Page 104 of Monster's Edge

“Are you saying that I’m going to have a lot of places to explore?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. I suppose I might be a slightly curious person. I might be the kind of person who wants to explore the home Ian crafted so carefully. After all, I could learn a thing or two.

Maybe I’ll explore and learn why he is the way he is. Maybe I’ll discover what caused him to create this fantastic house. Perhaps I’ll even learn about the things that led him to join the mafia when he was younger. He’s never leaving it now. That much is for sure. Once you’re in, you’re in, so I wonder what caused him to follow this lifestyle. Just because he had a dad or uncle who was a crime boss doesn’t necessarily mean he was forced to follow in their footsteps.

Only, the time for my wondering is over because we reach the end of the hallway.

“It’s a bookshelf,” I point out. “No door.” We’re at the end of the longest, weirdest hallway, and there’s nothing in front of us except for a bookshelf. Maybe that’s Ian’s secret. Perhaps he secretly loves romance novels or 90s crime fiction. I have no idea. Only, he grins as he reaches for a little statue on one of the shelves and pushes.

The bookshelf swings backward, opening to reveal a room.

I stand there in my wedding dress and look over at my groom.

“Ian?” I whisper. I’m not polite this time. I’m not remembering my manners. Luckily, it doesn’t seem as though he’s going to punish me for that. Or maybe he is and I just have no idea.

Ian leans down next to me and brushes his lips against my ear.

“Welcome to hell.”

Then we walk inside.

*

THE ROOM WE ENTER IShuge. It takes up the entire top floor of the house, from what I can tell, and the ceiling is made entirely of glass. Since it’s nighttime, the moon is out and the stars are shining bright, so the soft glow of starlight is cast into the room.

“This is lovely,” I tell him.

“So are you,” he murmurs, and it almost sounds romantic. I look over at him sharply, but he’s already walking to a cabinet that’s standing against one wall. I try to look around the rest of the room, but the different shadows are playing tricks with my eyes. I don’t have to wait for long because Ian flips a switch and now there’s essentially a spotlight on me.

If a helicopter or plane flies over the house, they’ll have a very clear view of me.

“What are you going to do to me?” I whisper.

That’s what I really want to know.

What is Ian Salucci, mafia mastermind, going to do to his new bride?

Now that there’s a light on me, I feel like I should be able to see more of what’s in this room, but I can’t. Instead, all I can see if that he’s rummaging around in the little cabinet. He’s looking for something and I don’t know what it is.

When he comes back, he’s holding a knife. It’s been freshly sharpened, judging by the looks of it, and Ian looks very, very happy to be holding it. I wonder if tonight is the night he cuts my skin for the first time.

“Turn around.”

I know better than to argue. My heart is racing as I turn my back to him. I’m standing perfectly still in my wedding gown and I don’t care move. If he’snotplanning on cutting me, I don’t want to give him an excuse to do it accidentally.

If heisplanning on cutting me, I don’t want to make the wounds any worse than they need to be.

“When I saw you for the first time, I knew I would have you,” he tells me.

Goosebumps cover my body. All of a sudden, I’m not sure whether I’m doing the right thing by standing here and submitting to Ian. Then again, isn’t that always my problem? I’mneversure if I’m doing the right thing by standing here and submitting to Ian.

Every single time I think that I should run away, Ian does something that makes me want to stay. I understand perfectly well that this relationship we share is a bad one. It’s not like we’re a happy, healthy couple who is in love. We’re not even sort-of in love. The two of us are engaged in some sort of strange dance that has results in the death of my father and a marriage between two mob families.

If anything could be farther from “healthy,” well, I’d love to see it.

“Is that so?” I find myself whispering.

“Oh, yes. You were gorgeous. You looked...innocent.”

“I’m not innocent anymore,” I remind him. Even if I want to be, I’m not.

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