I blush, chancing a glimpse up at him through my lashes. “Luca said something about that. If something happened to him, I’d be married to you.”
His grin is blinding. Such a handsome man. How could any woman want Antonio over him?
“It’s an old tradition, but it’s effective in ensuring assets and children remain safe and with their family.”
“What if the woman doesn’t want to re-marry?” I scoff.
He winks at me. “I think you’d be okay with it. Unless you’d prefer that idiot.” He winces, looking over at Antonio.
He’s being a drunken fool, making a scene with one of the waitresses.
Our eyes meet, and he leers, licking his lips. Marcello rolls his eyes, turning to face me. “I have to take my mother home.” Kissing my cheek, he adds, “Try to relax and enjoy the night.”
I miss his company when he leaves. He’s become a friend, and I need those. Not one person here is for here for me.
“Sister,” Antonio croons, opening his arms out wide as he moves toward me. Another man beside him is just as intoxicated. “This is my friend, Carlos.”
“I don’t care,” I state, gathering my dress. Repulsion knots my stomach when the friend’s eyes ogle my chest. I attempt to turn away and disappear into another room, When I do, they follow me.
“I like your dress,” the friend says, running his gaze over my body like a snake would a mouse. Only…I’m no mouse. I’m a queen. So why do I feel cornered?
Antonio drops into a chair at the table set up for us to have dinner, fancy china and silverware all neatly placed as if serving royals.
“She could wear a sack and pull it off. That’s the benefit of a ballerina’s body.” Antonio grins. I sense Luca’s approach, silent, deadly, mine.
“I thought we were supposed to fuck the ballerinas, not marry them,” the friend drools.
I shrink inside. The night Jewel’s father tried to attack me rushes to the forefront of my mind.
Bastard.
My palm hitting his cheek sends a clap sound ringing through the room. “Bitch,” he groans as Antonio breaks out into a boisterous laugh.
My body visibly shakes as I try to gain control of myself.
Luca moves through the room, reaches for a silver dinner knife, and wraps his arm around the friend’s head from behind. Pinning him against his body, he stabs the knife into his neck without missing a beat.
“What did you say to my wife?” he growls as my lungs empty.
“Luca, don’t…” Antonio shouts, his chair scooting out behind him.
It’s too late. Luca drags the knife across his throat, roughly tearing.
Blood squirts from the wound, the red, warm spray hitting my face. Mist coats my wedding gown. My brain takes a second to register what’s happening.
The blade glints under the chandelier light. Once he pulls it free, the gruesome fleshy slice from ear to ear pours a river of blood down the friend’s body, soaking the floor.
My head whooshes with the pulse thumping in my chest. He releases his body, and it hits the ground by my feet with a heavy thud.
This is who I married.
A killer.
A monster.
A dark king.
Chapter Forty-Three
Luca
I’d taken my eyes of Alyssa for a few seconds while Marcello relieved me of his mother’s gushing. I search the room, but she’s nowhere. My heart kicks up, pounding violently. It’s been doing that lot lately—because of her.
My father summons me with a crook of his finger. “I’m retiring for the night. You made me happy today,” he tells me, patting my arm, gesturing for Edward to come and help him to his room.
As soon as he leaves, I go in search of my bride. It doesn’t take me long to track her down. My spine bristles at the sound of my brother and his worthless friend’s voice taunting.
Who the fuck do they think they are?
Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I silently move through the dining hall, the table set for a feast I had planned for a few of us tonight.
Alyssa doesn’t know anyone here, so I didn’t want to prolong her discomfort and planned to have everyone leave before our meal.
My beast rears up within me, taking over as I reach for a knife and grip the bastard in my hold, slicing through his neck, the knife made for slicing through cooked meat, not raw, living flesh.
It takes some carving, but I manage, cutting from one ear to the next. Alyssa’s beautiful face becomes painted in blood, her eyes wide, mouth parted as I release the body and he falls at her feet.
Dammit. She’s going to run.
“You motherfucker,” Antonio bellows, coming around the table and shoving me. Turning on her heel, Alyssa rushes out of the room, and I give chase, ignoring my brother’s hollering.
“Alyssa!” I call out, chasing her up the stairs into our room.
She races through to the bathroom, stopping at the mirror. Her fingers move to the blood stains decorating her creamy skin. She wipes, smearing them down her cheeks.