Page 113 of Brutal Revenge

Halfway down, I notice a small table near the altar. It’s a memorial table for loved ones who have passed. My grandfather takescenter stage, but just to his left, framed in silver, is a picture of Hattie.

My chest tightens as my pulse rings in my ears. She is so alive in the photo. So bright and full of hope, like she was when she promised she’d find me my own foreign prince so I could also escape what we thought was a fate worse than death.

We had no idea.

Antonio was not her prince. He twisted her into something she didn’t recognize and stole the only true friend I ever had.

I tear my gaze away from Hattie and look at Antonio. His smirk is triumphant and certain.

His cockiness sets my determination in concrete.

I will not break.

I will not falter.

I willnotlet him win.

When we reach the altar, my father releases my arm and steps back, his verbalization on the situation indecipherable.

With no time to waste, the priest begins the formalities. His voice reverberates in the chapel, but I barely hear him. My pulse is too loud, and my thoughts too chaotic. Even more so when the chapel door flies open, and a ripple of shock moves through the room.

I know who is there before I twist my neck to follow the attendees’ wide gazes.

Matteo stands in the entryway, breathless, wild-eyed, and drenched.Huh?His lips twist before a breathtaking smile lifts half his mouth.

“I object,” he says, confident that is all he needs to say to stop this wedding.

I have news for him.

The priest blinks. “We… ah… we haven’t reached that stage yet.”

Before I can react, my father’s voice booms over the shrill of my pulse. “His concerns also don’t matter. My daughter marries whom I say she marries.”

He turns toward the intruder—toward Matteo—and recognitionflickers across his face. In a nanosecond, interest replaces his peeved expression.

“What is this about?” he asks, his curiosity unhidden in his high tone.

Matteo doesn’t look at my father or Antonio.

He doesn’t look at anyone except me.

“Can I speak with you?” he asks. “In private.”

“No.” My brain rattles against my skull from my quick headshake. “I’m marrying Antonio. He ismychoice.” I say my lie sharply, hopeful it will scare Matteo away like it did last night. He needs to let me finish what I started, then, once that is done, he will learn the truth. But not before. It can’t happen before.

Matteo stares at me for a few nerve-racking moments before he shifts his eyes to my father. “There are things you don’t know that may have you reconsidering who you want to give your daughter’s hand to.”

“Such as?” my father asks, completely ignoring my immediate denial of his claim.

When Matteo gestures subtly with his head toward the priest’s chamber behind the altar, my father nods once before following him to it.

Just as fast, Antonio snatches up my wrist and drags me after them, his grip tight and possessive. I stumble but don’t resist. I need to hear whatever excuse Matteo comes up with so I can remind him of it when I make him pay for ruining everything just as it’s coming together.

Inside the office, Matteo turns to face Antonio, my father, and me.

“They can’t get married. She doesn’t love him,” he says, voice low but steady.

Don Adami’s scoff unnerves me. I hadn’t realized he had joined us. “Marriage isn’t about love.”