Greed (A Sinful Empire Trilogy Book 1)

by Eva Charles

  “You’re here early.” I place a small kiss on each of her cheeks. “You look lovely.”

  “And you look so handsome,” she says, her hand cradling my face. “I want to see the bride.”

  And so it begins.

  “You’ll have plenty of time to chat with Daniela after the wedding. I expect her to be around for a long time.”

  Cristiano must have seen her approach the anteroom, because he’s at the doorway, waiting to save me if it becomes necessary.

  “I want to see her now,” my mother demands. “You’ve managed to keep her away from me with the promise of amanhã. Well, tomorrow has come. I’ll find her myself,” she adds in a huff.

  My mother knows better than to make demands of me in public. She’s fully aware it puts me in a dangerous position. I don’t believe for one second she doesn’t see Cristiano in the doorway. Yes, she knows it’s safe to talk around him. Still, the tic in my jaw is relentless.

  “Cristiano, give us a minute.”

  “Don’t undermine me in front of my men,” I warn when he steps away.

  “I won’t be seated until I’ve spoken to her.”

  I could threaten to have her removed from the church, but she’s my mother, and there’s no sense in making a threat I’d never carry out.

  “Do not make this more difficult on Daniela than it has to be. Upsetting her changes nothing. I need your word before I let you see her.”

  “Is my word enough, or do you require a drop of my blood to seal the promise?”

  My father did his best to destroy her spirit, but he never did. I gently take hold of her face and drop a kiss on her head. “Behave yourself,” I say before turning to Cristiano.

  “Please escort my mother to see the bride. They have only ten minutes to chat, so that Daniela has time to finish getting ready before the ceremony.”

  My mother touches my cheek. “I love you just as you are. But until I take my last breath, it’s my job to make you a better man.”

  “Go, before I change my mind.”

  “Ten minutes,” I repeat as Lydia Huntsman slips her arm through Cristiano’s and murmurs something that makes his mouth curl.

  I’m going to regret letting her go to Daniela. I’d stake my fortune on it.

  70

  Daniela

  The bride’s parlor is beginning to feel suffocating. Along with Paula and Nelia, there’s a seamstress in case there’s a problem with the dress, and a makeup artist. I can’t spend another minute in here with people I barely know fussing over me.

  In a perfect world, Isabel and Valentina would be here.

  In a perfect world, my mother would be here. I miss her. The hole in my heart is especially raw today. I need her to reassure me as she adjusts my veil, or to squeeze my hand and tell me how much she loves me. Doesn’t every bride want this?

  I need to get out of here for a few minutes.

  “I’m going across the way to the bride’s chapel,” I tell Nelia.

  “Shall I come with you?” Paula asks, handing me a small white Bible that I requested for the ceremony. The Bible my mother carried on her wedding day is at Quinta Rosa do Vale. I could have sent someone for it, but it didn’t feel right to carry it today. Just like it didn’t feel right to wear my mother’s veil—or her jewelry. My parents loved each other, and comparing their wedding to this is to make a mockery of their love.

  “You don’t need to come. I’d like to spend a few moments alone before the ceremony. But could you please keep this for me?” I ask Paula, handing her my bouquet of creamy white garden roses with a sprig of myrtle, a nod to Antonio’s British roots and my family’s stature in the valley. I especially love the silk wrap at the bottom, held in place by pins with pearl heads. The arrangement is beautiful in its simplicity, unlike the complicated arrangement I’m about to enter.

  When I open the door, Pinto, the guard stationed outside the door, is talking to Sister Maria Gloria, an elderly nun who attends the bride’s parlor.

  “Put the lid back on the kettle,” she chides. “Otherwise, the water will be too cold for tea.”

  “I’m sorry, Sister, but I need to take a quick look inside before you can take it to the bride.”

  I shake my head—everyone’s suspect, even an elderly nun.

  “Sister Maria Gloria,” I say, giving her a small smile. “Is he giving you a hard time?”

  “It’s your wedding day. Don’t worry about me, dear. I can take care of myself.” She winks at me. “I’ve brought some more hot water, if you’d like a cup of peppermint tea before the ceremony begins. I also brought some biscuits to settle your stomach. Brides get very nervous while they wait to walk down the aisle,” she whispers around Pinto’s shoulder.

  “That’s very sweet. Thank you. I’m going to say a small prayer in the chapel, and then I’d love some more tea.”

  She smiles as Pinto holds the door, giving her plenty of space to roll the small cart into the room.

  As I wait for Pinto to assist her, I hear the organ and Alma’s sweet voice. Alma singing at the wedding was the one thing I insisted on. This reminds me of Christmas Eve Mass with my parents. Today, everything reminds me of them.

  I turn to Pinto as he shuts the door. “Would you mind unlocking the chapel for me?”

  It’s not a strange request, and he doesn’t hesitate. The tiny sanctuary was built specifically for this purpose. For women like me, who need the strength of prayer before they promise their life to a man who will never love them. As the world has become more enlightened, it’s not used in this way so much anymore, just for special princesas like me, forced to marry men their fathers chose for them.

  Pinto nods to another guard, several feet away, before leading me to the chapel. He unlocks the door and sticks his head into the windowless sanctuary before allowing me to enter.

  “I’ll be right outside the door,” he says kindly, “if you need anything.”

  Pinto has been a gem today. I’m sure he has sisters, or daughters, or cousins he wouldn’t want to see in this situation. “Thank you.”

  When I enter the chapel, I go directly to the statue of Santa Ana and kneel before her. Like so many mothers, she, too, gave up her daughter to an arrangement. Only her daughter Mary’s arrangement was made by the Heavenly Father himself. I wonder if it made a difference.

  My father won’t be here to walk me down the aisle, but with every step I’ll feel his betrayal—betrayal that I still don’t understand.

  It doesn’t seem like I’ve been here very long when the door opens behind me. I’m sure it’s time to go. I don’t open my eyes. I’m not ready.

  I feel a small hand on my shoulder. “Just another minute, please.”

  “Daniela, querida.”

  I turn toward the woman’s voice. Lydia Huntsman. I knew she’d be at the wedding, but it surprises me that she’s here now.

  I stand, careful not to tear my dress. We stare at each other for a moment before she wraps her arms around me, pulling me tight. “I know the circumstances are unconscionable. But you’re a beautiful bride. Your mother—”

  “Please,” I plead softly. “I miss my mother. I’m a heartbeat away from melting into a pile of tears thinking about her.”

  “Me too,” she whispers. “Me too.”

  I take her hand and lead us to a narrow bench, where we sit with our backs against the wall. She doesn’t let go of my hand.

  Lydia starts to cry. “You look so much like her—I can’t help myself. I want you to know that even when your father said it was too hard on you to see me, I never stopped thinking of you, sweet girl.”

  My father made one decision after another to protect me. At least that’s what he said at the time. Looking back at it now, Lydia would have brought me great comfort at a time when I was scared to death.

  “Your mother isn’t here to tell you this, but I can speak for her, because I know exactly what she’d say. You don’t have to do this.” She holds my hand between both of hers. “My son
is so much more than he shows the world, and I would be honored to have you as a daughter-in-law, but you have a choice here.”

  Oh, Lydia. I don’t have a choice—any more than you did. “We both know that there are no choices. Not now. Maybe a month ago—maybe—but not now.”

  “I’ll help you,” she says firmly. “I’m not afraid of my son.”

  But I am. I shake my head. There are things bigger than me that I need to protect. “You can’t help me. Maybe you can protect me today, or tomorrow, but if I walk away now, I’ll eventually be punished in ways that make my heart bleed.”

  “Oh, sweet child.”

  “But please don’t be a stranger in my life. I’m so happy to see you—”

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Instinctively, I fling my body over Lydia’s to shield her from flying debris.

  We cling to each other as the explosion shakes the centuries-old walls, crumbling one section of the chapel and collapsing the bench under us. Isabel’s and Valentina’s faces run through my head in slow motion, like frames in an old silent movie.

  The statue of Santa Ana topples to the floor.

  Is it an earthquake? A bomb?

  71

  Daniela

  Cristiano barrels in, gently pulling me to my feet and helping Lydia, who is bleeding from her forehead.

  “Have you seen Antonio?” I ask, coughing.

  He drags us to the center of the room, away from the walls.

  “Antonio and Edward?” Lydia cries. “Samantha’s here too.” She tugs on Cristiano’s jacket. “Find them.”

  “Antonio can take care of himself. He has Lucas and Rafael with him, and others. I’m staying here with you. That’s what he would want. He’ll make sure they’re protected.”

  The words are barely out of Cristiano’s mouth when Antonio storms into the chapel. “What the hell happened?” he yells in Cristiano’s direction.

  I release a loud sob I’ve been holding back.

  “Are you hurt?” he asks me softly, taking the handkerchief square from his lapel pocket and holding it to his mother’s bloody forehead.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  I glance at Cristiano. “Your mother?” I see the worry in his eyes, but he doesn’t respond.

  “Edward and Samantha?” Lydia mutters.

  “Everyone inside the main church is fine. Including Alma,” Antonio adds. “They’re in the process of being evacuated. The explosion occurred in this part of the church.”

  In this part of the church? Who would do this? Maybe it was an accident. This is the oldest part of the building, and it’s vulnerable.

  Another piece of the wall crumbles. Antonio glances at Cristiano. He’s calm, but I see the trepidation.

  “We need to stay here until it’s safe to leave—just a few more minutes. This could be a diversion to draw us out.”

  A diversion? Cristiano doesn’t believe it’s an accident.

  I glance at stones on the floor that were once part of the wall and then at Lydia. She’s not young, and if we need to get out quickly, she won’t be able to—not like the three of us. “Maybe we should leave the building.”

  Antonio runs a palm over my bare arm. “Right now, this is probably the safest place. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “What happened?” his mother asks in a shaky voice.

  “We’re figuring that out as we speak.”

  Each word vibrates with an intensity that makes me shiver. If this was done on purpose, whoever is responsible is going to experience hell at Antonio’s hand. I’m sure of it.

  “Tell me everything you remember,” Cristiano says to me, “starting right before you came into the chapel.”

  I try to remember exactly what happened. I know the details are important, and I struggle to get them right. “I wanted a few minutes alone, and I gave Paula my bouquet to safeguard.”

  My eyes dart from Cristiano to Antonio. “Is everyone in the bride’s parlor safe? Where’s Pinto?”

  “Who else was in the bride’s parlor?” Antonio asks without answering me. “That information is important.”

  “Paula and Nelia. The makeup artist, Monica, and the seamstress, Lourdes. That’s all.”

  “You handed Paula the bouquet,” Cristiano prods. “Then what happened?”

  “I opened the door and the guard, Pinto, was talking to Sister Maria Gloria. He lifted the teapot lid that was on her cart, and she scolded him to hurry up so the water wouldn’t get cold.”

  “Who the hell is Sister Maria Gloria?” Antonio asks, as if exasperated that there’s something he doesn’t know.

  “She takes care of the bride’s parlor and brings refreshments on the day of the wedding.”

  “Refreshments?” Antonio asks suspiciously.

  “She’s been doing it forever,” Lydia replies, dismissing him. “She brought me tea and biscuits when I married your father. She must be eighty years old.”

  “Eighty-two next month,” Cristiano clarifies, seeming to placate Antonio a bit. While he didn’t know anything about the elderly nun, Cristiano knew plenty.

  Alvarez rushes into the room. “All clear,” he says before saying a few quiet words to Cristiano.

  “One minute,” Cristiano says quietly, sending Antonio a look that I don’t understand. He leaves the room and returns without his jacket.

  “It’s safe to leave, but cover your mouth and your eyes. It’s smoky out there, and we don’t know what kind of chemicals might be in the air.”

  I lift the outer skirt of my dress, trying to cover my face the best I can.

  Antonio gives his jacket to his mother. “Take my shirt,” he says, tugging at the buttons.

  “This is fine. Better,” I assure him. “Maybe you can use your shirt.” But he doesn’t.

  Antonio wraps an arm around his mother, steadying her, and he reaches for me with his free hand, holding my fingers tight as we leave the chapel.

  Outside the chapel there’s still smoke, and even with them partially protected, it’s enough to make my eyes sting.

  When we approach what was once the bridal parlor, I freeze. It’s hollowed out, like something in a war zone. No one inside that room could have survived. My stomach twists and the tears begin to flow. I can’t move.

  There’s a man on the floor nearby, a suit jacket covering his face. I’m sure it’s a guard. Maybe Pinto.

  “We need to keep walking,” Antonio chides, tugging on my hand.

  “Were they still inside?” I ask Cristiano over my shoulder.

  “We don’t have many answers yet,” he replies quietly.

  We go through a door and onto a side portico, where an older man and a younger couple are waiting. The area is surrounded by guards.

  The man lunges for Lydia as soon as he sees her, and they embrace. Edward.

  “I want you on Edward’s plane,” Antonio tells his mother in a voice that leaves no room for negotiation, “along with Samantha and Will, as soon as possible. A doctor will meet you there to examine you before takeoff.”

  “Our things are at the house,” she says defiantly.

  “Not a concern right now. We’ll collect everything and ship it to London. You need to go home and stay put until you hear from me.”

  Sirens are getting closer.

  A man I believe is Will steps in. “I brought plenty of security with us,” he tells Antonio. “You need all your people here.”

  “I don’t think it’s me you need to be worried about,” Lydia says to her son, while she squeezes my hand.

  “I’ll decide who I need to worry about,” he replies, pointedly.

  Lydia bristles, but Antonio is not going to indulge her. She’s going to have to do exactly as he says.

  He turns to Edward. “Do not let her out of your sight until you hear from me.”

  “You have my word.”

  I almost ask if I can go with them, but if I do, Antonio might be angry, and the trip to Fall Riv
er will be off.

  “Let’s go,” Will mutters impatiently, when Lydia and Samantha are taking too long to say goodbye.

  “Will,” Antonio calls. “Take Rafael with you. Call me if he gives you a hard time.”

  “I can manage Rafa,” he replies. “Don’t give any of this”—he indicates an orbit around his wife and in-laws—“a second thought. You take care of business here, and let me know if you need reinforcements. My wife was in that church.”

  Antonio nods.

  I’ve never laid eyes on Will until today, but I can tell from the way he and Antonio communicate that the man has plenty of his own power.

  “Antonio,” I plead as his mother gets into a car. “Who was in the bride’s parlor when the explosion happened? There’s nothing left of the room.” I can’t wait any longer for answers. Everyone in that room was there because of me. My insides are shaking. In my soul, I know they’re all dead.

  “It might be awhile before we know who was in the room.” He wipes a smudge off my face with his thumb. “You weren’t there. That’s all I care about.”

  “Who would do something like this? Why?”

  “At the very least, someone wanted to embarrass me and to stop the wedding. But that’s not happening,” he growls, dragging me inside to the vestibule at the front of the church, where the priest is gathering vestments and oils used in holy rituals.

  “You need to marry us now,” Antonio demands as soon as we set foot in the chamber.

  “I’m preparing to administer the last rites.”

  “They’re dead, Padre. It can wait.”

  “Antonio,” I gasp, but he ignores me.

  “We came to be married in God’s house. We’ll leave married.”

  The priest gawks at him like he’s insane. But he doesn’t dare go against him.

  “You can do an abbreviated version. Just the essential parts,” Antonio instructs him. “God will forgive you under the circumstances.”

  He’s lost his mind.

  “Outside.” Antonio continues his demands, like this is his church.