicoli, and all three of them grin like idiots.
I tug at my sleeves, keeping my chin lifted and shoulders squared. “On the contrary, I’m ready to rule the fucking world.”
My parents sit in the front row, my mother beaming and beautiful in a dusty rose pantsuit, and my father looking dapper in his black suit. He’s lost so much weight the last few weeks and spent the whole of yesterday in bed. But today he seems better, as if he had a hell of a good reason to get out of bed and to get dressed.
That reason being my fucking wedding to a woman I picked out of a goddamn file because I needed someone dispensable. Someone whose name no one will remember once my father takes his last breath and all this is over.
The cello starts its low vibrato, and I glance at the cellist who also happens to be the wife of a very close family friend. The man who deals with problems that can only be taken care of through the scope of a sniper gun. He calls himself the Musician. We call him Elijah.
Rewrite The Stars, the melody that fills the air with a romantic cadence, women already dabbing at their eyes. The irony isn’t lost on me, and I make eye contact with my mother, who merely smiles, knowing all too well that I picked up the hidden meaning in her song choice.
Mirabella steps up to the carpet, smiling, and looking radiant. Nicoli clears his throat and shifts next to me, putting his hands behind his back, trying to look anywhere but down the aisle.
One slow step after the other, Mira walks up and smiles at me before taking her place on the other side, staring across the crowd to the far back.
And there she is. Leandra. Standing underneath the first arched curtain tied to the sides. I was too fucking angry earlier to notice the exquisite lace that hugged her tiny waist, the skirt going down with a gentle flare. I was too angry to see the transformation she had undergone in the last three days. How she went from poor girl to elegant bride. If I wasn’t so damn ticked off by hearing her say she no longer wanted to marry me, I might have noticed that she looked…beautiful. And as the guests stand, she lifts her chin and squares her shoulders—a display of strength and pride.
Our eyes lock, my earlier threat silently resonating between us. Through an icy glare, I’m aware that she’s only doing this because I gave her no choice. There’s no way out of this for her, and I made that crystal clear only moments ago.
Still staring at my wife-to-be, Isaia walks up behind me and leans closer, whispering into my ear. I don’t like what he’s saying, but I guess I can understand why he’d want to do it.
I nod, and he walks all the way to the back.
This is it.
This is the moment I’ve dreaded ever since my father made me aware of the duty I still owe this family.
The moment I become a husband.
