Page 38 of Wicked Villain

So, he’s right. If I want to not just live but make sure my mother does, too, I need to listen. And I need to make damn sure, until I can escape this prison I’ve been forced into, that my husband-to-be keeps believing I’m my sister.

Mama backs down and casts me a sad glance.

“Don’t worry, Mama. The stress isn’t good for you. I’ll try to be okay.” I offer a meek smile, though we both know my poor attempt to reassure her is exactly that. Poor.

The truth is I’ve been taken captive again, but this time, my parents know where I am and who has me. They just can’t get me back.

Mama touches my face again and caresses my cheek. “Ti amo, mia cara ragazza.”

“I love you, too, Mama.” Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I try not to cry.

She pulls me in for another hug.

“If you love your parents, you will do your duty the way your sister would have,” Papa says from behind.

Bastard. He had to slip that in somehow. And he knows any love I have for my parents is solely reserved for my mother.

“You are Gabrielle D’Auria. Don’t you forget that.” He’s about to continue, but then the door opens and Roman steps back in.

“Time’s up,” he declares in a gruff voice. “Let’s go.”

Jesus. This is it. The moment of reckoning.

Mama and I pull apart.

Roman gestures for us to follow.

Mama and I walk together, arm in arm like mourners at a funeral. Papa and his guard trail behind.

We’re taken down a hallway that has been decorated for the wedding in lilac and pink flowers. I’d be more impressed that everything was put together so quickly in such a beautiful way if I weren’t walking toward my doom.

We reach the door to the hall where the ceremony will take place, and Roman stops us. An usher dressed in a tailored suit takes his place. In his hand is a bouquet of flowers I never chose. Purple lilies, in keeping with the color scheme.

He hands them to me. Although I take them and remember my manners with a curt, “Thank you,” I feel like I’m on autopilot. Like I’m having an out-of-body experience and I’m watching someone else wearing my skin. But it’s me.

I look back at my father. Papa was supposed to walk me down the aisle, but surely, he won’t do it now. It would look like poor taste to give me away to Lev with everything going on.

When Papa wheels up to me, I realize he still intends to be at my side, but the stiff look on his face speaks of other things.

“Ready,” the usher says, motioning for us to continue into the hall.

As soon as we step inside, I spot Lev at the end of the aisle waiting for me.

Beside him is the priest.

Lev is dressed in a black tailored suit that almost softens his harshness. He still looks rugged and ruthless. Still looks devastatingly handsome. His clean-shaven face reveals more of his hard cut jaw and sharp features. The clean look makes that fuck-you-stance he’s so good at look even more pronounced.

His eyes find mine, his gaze piercing and potent even at this distance.

When the Wedding March begins, he looks at Papa and the devil-may-care grin that slides across his face tells me we’ve just stepped into another game we have no chance of winning.

Papa moves forward. I follow, and as I take in the guests, I realize what’s going on here.

There are at least a hundred people here. Everyone who matters. Everyone who can witness my father’s downfall. Including the Bellandis. I spot Danillo near the front row standing where he should be able to get a good look at the ceremony.

This is an attempt to disgrace us, a punishment.

Lev must be the one who demanded my father walk me down the aisle in his wheelchair. On top of that, he wanted my former betrothed here to witness his marriage to me.