With This Ring

by Natasha Knight

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Yeah. She was killed, too.”

  “Do you know this one’s name?” he asks, pointing to the little blonde-haired girl next to Elizabeth.

  I shake my head.

  He turns the photo over and takes it out of the frame.

  “Mara,” he says before turning it over to study her again.

  “She was here too, apparently. She’s Lenore’s granddaughter. She disappeared. I don’t want to think about what they might have done to her.”

  He nods, puts the photo down but seems preoccupied as he walks me out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

  28

  Cristiano

  I check my watch, adjust my cuff link. She has four minutes.

  It’s cooler today than it’s been, a storm rolling in. I watch the clouds as I think about the afternoon. My uncle is pissed I wouldn’t tell him where the wedding would take place.

  I don’t want him there for a stupid reason. I don’t want him to see my mother’s ring on Scarlett’s finger.

  Lenore must have mentioned that Father Michael would be performing the ceremony. He thought that was dramatic and unnecessary.

  I told him I needed it to be done right. In a church with a priest. No city hall. I told him I didn’t want the cartel thinking it’s not a real marriage. Not that I really think they would. We’d be legally married in a ceremony at civil hall too.

  “The men have secured the chapel, sir,” Antonio says to me.

  I nod and the roof door opens.

  “Still not sure why a justice of the peace wouldn’t have done it,” Dante notes.

  I don’t comment. He doesn’t like Scarlett simply because she is a De La Cruz. I understand.

  Noah steps out first. He’s dressed in one of my old suits. It’s got to be at least ten years old, but he looks better than he did a few days ago. He smiles and nods to me. He’s not a bad kid. I only spent about an hour with him, but no one would believe he was cut from the same cloth as his two older brothers.

  Then again, they only share one parent. Scarlett and Noah’s mother was Manuel De La Cruz’s second wife. He left his first wife, Diego and Angel’s mother, for her. I have a feeling that had something to do with the bad blood between them.

  I gesture to the pilot that we’re ready to go as Noah pushes the door wider and Scarlett steps onto the roof. She’s huddled into a heavier coat than I’d expect for the temperature and is hugging it closed.

  When she sees me, she quickly averts her gaze.

  Lenore steps out after her.

  “Thank you, Noah,” I say to him as they approach, then turn to Scarlett. “You look nice,” I tell her. “As always.”

  She looks up at me, her lashes thicker for the mascara accentuating the soft caramel-brown of her eyes.

  “You don’t look like a Neanderthal,” she says.

  “Well, that’s something.”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t one.”

  I grunt.

  She shivers.

  “Are you cold?”

  She looks around anxiously. Shakes her head.

  Once the others are on board, I gesture for her to climb on.

  Her expression grows weary at the chopper, the blades whirring overhead growing louder as they kick up the wind.

  “It’s safe,” I tell her and help her in.

  “Why can’t we just get married here?”

  “We need a church.” I close the door and when we lift off, Scarlett grips the edges of her seat. I reach over to strap her in.

  For the duration of the short flight, no one but Noah speaks. Lenore doesn’t much care for the chopper and it’s obvious how Scarlett feels. Noah, at least, is excited. Exactly as I’d expect a boy his age to be. He’s asking all kinds of questions, eyes bright and exhilarated.

  It’s a short ride and once we arrive on the mainland, everyone unloads. The SUVs are waiting to take us to the chapel. A small and mostly unknown place in a village just a little too far out of the city to become trampled by tourists.

  It’s always strange to me how throngs of people can collect in one place. Everyone literally overrunning each other, and call it a vacation. As if crowds are remotely enjoyable. Meanwhile, if they ventured just a mile farther, they’d find undisturbed, quiet beauty.

  “Where are we going?” Scarlett asks me as I lead her to one of the SUVs.

  “You’ll see.”

  I climb into the SUV beside her and our procession starts its drive along the coast to Santa Elena, a tiny fishing village where Father Michael awaits our arrival at the chapel known to the locals as the Blue Chapel.

  Scarlett keeps her gaze on the water. “It’s pretty out here.”

  “It is.”

  She turns to me. “Why did you give me your mother’s ring?”

  I’m surprised she knows, but I guess I shouldn’t be. One look at my mother’s portrait and she’d recognize the ring.

  “I don’t know,” I say. It’s an honest answer. I’m tired of going around in circles trying to make sense of things that don’t make sense. That’s all I seem to run into with her.

  “I won’t take it. When it’s over, I mean. I’ll give it back to you.”

  “I told you it’s yours. I have no use for it.”

  “It’s your mother’s ring. Even you have to have more feeling than that.”

  The words are a blow. “It’s yours, Scarlett.”

  “I’ll wear it as long as we’re married, but I won’t take it from you. It’s not right.”

  We’ll see. I don’t say it out loud and she shifts her gaze back out the window.

  “Are you ever jealous of them?” She gestures to the couples on the beach bundled up against the cool evening, taking in the last of the sun.

  “I don’t think about it.”

  “You don’t think about a different life?” she asks, looking at me again. “Where you’re not you?”

  “Do you?”

  “What do you think?”

  I glance beyond her momentarily, taking in the colors of the sunset on the water before meeting her eyes again. That’s when it happens. When I have that brain rattling moment again. When a flash of memory sends a shock of electricity straight through me.

  Us on the beach. That photo. Sunset. Mom and dad young and laughing. My brothers playing. Me tickling Elizabeth’s tiny, pudgy feet after burying her in the sand. Her giggles like all little kids, are filled up and bursting with joy. Just giggling and wiggling her toes.

  I exhale. Blink to find Scarlett watching me. I close my eyes and run a hand through my hair, looking away from her eyes.

  “I think you shouldn’t waste your time fantasizing about things that can’t be,” I tell her just as we pull into the town and I see the chapel. Before she can open her mouth to reply, the SUV pulls to a stop and I climb out. I close the door behind me and take a deep breath in, grateful for the cooler temperature.

  Charlie comes toward me. “Cristiano.” We shake hands. “I finally get to meet your bride.”

  “Thanks for coming.” Charlie will stand as my witness since Dante refused. He doesn’t agree with the wedding in the church. He understands the necessity of it but won’t accept the rest.

  Incense hangs heavy in the fresh salty air.

  I walk around to Scarlett’s side and open her door.

  She ignores my hand and slides out on her own. She looks around quickly but her eyes land on Charlie who smiles wide at her.

  “I see why you’ve kept her locked away,” he says.

  She gives me the side-eye and I have to wonder at his choice of words.

  “Charlie, this is my fiancée, Scarlett De La Cruz. Scarlett, Charlie Lombardi. Family friend and my right-hand man.”

  She looks at him again, shifts her gaze to his outstretched hand. She reluctantly slips her hand into it but only momentarily.

  “Very nice to meet you, Scarlett,” Charlie says. “An honor to bear witness to your wedding.”

  S
he just studies him in silence, and I can almost hear the things she’s telling him on the inside.

  “Christ,” I mutter.

  Charlie just gives me a wink. “I’ll see you at the altar.”

  Her gaze follows him to the chapel door where he disappears inside.

  It’s a small wooden structure and doesn’t look like much from the outside. Our small group makes their way to the doors, Scarlett and I at the back, Noah near us. No one speaks.

  Once there, Antonio opens the door. The place has been secured already. Even though no one knows we’re here as opposed to the very public charity event, I’m not taking any chances.

  My uncle thought we’d be married at the church in Naples where my parents had their ceremony. He sounded a little bitter when I wouldn’t give him the details of our plans but seemed to accept it when I told him I didn’t want to marry her in the same place my parents had been married. He doesn’t know Charlie was invited.

  This chapel, though, it’s where my mom was baptized.

  Rain begins to fall lightly. Scarlett and I are the last to enter, leaving several soldiers outside. Once we’re in the vestibule, I tell Noah to wait inside the church and turn to my bride-to-be.

  She’s looking at me, shivering a little. Raindrops dot her cheeks and two have fallen on her pretty, upturned nose. I wipe them off then brush her hands away from the coat in order to unbutton it and slip it off her shoulders. It’s then I realize why she’s been holding it closed all this time.

  “Really, Scarlett?” I ask, shaking my head.

  “I thought black was more fitting.”

  She’s wearing a black dress appropriate for a funeral not a wedding.

  I adjust the lace collar which has fallen over and use it to tug her closer, taking in her paler complexion, her wide eyes as she waits for my reaction.

  “You’re right,” I start, playing her game. Winning it. “Black is more fitting for a cartel princess become mafia queen.” I cup the back of her head, weave my fingers into her hair and tug when she pushes against my chest.

  “I’m not your queen,” she says.

  “Not yet, but before the night is out, you will be mine. All mine.”

  Her expression turns into one of worry as she searches my eyes.

  “Let’s go get married,” I tell her and shift my grip to her arm, bypassing her brother to walk her to the altar myself.

  29

  Scarlett

  Cristiano marches me down the aisle much the same way as he marched me upstairs last night.

  The priest clears his throat, his smile vanishing when he sees the dress, sees Cristiano’s hand around my arm.

  The chapel is simple, the pews unadorned, the floors stone, some broken. If there are graves beneath them, they’re so old their names and dates have been worn away by time. The altar though, is something to see. Arched ceilings painted turquoise, like the ocean. I bet during the day when sunlight shines through the stained-glass window, it’s spectacular. The altar itself is as simply made as the pews but the gold chalice and the other paraphernalia are as beautiful as in any church. I wonder if they lock the gold away at night. I would.

  But then again, I don’t trust anyone.

  “Begin,” Cristiano commands, shifting his grip from my arm to my hand, weaving his fingers with mine. Not quite how lovers would hold hands but, holding on to me to let me know he has me. That I’m already his.

  I’m sure he’s not afraid I’ll run off. I know what he’ll do to Noah if I try anything.

  So, I listen to the priest perform the ceremony in English. I guess I’m supposed to be grateful. I do speak enough Italian to follow but I haven’t told him that.

  When it’s time for me to say the magic words, I do it with a glare into Cristiano’s electric blue eyes. He just stares back at me, one corner of his mouth curving upward. He’s entertained by me. I guess he’s entertained is better than pissed off. I thought he’d already be angry about the dress but he’s taking it in stride. Maybe he’s choosing his battles. That’s a win for me isn’t it?

  When it’s his turn, he repeats the same vows I just took, minus the part about obeying. It’s now time for the rings.

  The priest prays over them before Cristiano slips mine onto my finger. It matches the engagement ring. He hands me a band to slide onto his finger. I’m tempted to toss it at him, but he must read my mind because he leans toward me and whispers, “Try me.”

  I don’t.

  I won’t gamble with Noah’s life. Just my own.

  We’re pronounced husband and wife and Cristiano is invited to kiss his bride. Not by said bride but by the priest.

  I stand still and try not to feel anything. Try not to remember how it was last night. Try to ignore the flutter in my belly, the missed beat of my heart. Try not to taste him. Try really hard not to want to kiss him back because I like kissing Cristiano Grigori and I hate myself for it.

  When he draws back, he brings his cheek to mine, mouth to my ear. “I can’t wait to feel your lips wrapped around my cock tonight.”

  “I can’t wait to bite your dick off,” I whisper back enthusiastically.

  He’s smiling wide when he pulls away. Then wraps his hand around the back of my neck, big hand holding me possessively as we make our way down the aisle. Outside the church, Cristiano lifts me into one of the SUVs.

  I think he’s coming with me, but I’m surprised when he calls Alec over.

  “Make sure you post a guard outside my wife’s door,” he says, eyes on me. “No one goes in and she definitely doesn’t go out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where’s my brother going?” I ask as he climbs into the same SUV as Lenore.

  “Back to the island.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. He was at the wedding, as promised. He didn’t walk you down the aisle because of your dress choice. I don’t ask much but what I ask, I expect to be obeyed.”

  “You don’t ask much? Are you even being serious?”

  “As a bullet—”

  “I got it,” I cut him off, sit back and fold my arms across my chest.

  With that, we’re gone before I can even ask where he’s going. Not that I care. I just want to know what’s going on. Where I’m going to be while Noah returns to the island.

  We drive for an hour and by the time we arrive at the beachfront house, it’s completely dark and raining. The last mile or two were along a single lane road without any lamps. Guards were already stationed along the route.

  I don’t see any other SUVs and when I ask where we are exactly, I’m just ignored.

  The house itself is pretty, simple but well-guarded. Although it doesn’t feel like the fortress that is the island house. I’m escorted inside, taken through the living room and barely given a chance to look around before I’m led into what I guess is the master bedroom.

  The room is large and decorated differently than the rest of the house. It has a decidedly softer style with fresh flowers everywhere, the king size bed scattered with rose petals which I promptly sweep off.

  We’re not lovers. We’re not friends. We don’t even like each other.

  I go into the bathroom and find a large, free-standing tub, and a separate shower with a small window at the far end. Too small to crawl out of. At the pedestal sink I wash my face and look down at my rings.

  I’m married.

  Married to Cristiano Grigori.

  The sound of someone opening the bedroom door has me switching off the water and steeling my spine. But when I return, I find a woman laying a table for dinner. Just one place setting. The guard watches her as she does, and no one pays any attention to me.

  Once she’s gone, I get to the table to find a plate of whole grilled fish, potatoes and roasted vegetables. There’s also a small carafe of white wine with barely a glass of liquid inside. A folded note is propped against it.

  I pick it up, open it.

  Just to be sure you’ll be up to feel every inch
of me tonight.

  “Jerk.” It’s because the first night I’d drunk myself to the point of passing out. I guess he’s not taking any chances.

  I only mean to eat a few bites of the food because I haven’t eaten all day but end up finishing the plate and the tiny bit of wine.

  Then, I wait.

  30

  Cristiano

  I need to make one stop before going to my wife.

  Jacob De La Cruz has just been discharged from the hospital. When I arrive at his home, he seems surprised. I don’t think he realized I knew where he lived but he’s quick to check his expression and invite me into the plain, uncared for house.

  “You rent it furnished?” I ask although I already know.

  “Easier,” he says. “Whiskey?” he seems chastened. At least a little. His arm is in a sling, but it’s not broken. He’s got a soft bandage around it.

  “How is it?” I gesture to it.

  “Hurts when I move anything. But I have good meds.”

  He’s not taking them though. I can tell from how tightly his face is set.

  I take the whiskey he offers and drink a sip only because he drinks from his first and it was poured from the same bottle.

  “So. Rinaldi was in Mexico all along?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Didn’t your uncle or someone in your organization have intelligence on him?”

  “I’m not here to discuss my uncle or our organization, or even Rinaldi for that matter. I want you to arrange a meeting with Felix.”

  “Felix? I can communicate on your behalf.”

  “In person. Me and him. He’s running the show down there, isn’t that right?”

  “We both are—”

  “Except that they just shot you.”

  “That was an accident.”

  “Arrange a meeting.” I shift my glass to my left hand and take a drink.