Chapter 27: an

RAVEN

The church isn’t anything special. In fact, it’s exactly the opposite. It’s old, dated, the carpet runner is frayed and faded, the air is musty with the smell of years of water damage. It grosses me out, in all honesty.

You’d think a man of Cardoso wealth would hold his wedding somewhere lavish, not a tiny local church. It’s possible Diablo brought him here throughout his childhood and that’s why he feels a connection to this place, but it still seems a bit odd.

The weddings I’ve attended in the past of men in relation to my uncle—whether it be family members or people he has a close business relationship with—have been an extravagant display of wealth. It’s a way for men of the mafia to prove to everyone how rich they are.

Maybe it’s Diablo’s doing. He doesn’t appear to flaunt money as much as my uncle does.

However, on the flip side, why doesn’t Cain care more about this? Considering how angry he’d get with me whenever I’d act out and make a public scene that’d embarrass him and his businesses, it’s weird to me that he isn’t more involved. Unless he’s using this small, local, childhood church to spin some display about humbleness.

Or maybe he’s about to make some deal with whoever runs the church. Use it to smuggle shit because the cops would never think to look here.

I don’t fucking know. None of it makes sense.

About the only thing I’m sure of is that we don’t know shit.

And that there’s some other angle, we just haven’t figured it out yet.

I still can’t quite fathom why my uncle wants to have any sort of business relationship with Marco. There’s a saying—hungry dogs are never loyal—and it feels so perfect to this situation. I can clearly see that Marco is hungry for power.

If he’s so famished for any sense of authority, does my uncle not see that he will hold absolutely no loyalty to anyone but himself? He will kill and maim to get to the top of that mountain where he’ll die upon it.

Stealing a glance at Luca, I can see just how strongly he detests Marco. He’s wearing a grim expression, one that darkens his beautiful features and makes him appear like a God out for revenge, looking to spill every drop of blood necessary. Like he’s ready to start a war to stake his claim on me and prevent any harm from touching me.

“Alright, so Rae, go back to the church doors and walk towards me as if it’s our wedding day.”

Swallowing hard, I turn on my heel, sauntering past Luca as I do as Marco requests.

“Pretend you’re in your wedding dress and the song is playing—what’s it called? Whatever—” he glances over his shoulder at his bodyguard as if the man will have any idea. “Pretend the song is playing and you’re about to walk down the aisle to marry me.”

Bile rises in my throat at the idea. I pause because to even feign this is the equivalent of hell to me. At this point, I’d rather they kill me than make me marry a man as repulsive as Marco Cardoso.

“Chop, chop, avecita,” he scolds from across the space.

Each step I take in his direction feels as though there are vines wrapped around my ankles, keeping me rooted to their place. It’s as if they’re dragging me down to hell as I scrape and dig my nails into the worn carpet runner in a hopeless bid for freedom from him and my uncle.

By the time I make it to him, he’s wearing a smirk as if he knows exactly how I feel and it amuses him. My heart is raging within the confines of my chest, pounding away at its prison in an attempt to choke me. It feels like a self-defence mechanism because my body senses utter evil.

He makes it worse by extending his hands out for me and I’m forced to grab onto them. I remind myself that I’m only doing this to play along—to make him believe I’m becoming submissive to his demands—so he begins to trust me.

However, somewhere in my mind, I’m aware of the fact that it doesn’t appear to be working.

A menacing shiver races up my spine the second our hands touch. It’s as if death is gripping me.

“Have you chosen your dress yet?”

I avoid his gaze. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “No.”

“You need to hurry. Don’t you think this church is perfect?”

“No,” I reiterate. Why would a man like Marco want to get married in a church? Is he under the impression that if he forces my vows out of me within these walls that they’ll be more legitimate?

He reaches a hand towards me and I fight the bile that burns at my throat as he caresses a knuckle over my cheekbone. “I prefer lace and tight.” After a pause, a smirk curves his lips again as he adds, “For our wedding night, avecita.”

I don’t speak on that. I keep my lips fucking tight because I’m afraid of the comment that will come out of my mouth if I open it.

“I mean the dress,” he explains, as if I asked him to. “I’ve already chosen the lingerie you’ll be wearing underneath it.”

I can’t help it. That’s my line—I tear my hands out of his, physically recoiling from him. That obviously amuses him because he chuckles as I spin away from him, closing my eyes to regain some composure.

For a moment, my eyes fall on Luca and I can see he’s white-knuckling the top of a nearby half wall. He’s not pleased with Marco’s behaviour, but he wipes the expression off his face quickly, before Marco can catch it.

“What’s wrong, Rae?” Marco’s tone is teasing, but not in a good way. He’s purposefully trying to get under my skin, in a bid to irritate me as much as possible. “Afraid you’ll like it too much?”