Page 121 of Brutal Revenge

He doesn’t even flinch. “Then we’ll wait five years.”

My nerves vanish like smoke.

We reach the suite, and when Matteo unlocks the door, everything inside me freezes. We don’t walk into an empty room. Four men stand in each corner. Silent, still, yet gawking in a way that makes my skin crawl.

Matteo instantly reacts. Protectively, he pulls me behind him, his body tense and ready to fight, even without his gun on his hip. The priest only had one rule when my father changed grooms. Matteo and his family couldn’t enter the chapel armed. Their weapons had to be checked in with the hotel’s security personnel.

Before Matteo can throw a single punch, a fifth man joins the fight.

I don’t scream, move, or breathe. As my father steps out of the shadows, I just stare.

I should have known this was him.

He only ever appears when the knife is already at my throat, and although the coldness of the gun pressed against my temple seconds later is just as chilling as a knife, the sharp smell of gunpowder can’t be mistaken.

“Azra, Matteo,” he greets, as if welcoming us home after our honeymoon instead of watching a goon paid to kill pull away his only daughter from her husband. “Although the route to matrimony was curvier than your mother’s naturally dried hair, traditions must take place.”

My stomach gurgles. I completely forgot about the tradition I assumed I’d skip since no one in my family knew about my plans to marry. Even their attendance at my vows didn’t remind me.

Nobody from my family attended the reception, so I thought I’d be in the clear.

It was foolish of me. My father sees the sheet-staining ritual as a more vital part of a wedding than giving away his only daughter. It’s a symbolic test of unity and legitimacy—the ultimate test of loyalty.

My father’s favorite kind of trial.

I force my voice to stay steady. “Why? If you believe Matteo’s claim that we broke the non-penetration clause, why do we need to stain the sheets? It’s pointless if I am no longer a virgin.”

He ignores me completely.

He only focuses on Matteo.

“There are no ill feelings,” he says, smiling like a snake. “But we’ve been deceived before. Without proof that this coupling is legitimate, I have no reason not to ignore the utter disrespect spat in my face today.” His first words are for Matteo, but his final sneered ones are for me.

Hearing the threat in his tone in the same manner as me, Matteo stiffens but holds his ground. “We’re not doing anything?—”

“You will complete the bloody-sheets ritual,” my father says, cutting him off. “In front of these men.”

Matteo’s jaw clenches. “No.”

My father’s smile widens. “Henry isn’t my boss, son. I do not answer to him. Which means I can dispose of you both withoutconsequence.” My lower lip quivers. “Though her death will be a little more delayed since I promised these men time with her to do with as they pleased if you did not follow my order.”

“Fucking touch her and I will kill you.” Matteo’s threat isn’t solely for my father. It’s also for the men circling us like sharks.

“If only you could,” my father says, voice mocking. “Do you not recognize the faces of the men around you? They’re part of the Cosa Nostra, which means you can’t touch them.”

“If they touch my wife, I am well within my rights to kill them.”

“That will be a little hard to do when you’re choking on your last breath,” my father snaps back, his anger rising. He is not used to barking orders and not having them followed. Matteo is the first man I’ve seen go against him.

“Baba,” I murmur, silently pleading. “Please.”

I know my father.

He doesn’t bluff.

He doesn’t threaten.

He only issues promises he plans to keep.