“It isn’t that easy, Dario.”
“I’ll just bet it isn’t. I know you’re not even trying.”
“It has to be the right man. Someone we both trust implicitly,” Val said. “If Elie wasn’t French, I’d suggest him, but we can’t choose a Frenchman. We’d have a war on our hands.” His grin faded and he leaned closer to his cousin. “I don’t want to lose that territory, Dario, and all the other families are poised to take it if we can’t keep it.”
Dario sighed. “I get it. We’re not losing the territory. I’m holding it for you.”
“For us. This is our famiglia. We own everything together.” Val threaded his fingers through Emmanuelle’s. “We hold it together or we lose it together.” He looked around the table, including Elie.
Stefano Ferraro had been the first man ever to make Elie feel as if he had a home and family, as if he truly belonged somewhere. Now he had acceptance from Valentino and Dario as well, just as if he was part of their family. He knew that was also due to Stefano taking him in and he would be forever grateful.
Elie nodded his head. He didn’t even mind the hit put out on him so much at that particular moment.
CHAPTER TWO
Elie stood just one step down from the priest about to formally marry him to his bride. He really should have taken more than a cursory interest in her. Stefano Ferraro was walking her down the aisle because, apparently, she didn’t have any family willing to accompany her to the United States. What the hell was that all about? His protective instincts were already kicking in. She might be a complete stranger, but she belonged to him. She was his.
Nobody treated his wife with the kind of utter disdain that would leave her alone in a foreign country as she married a stranger. He couldn’t conceive of parents who would do such a thing to their daughter—especially shadow riders. If nothing else, they should be grateful she was marrying to produce children for their community. Hell. He hadn’t looked at her age. He was just as guilty as her fucking parents.
Soft music played the wedding march and for some unknown reason his heart accelerated just a little. That made no sense at all. Emmanuelle had agreed to act as a witness and she came up the aisle first, dressed beautifully in a long burgundy gown. Her brother Vittorio was also a witness and stood beside Elie in his tuxedo. The Ferraros were out in force to support him. Valentino and Dario were there. No one was there for his bride. He detested that. He caught sight of Emmanuelle casting little glances around the chapel with a slight frown on her face. She also didn’t like the fact that his bride had no one supporting her.
Elie was many things, including a demanding, arrogant, very dominant bastard, but he was also loyal, protective and faithful. His woman would have a balance in her life, regardless of the demands he put on her. And she would have all the support she needed from his friends and the family he’d surrounded himself with. They might not be his blood, but the Saldis and the Ferraros had made room in their hearts for him. They would for his bride as well. He could give her that.
Emme made it to the altar and they turned to watch his veiled bride start toward him on Stefano’s arm. Stefano was a tall man, but even so, Elie’s woman looked half his size. He had always dated tall runway models in Paris, his native home. This woman looked as though he could break her in half at the first touch. For a moment his heart clenched hard in his chest and he couldn’t help pressing his hand over it.
For years, he’d seen Brielle in the café where she worked. He’d had no right to look at her. She’d been a young teen. Then she’d worked in the restaurant where he’d brought the models he dated. Mainly, he brought them there so he could catch glimpses of Brielle. It was wrong, and he knew it, but it was a compulsion he couldn’t stop. He was careful never to date anyone who looked like her. He didn’t do substitutes, not even in his mind.
He’d been a fool not to put a height requirement in the paperwork for the arranged marriage. He didn’t want to ever cheat the woman he married by thinking of Brielle when he was with his wife. Shit. Here he was, the woman was walking up the aisle toward him, and he was thinking of Brielle. The way she moved, her diminutive size, even veiled, reminded him of her. It was so wrong. He tried to concentrate on other things. The dress. The veil.
Her dress was from a French designer he recognized. Very elegant, see-through champagne-colored glitter tulle covered a formfitting silk underslip. Long sleeves of the same glitter tulle encased slender arms, coming to elegant, beaded points over his bride’s delicate, finely boned hands. Strings of luxurious crystals and pearls ran around the neckline and over the sleeves. There was a slit in the A-line skirt where her leg occasionally peeked out as she walked toward him.
In her wedding dress, his new bride appeared very fragile. A stirring of unease went down his spine. He had stated very plainly that looks didn’t matter—he didn’t have a preference. He definitely should have thought that through and not just because she reminded him too much of Brielle.
Elie preferred rough sex. This little tiny pixie looked as if he might injure her holding her hand. This could be a disaster. He just kept himself from groaning aloud. The truth was, he deserved what he got. He’d lost his chance at the woman he was meant to be with through his own careless arrogance. He’d said hurtful, ugly things that he couldn’t take back.
He had made promises to this woman and he meant to keep them. She had her head bowed, looking down at her feet, as if she wasn’t used to walking in heels. He couldn’t believe the heels added two or three inches to her already diminutive height. Suddenly, she looked up, her eyes meeting his through the lace of her veil. He felt the impact, although he really couldn’t see her. She stopped abruptly right there in the middle of the aisle, forcing Stefano to stop as well.
“No. Absolutely not.” Her voice was pitched low, but it carried to him. “Is this some kind of monstrous joke?” She tried to turn away from the altar, but Stefano held her firmly. “I didn’t agree to this.”
Elie didn’t wait to find out why his bride was rebelling, not with his entire family waiting. He strode down the aisle to confront his wife. Technically, they were already married. This ceremony was just a formality. If she didn’t want it, that was too damn bad; he wasn’t letting her out of the marriage. They had an arrangement. They both signed the papers. There was no getting out of it unless both parties agreed and he damn well didn’t agree.
He walked right up to her, caught her veil and shoved it back over her head. His breath caught in his throat. Brielle Couture. His Brielle. He would know her anywhere. He dreamt about her nearly every night. She didn’t look the same; she’d lost weight until she was almost a thin shadow of herself. Before, when she was eighteen, she had generous breasts and hips. Now the curves were there, but the rest of her was very slight. She was beautiful, just as she had been those years earlier, but she definitely didn’t look the way she had before.
Her green eyes flashed like the edges of twin swords. “I’m not marrying you.” She hissed it. Decreed it. Acted as if she had a say in the matter when she didn’t.
“Too late, you already did marry me.” He kept his voice pitched very low so only Stefano and Brielle could hear. “We’re man and wife and I absolutely refuse to allow you out of our agreement. You’re a shadow rider. Your word is everything. Would you really go back on your word?”
She tilted her chin at him. “I’ll appeal to the head of the shadow riders.” She all but hissed the declaration, keeping her voice pitched just as low. “They have to know what an arrogant, smug . . .”
Elie studied her defiant little face. Her entire body trembled. There was faint color beneath her pale skin. Her breathing had changed. He didn’t know the first thing about relationships, but he did know women and their reactions to him. At that moment, their shadows weren’t connected. Brielle might protest their marriage, but she was attracted physically to him whether she wanted to admit it or not. That gave him somewhere to start.
“Stefano is head of the shadow riders here.” Elie cut her off and gestured to the man who still held her arm.
“Is there a problem?” the priest asked.
“Give us a minute,” Stefano said smoothly. “This isn’t the place or time to air your differences,” he added, lowering his voice again.
“I’m not marrying him,” Brielle insisted. For the first time she looked around the church at their interested audience. She lowered her eyes, color sweeping up her neck into her face.