Ruthless Saint: An Arranged Marriage Romance (DeSantis Mafia Book 1)

by S. Massery

  And then, abruptly, it’s too much for her.

  She stands and walks slowly out the side door, past Sam. I lurch to follow, but Aiden latches on to my arm. I lower myself back into the seat. Every muscle screams at me to chase after her.

  “We have men outside,” Aiden says under his breath. “If she needs air, give the girl a damn minute.”

  I stare at the door, and the minutes tick by. I can’t even pretend to pay attention. Someone is doing a reading at the podium, a passage surely about death and God’s welcoming arms. It turns my stomach.

  She slips back into the chapel just as the priest welcomes Jameson up to the podium to speak about his son. They asked if I wanted to say anything, but I couldn’t manage it. I don’t think Aiden had it in him, either.

  My attention snags on her for a second before Dad starts.

  “Wilder was a complicated man,” he says.

  I force myself to focus on Dad. On his words. If anyone should be in mourning, it’s him. He loved Wilder. Poured all of himself into his first son. Feels like a bit of a waste now, doesn’t it?

  That’s the asshole part of me speaking.

  “He loved,” Dad’s saying now. “He got to spend precious time with his family and new bride. And…” Something catches his eye in the back of the room.

  Aiden and I follow his gaze.

  Lawrence West walks down the center aisle.

  My brother’s hands clench, and I have to push down my own sudden flare of anger. His family is responsible for Wilder’s death. How dare he come here. Our blood was spilt in this very chapel. Dad’s glare bores into me and Aiden, and I glance at him. His subtle head shake is enough for me to lean back on the bench.

  Lawrence slides into a pew on Jameson’s side, ten rows or so back. He’s like a magnet, our attention being sucked toward him. Aiden’s anger is white-hot, but he keeps ahold of himself.

  Dad is still going on about Wilder, barely having paused to acknowledge his rival. He finishes, and our family rustles.

  “Let us pray,” the priest calls, motioning for us to bow our heads.

  I’m not exposing the back of my neck with a West in the room. Like he might whip out a machete and cut off my head here and now. But across the aisle, Amelie doesn’t seem to have any trouble. Maybe she didn’t pick up on the tension or doesn’t know Lawrence West’s face.

  Oh, how I wish I were away from this.

  I can’t wrap my head around what I’m supposed to do. I’m Aiden’s second—and now only brother. What was once an empty title of third son, often forgotten, now gets dragged into the light. There’s no way I’ll ever be free of this place.

  The priest steps down the altar and gestures for Dad to come forward. We stand, too, and meet him in front of the table with the urn and flowers. The man motions for someone to take the urn, and we all pause when Amelie steps forward. She lifts it in her arms, cradling the ceramic to her chest. She doesn’t look at any of us.

  The priest’s altar boys stream past us and stop, waiting to frame us in like white-robed guards. Aiden takes some flowers. Dad picks up the portrait. And I follow behind, empty-handed.

  We pass Lawrence West, whose gaze leaps from Amelie to Dad to Aiden, then pauses on me. I keep my face blank, hopefully. Amelie’s parents are teary-eyed across the aisle. More cousins. Cat and her brothers. Familiar faces. New faces.

  We’ll all get to know each other tonight.

  The smell of incense sticks in my nose long after we exit the church. We don’t wait, climbing into the cars that will take us to the mausoleum. Dark clouds blot out the sky, threatening rain. What began as a beautiful day seems to have taken a turn for the worse.

  Aiden and I slide into one car. Dad and Amelie in the other.

  “That was fucking bleak,” Aiden says.

  The driver grunts his agreement.

  “Why was Lawrence there?” I shake my head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Why not? Any opportunity to throw something in our faces. And all he had to do was walk in a bit late.” My brother grimaces. “The sooner this day is over, the better.”

  “Agreed,” I murmur.

  It takes a while to get to the mausoleum. We wait for people to get into their cars and line up behind us, and then, finally, we move.

  The cemetery is big and sprawling—a marked difference from the one in Sanremo where my mother is buried. Sharp sadness cuts through me that I’ll never see her grave again.

  It’s never because of my father, because of Amelie, because they’ll kill us when they figure out how they were tricked. A slight against the Costas won’t be forgiven. Not when she used a dead man as a bartering tool.

  I’m ashamed. I shouldn’t have let her do it. I should’ve been able to protect her more. What Matteo did… he deserved to die.

  I just keep failing.

  “Luca.” Aiden drags me out of my spiral. “We’re here.”

  I grimace. “Right.”

  We climb out of the car, and I follow Amelie and Dad. Aiden sticks behind, maybe waiting for someone. I don’t linger.

  Dad puts his hand on the small of Amelie’s back, guiding her up the marble steps. This mausoleum is a giant stone structure, something straight from Europe. It has wide, carved marble pillars guarding the entrance. The dark oak doors are at least twelve feet tall, adorned with swirling decorations.

  They’re propped open now, admitting us inside.

  It’s much lighter than I expect, with a cool breeze running through from another open door. Skylights dot the ceiling, and lamps are mounted on the wall around the octagonal-shaped room.

  Every side is taken up with marble slabs cut into rectangles of varying shapes. Some are occupied and marked. Others empty.

  Amelie has set down the urn, and the priest unfolds the easel for my father to set down the portrait. Cat approaches with the flowers Aiden had carried out.

  “I’m going to see my parents,” Amelie whispers to Dad.

  He doesn’t even blink, lost in thought. Or, perhaps, distracted by Lawrence’s arrival. He’s here now, in the back of the room. His cold gaze travels around, creating a little bubble of free space around him. I pivot to warn Amelie not to get too close, but she’s already gone.

  “Luca,” Dad snaps. “For the love of God, do not do anything stupid.”

  The priest coughs and tugs at his collar.

  Dad, to his credit, turns red. “Sorry, Father.”

  “Quite all right,” he murmurs. “Trying times for all of us. If you boys need anyone to talk to, my door is always open.”

  “Thanks.” Aiden appears beside me. His voice is laced with sarcasm.

  The priest misses it—or chooses to ignore it—and beams.

  “Where is Amelie?” I ask, craning around. I catch sight of her in the back, speaking to one of my cousins. I have to blink a few times before I realize it’s my tenant, Rosalie. The fact that she would leave the house is touching. But she must’ve recognized Amelie from before…

  “Leave her,” Dad says. “She’ll be allowed to fade out of the spotlight.”

  Unlike you. I can hear his thought ricochet around my head.

  The priest makes it short, just saying a few more words before blessing his burial spot. Their team will be by later to crack open his space, no bigger than a drawer, and seal him in. I shudder at the thought.

  We file outside, and I glance around for Amelie again.

  I can’t help it.

  Her back is to me, and this time she’s with her parents. Her veil is off, dangling from her fingertips. I can only imagine what questions they have for her. The tales she might be telling.

  But she’s coming back with us. Back to the tower, to her room.

  “Luca,” someone calls.

  I’m waylaid by Cat.

  “I’m worried,” she says.

  “About?”

  “You. Amelie.”

  My annoyance flares, and I brush her off. “Don’t, Cat.”

  “You can
’t just keep her locked up forever, Luca. That isn’t right.”

  I know it’s not right. It’s eating me up inside. But losing her would be worse, and nothing ties her to me anymore. She’s free-floating, adrift, and I can only physically stop her from leaving me.

  It’s desperate.

  Wild.

  I can’t control myself around her.

  And now she won’t even look at me—but that’s about to change. “Leave me alone, Cat,” I toss over my shoulder. “This is between us. I didn’t tell you about her just so you could judge me.”

  “You told me so I would keep an eye out for her,” she argues, following close behind me. “And I am. She cries every day. Bet your cameras don’t pick that up, do they? Her sobs and pleading for me to release her?” She yanks me around. “The only reason I don’t is some fucked-up loyalty to you, but I can’t do it anymore.”

  I stare at her. “What are you talking about?”

  She glares. “Which part, asshole?”

  “The sobbing.”

  I shake my head. Her desperate attempt to get out almost killed me—but it was in her best interests to keep her there. In my best interests, too.

  “You’re an idiot.” She slams her hand into my chest, and the unexpected force knocks me back a few steps. “Such a fucking dumbass. How about you go talk to her, huh? Instead of the shitty, controlling way you’ve been treating her for the past two weeks.”

  I shake my head. It doesn’t dislodge her words, though. It makes them stick worse.

  I ignore my newfound dread and spin around, trying to find Amelie again. There are so many fucking people crowding me, trying to get in a word. Is this how Wilder felt at family functions? Everyone wanting his ear? His promises?

  I shoulder through them and come face-to-face with Amelie’s parents.

  “Where is Amelie?” I demand.

  Michael raises his eyebrow. “You’re asking me?”

  “We should be trying to get answers from you,” Elise adds, bolstered by her husband’s anger. Her words are worried, though. “Honestly. We haven’t heard from Amelie in two weeks. We might not be the best parents in the world, but she’s always checked in—”

  “I—” I narrow my eyes. “She was just talking to you.”

  They exchange a glance.

  “What?” I demand.

  Michael frowns. “We haven’t spoken with her. We were talking to a lovely young woman, but not our daughter.”

  I glance around, rising on my tiptoes to try to see over the taller bodies. There are a few blondes, but none like Amelie.

  “You didn’t see her,” I repeat.

  “Well, we saw her at the chapel.” Elise purses her lips. “You were right next to her.”

  I have to swallow a few times so I don’t cuss. I mean, the f-word would be the least of our concerns if Amelie is missing. But I could’ve sworn it was her. She wore nearly the same thing…

  “Fuck,” I let loose. “She planned this.”

  Her mother rears back. “Planned what?”

  “To escape.” I leave them standing there and race back to one of the cars. I have no idea where she’s going, but I need to make sure. I can only imagine she’ll board her parents’ jet. Her pilot wouldn’t question it, not really.

  So I have to beat her there.

  25

  Amelie

  Two hours earlier

  I shake out my arms, nervous as hell. There’s a little voice in my head that’s telling me this will all be for nothing—I don’t have a chance. My contact will fail, and I’ll go to the funeral and then be shuffled right back into this room.

  No one has been in here in two weeks.

  I haven’t touched another person in two weeks.

  My heart cracks at that. Cat’s been a lovely jailer, but she had her orders. Did she ever try to release me? Fight for me with Luca? I’m not counting on it. Even if she had, it clearly fell on deaf ears.

  I test out my voice in the bathroom, and it comes out scratchy. Figures, since most of my nights have been wrapped in nightmares. And the times I didn’t wake up screaming, I usually wore my voice out trying to get someone to let me out.

  It would be easier to just… go with it. To stay in this room until something happens. But that would be like allowing Luca to grind my face into the dirt. It’s humiliating enough as it is, dealing with Cat. I’ve worn the same clothes for two weeks, washed them in the sink every other day, tried to preserve the fabric. I loved that outfit. I felt fierce in it.

  Look, now. It’s my prison uniform.

  My heart beats faster at the idea of escape.

  If I don’t do this, I’ll lose myself. I just know it.

  “See how stupid you are, Amelie?” I ask my reflection, pinching my cheeks. “You think a bird with broken wings can still fly.”

  My phone goes off just before Aiden collects me from my room, and reality pushes in. This is my one chance. The image of Luca’s foot pressing my cheek into the floor resurfaces, and I shudder.

  My resolve comes in waves, but my anger toward him is constant.

  The text tells me to find a reason to go outside during the service, all the way outside, even if it’s only for a moment. I don’t know why I trust the person on the other side, but I do. I can’t afford not to. I need to be an actress for today. I need to convince the DeSantises that I’m sad but not broken.

  I have to be glued to Jameson’s side for the duration of the day. And if not him, Luca or Aiden. Possibly both.

  I hold my palm to my chest in the elevator, trying to regulate my breathing. It’s weird, I can almost feel the scrape of my soul against my heart. The pain of it.

  “You okay?” Aiden asks me.

  I don’t respond. I need to pull the pieces Luca shattered back together, and I can’t speak without my voice shaking. I can blame that on the day. On what I’m about to do.

  Escape.

  Leaving the room has kicked up some other emotions. Worse, still, because they don’t fit into the narrative. My whole body thrums with the desire to run, and quieting my adrenaline is the hardest part. It’s a drum beat that moves me, forces me forward.

  “Amelie.” Aiden touches my arm.

  I jerk away from him. “Do not touch me.” It’s reminiscent of when he tried to take my keys, and I freaked out on him. “I’m not okay. Why would you ask me that?”

  He nods slowly, and he hits the emergency stop button. The elevator halts, and the regular lights flip over to dimmer ones. I squeak, moving as far away from him as possible.

  “You’re very clearly not okay,” he says, leaning against the far wall. He crosses his arms. “Dad will want to talk to you. To ensure you know your role.”

  “My role,” I repeat.

  “Grieving widow. It’s overwhelming, I’m sure, to be the center of attention. All of us will be watching you.”

  I am overwhelmed. And uncomfortable.

  I lack sadness, or empathy, or pity.

  Wilder died, and that’s been the least of my concerns.

  “The veil makes you look badass, though,” he says, then hits the button to restart the elevator. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

  I grit my teeth. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on speaking more than I have to.”

  We ride in the SUV in silence, with no sign of his brother or father. We’re in a caravan of black cars, though. They could be in any of them.

  They plant me beside Jameson on the steps of the chapel. My skin crawls. Luca is right there, and I’ve never wanted to stab someone so badly. Does he see what his imprisonment did to me? It’s driving me mad. But I refuse to look at him. Any of them.

  The procession begins. It’s in place of a wake, I realize. They don’t want to draw out the mourning, and now it’s time for my acting to begin. I paste on a small frown, befitting a widow. The veil helps hide the fakeness, although it seems like I’m a beacon for everyone. The one under the microscope.

  Did she love him?

&nb
sp; Poor girl, barely a bride before he died.

  I heard they married in secret and consummated it before their ceremony.

  People are not subtle.

  The funeral passes in a blur. A few people read, they talk about death. I’m going to explode, so I stand and cover my mouth, hurrying for the side exit. The man at the door lets me pass, and I burst outside. I suck in large gulps of air and eye the parking lot.

  Nothing stands out.

  I spin in a slow circle, trying to regain control of myself.

  My first day outside in two weeks, and I still feel shackled. I should be hopeful, right? Cautiously optimistic?

  Hope is the thing Luca used to break me. To shut me away.

  Hope and I aren’t on speaking terms.

  I return inside, sliding back into my seat just as Jameson goes to speak. The whole room’s atmosphere changes slightly, and I wonder if this is part of the distraction. If someone will extract me now.

  I don’t turn around.

  And then it’s over, and I’m still here. I’m still beside Jameson as he puts me in the car and closes us in, and I can hardly breathe because of the space he takes up. If anyone will see through my plan, it’s him. I’m almost positive he’s going to question me, to blame me.

  But we ride in silence, and, damn it, a nervous sort of light blooms in my chest. I wouldn’t call it hope, but… this has to happen here. Here, or I go back to the DeSantis tower and maybe I’ll never see the light of day again.

  I try not to tremble when Jameson steers me into the mausoleum. I grip the smooth ceramic urn that contains Wilder’s remains, my palms sweaty. This building is better suited for giants than the likes of us. Whoever built it intended to awe its visitors. The sky is already gloomy, threatening to rain—perfectly fitting for today—but it just adds to the structure’s imposing nature.

  We walk into the belly of the beast.

  The priest appears, and I set down Wilder. Odd to think of him like that, reduced to literal ashes. It’s how I pictured Luca breaking me down, but there’s something comforting about Wilder like this. He can be filed away in the back of my mind. Not a loose end, not my husband, just… ash.