Page 27 of Dark Mafia Heir

As much as I respected Dante, he was weak and reluctant to shed blood. He trusted easily and could hardly recognize a viper smiling at him. That became his undoing.

I am different, though, because I won’t hesitate to shed blood or start a war if that is what I’ll need to achieve whatever the fuck I want.

Salvatore’s eyes are red with rage, but he knows better than to act on it. “Careful, you might regret this.”

“Regret does not exist in my books, old man.” I point my right index finger at him. “And let me warm you. You’re a dead man if words of what is happening here get to Peter Cole.”

His throat moves as he swallows, his chest heaving so hard I can almost hear the pounding of his heart. So this is what a mix of false bravery, rage, and fear looks like.

I hear light footsteps as someone walks up to me and stands at my back. “She’s coming down in a couple of minutes,” Lorenzo says.

“Now, If you don’t mind, I’d like to excuse myself. Enjoying the wedding,” I grin cockily at Salvatore.

I feel the scorch of his glare burning through the back of my head as I head to the altar.

“What does he want?” Lorenzo asks.

“He wants to take over the Irish territories, and he needs my alliance to do it,” I reply.

Lorenzo is silent for a moment. “What did you tell him?”

“I turned down the madness, Lorenzo. What was I supposed to do? Jump at the offer and become his ally?” I know Salvatore’s nature more than I can recognize my own shadow. Only a fool will fall for his sweet words about alliance and whatnot. That fucker will kill me and try to take over my territory the moment he gets what he wants.

The door leading to the foyer opens, and everyone turns their attention to it as someone announces the bride’s entrance. Suddenly, everywhere is quiet as anticipation hangs in the air.

My chest flutters at the thought of how beautiful Vivienne would be in whatever gown she put on, which is strange because I have never felt that sort of sensation before.

She steps into view, and it’s like the whole world narrows down to just her.

Her dress is this perfect white, the kind of white that makes everything else look dull in comparison. It flows around her as she walks, hugging her body in all the right places, yet falling so gracefully that she almost seems to glide down the aisle.

The lace on her sleeves and the crusts of diamonds on the skirt catch the light, delicate and intricate, just like her.

Her hair is pinned up, a few loose curls framing her face, and her veil trails behind her, soft and sheer, like something out of a dream.

She’s beautiful in a way that stops me cold. It’s like she’s looking right at me, and she isn’t even smiling, yet my chest tightens with the weight of it all, the beauty, the realization that this woman is mine.

I may not have her fully—yet—still, she is mine.

Her eyes lock onto mine, and there’s this moment—just us in the middle of everything.

The crowd, the music, the decorations, it all fades away. All I can see is her, moving toward me, step by step. She looks perfect. No, not just perfect. She looks like she was meant to be here with me in this moment.

Every second feels like it stretches forever, and yet it’s over too fast. She’s closer now, only a few steps away, and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than I want her in this moment.

Dario’s words start to ring in my head.

“You like her.”

Maybe he wasn’t wrong, and I really do like her. But in the mix of it all, there is deep, seething hatred and resentment.

I hate her for being Peter’s daughter, and she hates me for stealing her away and forcing her into this marriage. She’ll kill me if she has a chance, yet I can’t stop looking at her and wishing all of this was real.

She reaches where I’m standing, and I extend a hand to her.

Vivienne stares down at my hand, and then she glares at me before reluctantly taking my hand and following me to the altar.

“You’re beautiful in that dress,” I whisper to her.

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