I was right at fucking home.
But I looked at the crowd differently today. I was looking at everything through Evie’s eyes. The crowd was more than intimidating to someone from outside the life. So yeah, it was one hundred percent mob gathered in the courtyard to watch us get married. Guns and wads of money and diamond cufflinks everywhere.
Plus Evie’s mother, of course.
Though judging from the look on her face, maybe she’s packing heat too, I thought with a wry twist of my lips. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to shoot me. I certainly wouldn’t blame her, I thought to myself. I’d stolen her prize.
The doors to the courtyard opened and I stopped thinking altogether.
I inhaled sharply as Evie stepped out on my brother’s arm. But she wasn’t Evie. She was Evangeline.
And she was far more beautiful than I’d even realized.
The woman who walked toward me was no mere mortal. She was more like a goddess, drifting down the aisle like her feet were cushioned by clouds. She was a runaway princess lost in Rome, a classic movie star, and an oil painting of a beautiful young girl, all in one.
The creamy white lace dress floated around her like angel wings as she took a tentative step and then another. It took me a moment to see beyond the sheer veil to the perfect symmetry of her face and the soft golden brown waves that cascaded over her shoulders to notice the white knuckles that held the bouquet and clutched at my brother’s sleeve.
My perfect angel was nervous.
For his part, Vince looked absolutely serene. My bride, not so much. I caught her eyes and held them, trying to transmit that I was going to take care of her, love her, and protect her for the rest of my godforsaken life.
I tried hard not to project the other side of my emotions—how eager I was to get my hands on her. My hands. My lips. Every part of me.
I pretty much wanted to rub all over her like a fucking lion. I wanted to mark her as mine. But more than anything, I wanted to give her a baby.
I couldn’t fucking wait to get her into my bed.
I wasn’t even sure I would make it to the bed.
Down boy, I told myself as I struggled to get a grip.
The girl is terrified and you’re thinking about fucking her brains out. She needs you to be strong. Strong enough to be gentle. Strong enough to stay in control.
I exhaled, my eyes devouring her as she came closer. Nobody else was there. Nobody even registered. Not my brother walking beside her. Not my asshole father. Not even the damned priest who was inches away and smelled like he’d already gotten into the red wine.
Hell, I wasn’t even sure there was a sky above anymore, or solid stone beneath my feet. All I saw was her.
That’s it, sweetheart. Just a little bit further . . .
I felt a sense of profound relief as Vince stepped up and handed her over to me, carefully placing her hand on my arm. Almost there. Just a few minutes more. I tore my eyes away from her long enough to flash him a grateful look before turning back to my bride. She looked skittish, but I didn’t think she would run. She even offered me a tiny, sweet smile before the priest began.
But I could feel her trembling.
I put one hand over hers where it rested on my arm and squeezed. I heard her shaky exhale and saw her small nod. She was ready.
As for me, I was more than ready. I was eager. I was desperate to get through the ceremony, the brunch, the well wishing. I resented the fuck out of everything that stood between me and making Evangeline mine.
Soon, Antonio. Calm the fuck down. She’ll be yours soon.
Once and for all, she would truly be mine.
I listened to the priest reading passages from the Bible and extolling the important of the sacred vow of marriage. And for me, it was sacred. I would put Evie above everyone. She would literally be my life.
I would gladly lay down my own life to protect her.
Thankfully, the ceremony was relatively short. Evie wasn’t raised Catholic. Plus, the family priest was more than aware that he was addressing a room full of the most dangerous and powerful mafiosos in the world. It explained the faint stretch of alcohol. That wasn’t the blood of Christ from communion I was smelling. It was liquid courage.
I had no doubt that he was slightly pissing himself.
I knew from experience that he was afraid of my father. I’d seen him change sermons midstream if my father looked bored, or worse, aggravated. Everyone was afraid of the mean old fuck. The butcher two blocks over. The cops.