Page 44 of Dragon Touched
Finally, something was going his way. All he needed now was to heal the bullet wound, pulverize Vito, and retrieve his princess.
The most important thing is making Vito pay, though.
Once he disposed of her father, he’d have no more use for her sassy mouth and tinkling laugh.
Rosebud lips and warm, brown eyes tickled his heart, as if they knew better.
“No woman will ever rule my heart, body, or soul.”
Chapter 27
Sacha
Sachakepthergazeon her feet, unwilling to meet her father or Matteo’s stare. The men’s iron grips, with one hand on each arm, were as hard and cold as the bars of a prison cell.
Stopping at the wide, double doors to the chapel, Vito gave her upper body a rough shake.
Sacha’s head snapped back from the sudden movement. A streak of anger shot through her veins, but she stamped it down.
Don’t think about what—who—waits in that room. Think about Fin and Margaret, and what I need to do to keep them safe.
“Don’t try anything today.” His fingers clenched tighter, the tips digging into the soft flesh of her inner arm. “Do you hear me?” Another rough shake.
“Yes, Pops.” She sounded weak, and she hated herself for it.
Vito turned to Matteo. “If she tries anything, I want you to personally bring that scarred freak and fat old lady here and demonstrate how we deal with those who interfere with family business.”
“Of course, Boss.” Matteo flashed a greasy smile in her direction. It didn’t reach his eyes.
Her father grasped the handles of the doors and flung them open. Today, the chapel seemed forbidding with its hush. No media or guests filled the pews, just hard, corrupt men in suits—bodyguards from both the Ninnette and Lombardi outfits.
The priest from yesterday waited at the altar, next to Lorenzo.
Pulled through the aisle, she could barely keep up. She looked straight ahead and tried not to meet anyone’s stare.
Sacha was grateful there was no fanfare. She wanted to get this mafia-style shotgun wedding over with, all of it, but the thought of Lorenzo’s swollen body and hairy knuckles on her skin made her want to gag.
Her father’s mouth tightened. “She’s yours, Lorenzo”—he shoved her toward the creep—“I wash my hands of this foolishness after today.”
“Wow. That’s cold, even for you.”What happened to the man she once knew, the dad who wouldn’t deny his princess the world?
The large, pimply man’s eyes raked over the backup wedding dress clinging to her skin. His meaty hands pulled her to his chest. He smelled like stale cigars, rum, and pizza.
She had to breathe through her mouth, or she’d vomit all over his expensive, Italian loafers.
“Not daddy’s little girl anymore, huh?” He leaned into her neck, and his breath smelled like decay. “The things I’m going to do to you tonight.” His fingers pinched the tender skin on the side of her breast, and she choked back a cry. “You’ll beg forgiveness for embarrassing me yesterday.”
“Is this the happy couple?” The priest moved closer.
Lorenzo released his hold, but not his cruel stare.
Sacha swallowed.I’m doing this for Fin and Margaret. Must make the best of it.
She lifted her chin and stared at a spot above the priest’s head.
A stained-glass window showed Mary cuddling her son.
The image reminded her of Mamma, and how she missed her happy face, her soft encouragement, and her gentle guidance. Besides her features, the only other thing she owned of her mother’s was her surname. Mamma had insisted Shepperd be listed on Sacha’s birth certificate as her middle name. If she’d still been alive, she might’ve tried to make Pops see reason—she would’ve at least pleaded Sacha’s case.
