Page 146 of Dominance

“You may kiss the bride!”

My eyes drift closed, Adriano’s arms curling around my middle, pulling me into him. I’m falling. I’m his. Our lips meet and my heart soars, far above the turmoil boiling beneath the surface of this facade, this farce.

But one thing is true, unmistakable, unbreakable.

My love for him.

Snapping back to reality, I step back, spinning toward the first row and tear the gun from the bouquet, leveling it right at Dom. The source of all my pain, anguish, and fear.

Rage and disbelief contort his face as he stands, matching my hatred as he says two words:

“Do it!”

29

ADRIANO

Picture this:

A tableau, a painting rendered in blood. Hate etches the hues in sharp relief.

Joy and love seep through, the underpainting that cracks and splits with age beneath the chaos of brushstrokes on the surface.

A daughter, now a wife, caught between the child she must protect, the man she loves, and the father who holds sway over the fate of all three.

A husband, frozen with overwhelming elation at a joining he never put any hope or stock in for himself, and the shock of his wife’s violence, the meaning behind the floral masked death she carried with her, and who it was really for.

And a madman, staring that death in the face, a grin splitting his features into a sinister taunt to match his words.

“Do it!” Dom barks.

But the words aren’t for her.

Gloria realizes it just before I do, whipping back around, her eyes bulging as she looks down?—

At the red dot on my chest.

“Adri!” I hear her scream from miles away. She’s reaching for me.

I reach back.

The gunshot rattles the windows, the sound shock-waving through the sanctuary from the balcony.

All I see is red.

Golden, fiery red flashing in front of me.

Right before time reasserts itself and I catch Gloria’s falling body, her hair cascading down out of its intricate braids and pinning, and down the front of her dress…

No…it’s the wrong color red. Gushing from her shoulder.

“Gloria!” I shout, dragging her out of the way, toward the back of the dais to the side door.

Which slams open, along with every other door in the place at the same moment, flooding the auditorium with men in full tactical gear. Boots hammer under the scuffle of ballistic armor, assault rifles being brought to bear. All to the resounding, clamoring shouts of: “FBI! Nobody move!”

Yeah right.

Down below, some of the audience is stunned, frozen. The rest are panicking, rushing for the doors. I barely have time to register it.

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