A man stands in the center of the room, his broad shoulders turned away, his gaze on the ground, a gun in his hand. I would recognize him anywhere. Giovanni. His name catches in my throat. I want to call out to him through the glass, to deny that this is happening, to somehow turn back the clock so a man isn’t bleeding out in front of him.
The man on the ground is wearing a tux, like the maids said. His knees are a mess of flesh and blood, so mangled my mind doesn’t even know how to reconcile them as legs. He’s sobbing. Sobbing.
My breath won’t come at all. I hadn’t thought there was a litmus test, but God. Only a monster could watch impassively as someone pleads for their life, desperate, clinging to impossible hope in the face of death.
Giovanni turns enough that I can see his profile. He says something. Asks a question?
The man on the floor shakes his head, frantic. Hands clasped. Begging or praying or both.
I can’t watch this.
I can’t turn away and escape, knowing this is happening.
The only thing I can do is bang on the glass with my fists, exposing myself, stopping Giovanni. Even for one more second, stopping him from committing this sin. Murder in cold blood. He must have done it before, and he’ll do it again, but I don’t care. I can’t save those people. I probably can’t save this man either, but I have to try.
And maybe somehow I can save Giovanni, too.
This place makes you evil. I figured that out a long time ago, but I refuse to succumb. No matter how much violence I see, no matter how much is visited upon me, I will never accept this as normal, as right. Power doesn’t make this okay.
Giovanni’s expression darkens when he sees me through the window.
I expect him to send out one of the men standing by the door inside to get me, but he comes himself. His grip on my arm presses deep enough to bruise. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” I cry brokenly. I didn’t realize how much hope I held that he was still good inside until it was crushed. I’m like the man on the ground in there, knees broken, destined for death but somehow begging—hoping anyway. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
I don’t know why I interrupted him. I want to blame it on my upbringing, but I think it’s worse than that. Despite everything I loved him too much to leave.
Giovanni looks terrifying in the slash of light across half his face, like a gargoyle or some other night creature. “I told you this wasn’t for you to see.”
“So that makes it okay? You can kill someone as long as you lock me in my room first? You can torture someone?”
He gestures into the room. “Torture? This isn’t torture.”
“You shot his knees!”
A rough sound. “He doesn’t deserve your sympathy.”
“What did he do that was so bad?” I ask, incredulous and tearful. “He crashed your party? For that he should be killed?”
“Don’t be foolish,” he says, his voice as harsh as I’ve ever heard him. “He came for you.”
That makes me stop. I swallow hard, tears cold lines down my cheeks. “What?”
“Christ, bella. He took her, he’ll take you too.”
“He took…he took who?” I never imagined he was a monk in the years I was gone, but I didn’t think he found someone else. Someone he got close to, someone to love. Was he engaged to someone else? Married? Was she kidnapped?
Then I’m more of a pawn than I even knew.
Giovanni turns away with a low growl, running a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
“You’re right.” I wrap my arms around myself as if that can control the shaking. My throat sounds like it’s been cut with broken glass. “I should have just left. That’s what I was trying to do. I got away from Romero. I was going to escape.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I wanted to be wrong about you.” I lose my tenuous grip on the tears, and they fall freely now. “I wanted you to be the Giovanni I loved. And God help me, I wanted to marry him.”
He stares at me a moment, deathly still. A long pause. “I told you he’s gone.”
“I know.”
“He’s fucking gone, Clara.”
“I know.” I scream it at him, as if to block out the sight of the man with his broken knees. It doesn’t work. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget. It’s tainted me, touched me. This place.
Gio’s eyes seem to glow from inside, a dark vehemence I’ve never seen from him. Something cruel and determined. “I don’t think you do know. Come inside, Clara.”
My throat clenches tight. “No,” I choke out. “I’ll go back to my room.”
He shakes his head, taking me by the arm. His grip isn’t bruising anymore, but neither is it gentle. I can’t get away as he pulls me around through the door, into the glare of the room.
Two guards are standing on either side of the door, making sure the man on the floor can’t leave. Not that he can, with his knees shot to hell. I have no idea what they think about me being there, but they don’t meet my gaze. I recognize one of them—a decent man, at least I’d thought so.
The man on the floor babbles when he sees me, pleas for mercy in a mixture of Italian and English. I clasp my hands to my stomach, afraid I’m going to wretch on the floor. I saw him through the window, but what I hadn’t known about was the smell. The tang of metal saturates the air. God.
“Let me go,” I whisper. Maybe it’s cowardly not to want to watch a man die, but I’m not sure I’ll survive. Especially if Giovanni is the one pulling the trigger. “Let him go too,” I beg softly. “Just stop this.”
“There’s only one way to stop this, Clara.”
“Giovanni, please.”
His eyes have that flat, dead look again. “He’s already dying. He’s almost dead.”
“Oh God. I’m going to be sick.”
Giovanni looks at me, a brutal challenge in his eyes. Then he holds out the gun.
I stare at it, disbelieving. “No. I can’t. I could never.”
“You’d be taking mercy on him. He’s in pain.”
“You’re a monster,” I breathe. For doing this to him, for doing it to me. I don’t care what excuse he has. I don’t even care if the man really did come for me. This is wrong. It has to be wrong, because I don’t know how to reconcile this—and I’m terrified that this place has changed me too.
That I’m a monster, too.
He presses the gun into my hand, almost tender, sympathy a hard light in his eyes. “Do it, bella. Put him out of his misery.”
The man collapses into a moaning heap, perhaps finally understanding that he’s fucked no matter what choice I make. The sounds coming from him aren’t even human really. Pure animal instinct.
There’s no help for him.
I point the gun at his head. It would be a mercy; I know that. He’s going to die fast or die slow. That’s the choice you face when you are born into the life. I should pull the trigger.
My hands shake so hard I can see the gun moving. There’s no way I’ll hit anything.
Reaching deep inside myself, I find some untapped strength. With a fresh surge of rebellion I swing the gun to point at Giovanni. My hands still shake, tears blurring my vision.
“That’s right,” he says, his voice rich with approval. “Pull the trigger. Stop me, bella.”
I have this sick feeling that he actually wants me to, that some part of him loves me enough to want himself stopped—while the other part is evil enough to keep going. “I’ll do it,” I warn. “I’ll kill every one of you.”
“You might be able to do it,” he says, musing and casual. “Take the west gate. There are keys in Alfredo’s pocket. Head to Tanglewood and don’t look back.”
He really does want me to, I realize numbly. But I can’t. I’m more terrified of being a monster than I am of dying. Let him hurt me. Let him kill me. My hands fall to my side.
With a low murmur in Italian, he comes to me.
His hands are gentle as he takes the gun. With his other hand, he draws me close to him. I bury my face in his rumpled tux, hurting enough to take comfort wherever I can find it. And God, his broad chest, his warmth, the spice of him piercing the blood in the air—it does comfort me. He holds me tight, as if he can ward away any demons, even himself.
I feel the slight sway of his body as his hand rises. Then the crack of a gunshot.
The moaning stops.
I press my face deeper into him. I don’t want to look. Can’t.
He was the one to show mercy after all.
Chapter Eighteen
I wake as if from a nightmare, my blood still racing from the fear, dark images flashing through my mind. Except it isn’t a dream. The blood and grass staining my gold glitter dress prove that. That had really happened last night. And this morning…
This morning I’ll get married.
Glitter rainbow stickers frame my face in the vanity mirror. It feels like a lifetime ago that I decorated everything with color and flash, childlike enthusiasm laced with a burgeoning femininity. A lifetime ago, but what’s really changed? I’m back where I started, living the life I was born to.
Back then my only purpose was to marry a strong Italian man and make strong Italian babies. It was a fate I fought and escaped, only to end up right back here. I was never one to believe in destiny, but I can’t deny its power as I contemplate the expanse of white fabric draped over the bed.
Two hours later, my makeup and hair are finished, my corset and stockings in place.
The only thing left is the dress.
The gown is couture, of course. Very expensive, with a slender wrapped bodice and artful ruches in the wide skirt. There’s something both architectural and delicate about the design, a contradiction that only enhances the allure.
It’s a fairy-tale dress, but I know better than to believe in that.
There will be no white knight swooping in to save me today.
There’s a small knock on the door. “Come in,” I say absently, expecting Maria.
Instead Juliette wears a gorgeous silver sheathe and a hesitant smile. Romero stands at his usual post, holding the door open for her. He’s been pretty pissy with me after last night, but now he’s busy looking at Juliette with lust—and maybe a little bit of longing.
She pulls me into a hug. “Oh, Clara. You look beautiful. Radiant.”
“Now I know you’re lying,” I say drily. “Considering I slept all of two hours last night.”
Her expression is sympathetic. “Nervous?”
“Something like that.” I decide to skip the retelling of last night. I’m not even sure I can get the words out. And if I start crying, I’ll ruin the amazing eye makeup that Maria did. You can barely tell my eyes are puffy.
With a strange expression, Juliette holds out a small sky-blue compact. “For you.” She glances behind her, but the door is firmly closed. We’re the only ones here. “Giovanni asked me about something blue I was supposed to bring you?”
Shit. I take the compact and open it to reveal a small mirror. “Sorry about that. He heard the tail end of our conversation. I had to come up with something fast.”
“Me too,” she says, her cheeks pink. “I had to search my purse and act like I wasn’t sweating it. It was either the mirror or my Adderall pills.”
We share a look before breaking down into giggles. Lord knows I need a laugh after last night. It feels good to relax again, to have a friend. Maria, with her strange unexplained defensiveness of Giovanni, doesn’t count. I miss Amy. I miss Honor. Both of them should be here for today, even if it is a fake marriage.
I get up from the vanity seat and move to the bed, using the square foot of space the dress isn’t occupying. Juliette comes and sits next to me. This spot has the added advantage of being farther away from the door, so there’s less chance of being overheard.
She speaks low, holding my hands in hers. “I called the number you gave me and spoke to a girl.”
“Candy?”
“She didn’t tell me her name. She was pretty hostile, actually.”
“I’m sorry. She’s really fierce about protecting her friends, and I’ve been missing for days now.”
“I know. I told her what you said, that you were okay. That you were safe.” Juliette makes a face. “She asked for proof of life.”
“Oh my God. I do love that woman.” I sigh, missing all of them at once. It hits me like a freight train. “Well, she’ll tell my sister, and at least they’ll know I’m alive. And she’ll know to be on her guard.”
Juliette hesitates. “I told her my name.”
“Oh, but why? You didn’t have to do that.” I know how much she’s risking helping me.
“So that she could get in contact with me. I haven’t heard anything yet.”
I bite my lip. “I’m sure she’ll contact you.”
“What about the wedding?”
“What about it? I don’t have a choice.”
“I know, but it’s so messed up that you have to go along with this. What if you said no? I mean, Giovanni would be mad, but it’s not like he can make you marry him. Father Michaels wouldn’t pronounce you husband and wife if you don’t say ‘I do.’”
Father Michaels is the priest who officiates most of the family’s ceremonies. He has a larger church in Vegas proper, but for a private family affair like this one, he’ll use the chapel that’s on the property. He baptized me and gave me my first communion. I never had much love for the man or the hypocrisy of strict religious rules in a family of monsters, but he had to be past eighty-five.
Last night I held Giovanni’s body while he shot a man in cold blood, felt the complete lack of reaction. He’s capable of anything.
“No. I’m not going to risk anything happening at the wedding. If I was going to put up a fight, I’d do it here, in this room…” I look over at the dress. Fairy tale. “But I don’t really see the point in that either. He’ll get what he wants either way.”
Her eyes are troubled. “I feel bad I can’t do more.”
“You’ve already done plenty.” The phone call is a huge weight off my mind. I know that Kip will keep Honor safe once he understands the nature of the threat. Not some random psycho on campus but a targeted kidnapping connected to our past.
For that matter Honor has done plenty too. She protected me the best that she could, and in my own way, I protected her back. There were things she didn’t need to know, things that would only have endangered her. Things my father did. And now this.
It seems that my father and Giovanni are alike after all.
* * *
Juliette walks with me from the mansion, helping me keep the hem of the gorgeous dress off the dirt path. I’m not sure why it matters, but that’s how the family operates—propriety first, consent second. The blue compact is tucked into my garter belt, snug and secure. I figure it counts for both borrowed and blue. The dress and everything else are new. I don’t have anything exactly old, but three out of four isn’t bad.
We’re escorted by Romero, who spends most of the walk pretending not to look at Juliette. He waits outside as we go in.
I expected the crowd to be small. What I didn’t expected was to see only three people in the chapel. Giovanni stands halfway down the aisle, still and almost contemplative. Behind him I can see Father Michaels between the pews. Beside him stands a man I vaguely recognize as Lorenzo, Giovanni’s cousin. I remember that they were close even though Lorenzo’s parents weren’t officially in the life.
Giovanni comes down the aisle to meet me. “You look beautiful,” he says soberly.
I nod my thanks. “So do you.”
His lips quirk. “I know this isn’t what you dreamed of.”
This isn’t what any woman would dream of. No matter how beautiful the chapel or the dress or even the man himself, the wedding feels cold. “Is that your way of letting me off the hook?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I
didn’t dream of this at all, bella. It presumed too much, more than I deserved. But now that I have you, I can’t let you go.”
His words move me more than they should. In the clear light of day, in this dress, with this man in front of me, I want more than anything to forgive and forget. To give us a real marriage, no matter how it started. But I can still see the mottled flesh of that man’s knees, still smell blood in the air. Even if I can somehow forget the kidnapping, I can’t forget death. It hangs over the ceremony like a shroud, the worst possible omen to a lifetime together.
Giovanni reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. “I should have given you this earlier.”
The small antique ring takes my breath away, the diamonds glittering, the setting both stately and demure. It’s exactly the kind of ring I would have dreamed about.
“You picked this out?” I ask, my voice wavery.
“It was my mother’s.” He looks unspeakably earnest and young in that moment. “Something old. For good luck.”
It feels like there’s a massive weight on my chest. I can’t draw in enough air to respond, but I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. I love that he feels there’s hope for us, even while I know there isn’t. I love him, even knowing the monster he’s become.
In the end I don’t have to say anything. He takes my hand and we walk down the aisle together to where the others are waiting. Juliette looks nervous, but she tries to cover it up with a smile. Even Lorenzo seems concerned, looking me over as if checking for injuries.
Only the priest seems oblivious to the tension. With his thick glasses and squinted eyes, I’m not sure how well he can see us.
Giovanni holds my hand while Father Michaels speaks. Maybe he thinks I’ll bolt if he doesn’t hold me. But the way he brushes his thumb across my palm, back and forth, feels more reassuring than confining.
“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Giovanni doesn’t hesitate. “I do.”
Father Michaels continues with his speech, about honoring and obeying, loving and cherishing. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Modern Fairy Tale: Twelve Books of Breathtaking Romance Page 70