KINGDOM FALL

by A. Zavarelli

  “Yes. Is that a problem for you, Angelina?”

  Her eyes flare in indignation. “Yes, it’s a problem. I won’t take orders from her. If that’s what you expect, then I think it’s best I give you my notice.”

  She’s watching me like she thinks I will protest. This was never just a job to her. She could have done plenty of other things with her time within IVI, but she volunteered her services here. I paid her well, and I never indicated that this was anything other than a professional relationship, and yet it’s clear she never gave up on the idea. She’s still not ready to give up, judging by the challenge in her eyes.

  “Angelina, I’ve appreciated your time here,” I reply with a guarded tone. “But if you can’t respect my wife, then I agree it’s best you leave. I’ll issue a severance payment to your account by the end of the week.”

  She shakes her head in disbelief, her vitriol spilling freely as she heads for the door. “Very well. I wish you the best of luck in your marriage, Alessio. But I suggest you watch your back. That knife on the nightstand was hidden under your bed beneath a pair of socks. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how it probably got there.”

  I turn to look at the nightstand, and something twists in my gut. Angelina doesn’t linger waiting for a response. She leaves me standing there, staring at the proof of betrayal. I walk over to examine it, but there’s no need. I know exactly who’s knife that is. The only question I have is how the fuck did it get here.

  I toss back my drink, leaving the damning evidence sitting there while I head back downstairs. I had planned to get some sleep tonight. Now, I won’t rest until I see the fucking truth for myself.

  27

  Alessio

  It’s well past five in the morning when I drag my bloodshot eyes away from the screen in frustration. I’ve been searching the restored footage for hours, but I haven’t seen a goddamned thing so far. My gaze drifts to the wall, and I sit there, silently contemplating when this must have happened.

  At first, I wanted to believe it was tied to the incident with Gwen. It would make sense if Natalia grabbed her knife before she took Nino upstairs to my room, but it still doesn’t explain how the knife ended up behind the bed. The explanation for that is far more disturbing, though I’ve already begun to piece it together. Natalia didn’t mince words when she told me she came here to destroy me and my kingdom. She was willing to do whatever it took to get her son back.

  Then it hits me. The night she was in my bedroom when I came home, bloodied and wounded. At the time, it had seemed to come out of left field. There had been an attraction between us, I thought, but I never expected to find her waiting in my room. I never expected her to offer herself to me after so little provocation on my part. A sickening feeling washes over me as I realize why.

  She didn’t want me. She came to my room that night to kill me.

  I’m numb, too dazed by the clarity of my thoughts to move. I count back the dates, recalling the contract I made for that night. It’s not difficult to remember since it turned out to be such a clusterfuck. Then, I recall the folder I had restored. Neither Manuel nor I had a chance to search the footage. I had intended to but never got around to it.

  Mechanically, I turn my focus back to the screen and click through the folders until I find what I’m looking for. I check the timestamps of each thumbnail, and when I find the image of me returning to the house that night, I go back a little further. I pull up her bedroom, and I watch with growing resentment and hostility as she selects the black silk nightgown to distract me. She packs her bags and creeps down the corridor, out of sight once she hits the third landing. There is no surveillance on that level, so I can’t see what she did next. I can, however, see how many hours she waited for me. I can see that the next morning, during breakfast, she tried to go back. Over the next week, she repeated the process, meeting what could have only been my locked door.

  She tried to retrieve the knife before she was discovered. I don’t know why this lie feels like the worst, but I want to know what her plans were. Had she decided to stab me while I was inside of her? Had she only failed because it fell beneath the bed?

  My eyes burn as I watch the clip on repeat, studying the methodical way she moves. The absence of emotion on her face. In many ways, it feels like I’m looking at myself, and I don’t like what I see. Pain radiates down the center of my chest, and I curse at the image on the screen. I curse at her for making me a goddamned fool.

  I slam the computer shut and throw my glass at the wall, shattering it to pieces. As I rise from the chair, I consider what I’ve sacrificed for her. I consider what she’s cost me, and then I consider changing my mind. It’s not too late to tell the Tribunal to find her another husband. She could be someone else’s problem.

  Only, the thought of it boils my fucking blood. Fucking witch of a woman. She has her talons in me, and I can’t let her go. I can’t give her to someone else. I’ll never let anyone else touch her, but there’s one thing I know for certain after tonight.

  I’ll never make the mistake of trusting her again.

  The pilot’s voice comes over the speakers, welcoming us to New York. I unbuckle my belt and rise from my seat while Natalia does the same beside me. I can feel her gaze on me, but I refuse to look at her. Not right now.

  We’ve spoken no more than three words this morning. I asked her if she was ready, and she replied with a nod. She could tell that I had shut down, and she didn’t try to make conversation during the flight. I kept to my papers, and she stared out the window, silent.

  Now, Luca is here to deliver us to the Catholic church where the ceremonies in New York are performed for IVI. That ride is also silent. Natalia seems to be growing more concerned by the second, and I can’t even bring myself to look her in the eyes. I don’t know what I’ll find there, but I know I’m tired of the lies.

  Logically, I’m aware that her circumstances made her desperate. I’ve asked myself again and again what I would have done had I been in her position. She doesn’t have the same options as me. She doesn’t have an army of guards at her disposal or a powerful network behind her, but that doesn’t change the fact that she didn’t trust me enough to talk to me about it. Instead, she would have rather bled me dry while I was inside of her.

  The wound that reality leaves behind is still too fresh, and I’m too raw to be kind to her right now, even if that’s what she needs. She’s terrified, I’m sure, but so am I. Last night I gave her my assurances, and now I’m wondering how this sham of a marriage will ever fucking work. What’s going to become of us? Will she spend her days outside of the house, distracting herself from the realities of our life like my mother did while I drink myself into oblivion? When the temptations of a warm body become too much, but we can no longer stand to look at each other, then what? If she ever seeks comfort from another man, I’ll give him a bloody and violent end. She has to know that this is her life now. She can’t have me, but I won’t let her have anyone else either.

  When Luca delivers us to the church, my tie feels like it’s choking me, and I exit the car without preamble.

  “Take her to get ready,” I tell him.

  I don’t look back at her. I can’t. I head inside to the space reserved for the groom, grabbing the first bottle of whiskey they stocked for me. There isn’t a need to bother with a glass. I bring it straight to my lips and chug, savoring the burn in my throat and the warmth in my stomach.

  I collapse onto a chair, staring at nothing as I wait for the alcohol to numb me. It takes a few minutes before I feel anything, and it’s still not enough. She’s twisting me inside out, wreaking havoc on my nerves. I’m tempted to obliterate myself completely, but even after everything, I can’t do that to her.

  “Sir?” Luca pokes his head through the door, his eyes drifting to the bottle of whiskey in my hands. “We’ll begin in thirty minutes. Would you like me to wait here with you?”

  “That’s fine,” I tell him.

  He enters, h
ands me a note from his pocket, and takes a seat in the chair opposite me. “Miss Cabrera asked me to give that to you.”

  I swallow, wondering if she’s changed her mind. Perhaps she’s decided death is a better alternative than marrying me after all. I unfold it reluctantly, reading the words written in the handwriting I’ve come to know well.

  Alessio,

  I’ve been waiting to tell you this, but it never felt like the right time. It’s important that you know before we marry that I am truly sorry for any pain I have caused you. I’m sorry about the lies I told you, and most of all, I’m sorry about what happened with Gwen. I can’t go back and change it, and I can’t take away your grief. But I hope that one day, we can move on from it together.

  When you made your proposal, you told me that this situation wasn’t ideal. But that wasn’t true. I didn’t say yes to save myself. I said yes because this is what I want. And I hope someday you will feel the same way too.

  Thank you for being the man who saves me, even at my worst.

  Natalia

  I relax back into the seat, staring at the letter. Quietly, I try to pick apart every nuance of the words. The silence is overbearing, and I don’t know why I even fucking ask, but I do.

  “How is she?”

  “She’s nervous,” Luca says reluctantly. “But she seems to be doing okay.”

  I nod. His response does nothing to settle me, but time passes regardless. And then, inevitably, it’s up.

  “Shall we?” Luca stands, gesturing for me.

  I swallow, rise, and take one last look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are hollow from a lack of sleep, and I’m not acting like myself, but there’s a strange new feeling settling over me as I prepare to meet my bride at the altar. I don’t recognize this feeling. It’s warm, soft, and all-consuming. There’s a name for it, I think, but it can’t be that.

  It certainly can’t be that.

  28

  Natalia

  Between Alessio and Abella, I’ve been given enough information to have a pretty solid understanding of how today is supposed to go. I’ve been told Society weddings are often elaborate affairs, but that won’t be the case for ours. Alessio didn’t want to have the wedding in Seattle because that would require him to invite all his associates and their wives. Here, in New York, it will just be the witnesses and us.

  I’m okay with that because my nerves are already shot. Alessio’s coldness toward me today isn’t making this any easier. He’s barely looked at me, and it’s unsettling. I can’t help feeling like I’ve trapped him into this situation, and I hate it. But most of all, I hate that he doesn’t want it the way I do.

  It's hard to breathe when a guard I don’t recognize comes to retrieve me. He tells me it’s time and escorts me out into the main church. When the doors open, the men in masks and cloaks turn to regard me. They are the witnesses from IVI. Alessio told me they’d be here as a requirement, and I wouldn’t know who they are. It all feels a bit strange, but this is part of their marriage ritual, and I know it will only get more intense as the day goes on.

  My eyes drift to the front, where Alessio is waiting for me. He towers over the priest in an all-black suit, overshadowing everyone else in the room. He’s the perfect mixture of dark looks and handsome features. A villain and a reluctant hero. When his gaze settles on me, it pulls me forward like a magnet.

  Music plays as I walk down the aisle, but I’m not sure I hear any of it. My head feels like it’s underwater. I’m dizzy and nervous over the doubt I might find in Alessio’s eyes when I reach him.

  It seems to take forever. My body feels like it’s weighted down with bricks, and it’s hard to move. When I first put on the dress, it felt beautiful, but it’s claustrophobic right now. Somehow, by some miracle, I make it to the man I’m going to marry. His eyes heat and then flare as they move over me with a slow-burning appreciation, and I feel like I can finally breathe again. This is the reaction I needed from him. I don’t think I could have gone through with this if he wasn’t as vulnerable as I am now.

  He releases a breath too, and his shoulders relax as I offer him a small, nervous smile. The warmth has returned to his eyes, and it might be as temporary as the sun peeking through the storm clouds, but for now, I will take it.

  The music draws to an end, and the priest welcomes us, beginning the ceremony with scripture. I catch only a few words because I can’t seem to tear my gaze from Alessio. He doesn’t look away either. It might be the longest we’ve ever gazed into each other’s eyes, and it feels intimate. It feels … sweet.

  When the priest asks us to join hands, we do so willingly. His are warm and strong and firm around mine, and I take shelter in his touch. Even in the face of uncertainty over our future and what it may hold, I am comforted by the love I have for this man. It burns so deeply, I want to blurt the words out this very second, but there isn’t time.

  The priest begins the vow ceremony, and we are asked to declare our intent. Alessio recites his vows first. His gaze intensifies as he declares to forsake all others, remain faithful in good times and bad, in sickness and health, until death do us part. It feels so real. It feels like at this moment he means every word. I know I mean them when I sign and mouth the words back to him.

  Luca delivers the rings, and the priest proceeds with the ceremony, blessing us before he asks us to exchange bands. Alessio’s ring is a simple titanium band, and mine is a white gold halo diamond I chose from the selection his jeweler showed me. A surge of possession takes over me as I slip his onto his finger, and I am proud to wear the ring he carefully secures on mine. He holds my hand in his for a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing over the band. This moment is significant and not just for me. I can see it in his eyes. He’s equally tormented and terrified by the impact of the journey we’re embarking on together.

  The priest directs us to kiss, and we both lean in, our lips soft against each other. It’s not like the kisses he steals in the night. It’s gentle yet possessive. He doesn’t pull away, and neither do I. We seem to have forgotten that we have an audience, and I think he’d be content to stand here all afternoon, drinking me in like he owns me. I’d be content with it too, but the priest clears his throat before declaring that it’s time to greet the witnesses.

  I’m breathless when Alessio breaks away, staring at me like I’ve cursed him. I’ve seen that look before, and I know it usually precedes him pulling away. He’s afraid of whatever he’s feeling, and his reaction is to shut down. It’s what he always does, but right now, I need him to be present.

  I squeeze his hand in mine, silently pleading with him before the men in cloaks come to greet us. To my relief, he doesn’t release me from his grip. The process is formal and efficient, each of them coming to offer their well wishes before stepping aside. I offer them a nervous acknowledgment and nothing else, aware that these same men will be there to witness what comes next. The one ritual Alessio was hesitant to inform me of.

  After our last nuptial blessing from the priest, we are dismissed, and Luca whisks us away in the car to a high-rise building in Manhattan. There is no signage on the doors, and just inside, there are enough guards to take down a small army should the need arise. When they see Alessio, they bow their heads respectfully.

  “Dominus et Deus, Mr. Scarcello.”

  I glance at him, but he doesn’t say anything as he leads me to the elevator. Inside, we are both quiet, our hands still clutched as the carriage takes us to the top of the building. Alessio guides me out into the hall and then up a staircase that opens onto the rooftop.

  The space looks like something out of a fairytale. There are cobblestone pavers weaving through lush foliage and ornate bubbling fountains. Gas lamps cast a soft glow over the pathways that open up to private seating areas. At the center of it all is a marble pavilion with a stone fire pit burning inside. That’s where most of the cloaked men are gathered, waiting for us.

  My eyes move to the solitary chair and table in fron
t of the pavilion. Everything has already been set up for the ritual. Not only does every Society member have an inked inscription of IVI on their skin, but the wives are marked in an additional way. It’s designed to be a testament of loyalty to your husband. And tonight, I will have my choice of a brand or a tattoo of Alessio’s family crest on the nape of my neck just below the IVI lettering.

  At first, I will admit I was reluctant to agree to such a ceremony. For years, I’ve bore the permanent marks of another man’s hate. I’ve despised them. Revolted at them when I looked in the mirror. But when I talked it over with Abella, she helped me see the ritual from a different perspective. It’s not just a brand. It’s a permanent mark of our love. The more I considered the idea, the more I liked it. Alessio’s mark on me won’t be the same as the man who tried to kill me. His will be designed to show the world I belong to him and him alone. It’s possessive, hot, and maybe a little demented, but I’ve decided I’m okay with that. I delivered my decision to him freely, without pressure or coercion.

  Looking up at him now, I can tell this means something to him too. Before, his explanation of the process seemed like a formality, but as he helps me to kneel on the pavers in front of the chair, it’s impossible to miss the fire in his eyes. He likes the thought of his ownership printed on my skin.

  He moves around me, kicking away the chains attached to the anchors on the pavers. There are restraints at the end of those chains, and I know they are meant for show. It’s a disappointment to the crowd he’s chosen not to use them, and they make it known.

  “Come on, Scarcello. Cuff her up. Show her how it’s done.”

  There are cheers from the back, but Alessio freezes, his eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them as he stares back at the men.

  “I invite whoever felt the need to speak so freely to come forward and say it to my face. Nothing would please me more than to remind you I am a Sovereign Son, and you are woefully out of turn.”