Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
A man prowls up the aisle from the back of the church, wearing a dark suit and a viper’s smile. He has white blond hair, close-cropped to his head. Shadows lie in the hollows under his eyes and cheekbones. The sleek suit obscures the breadth of his shoulders and the athleticism of the powerful body underneath.
A jolt runs through me. His features are perfect, so perfect, it hurts to look at him. Judging from the way women in the audience suck in a breath, I’m not the only one who thinks so. But I might be the only one who notices the feral tilt to his smile and the intense light in his eyes. He looks more hungry than happy. Expectant.
Years of instincts honed from being around dangerous men tell me this man belongs in their ranks.
The church is quiet, the only sound a candle guttering out in its candelabra. Eunice has turned her glare to the latecomer, pressing her lips together until they’re white. Whoever this is, she either disapproves of him, his interruption, or both.
Is this the best man? He’s striding straight to the altar toward us like an oncoming storm.
And the closer he gets, the taller he looms. He’s taller than David, who towers over me.
He doesn’t spare me a glance but steps smoothly up to David, who licks his lips, obviously unsure how to respond.
The newcomer murmurs, “Stefanos sends his regards.” With practiced grace, he pulls David into a one-armed hug, his right arm clamping around David’s shoulders while his left arm folds between them.
In the man’s embrace, David’s body jerks hard, and a half gasp, half gurgle escapes his parted lips. The intruder releases David and steps back. Metal flashes between the dark suits.
David folds forwards, a bright spurt of cartoonishly red blood spurting from his chest. The ketchup-colored liquid spatters my veil, and the white satin of my gown soaks up the droplets.
The intruder stands aside, a hint of amusement in his serpentine smile. David crashes to the floor, choking on his own blood.
My ears are ringing. Someone is screaming, and there are panicked cries and scrambling feet in the pews. The chaplain’s Bible thuds onto the ancient carpet. His shoes make no sound as he flees, leaving me as the only witness to watch the light fade from David’s eyes.
Blood speckles David’s gray face and soaks his white shirt. The knife got him in the heart. That’s not an easy strike. It takes force to push a blade through someone’s ribs, through the pericardium, and into the beating, vital organ. And this man did it with the coolness of someone hugging a brother to congratulate him on his wedding day.
There’s not going to be a wedding, not anymore. The guests are gone, fleeing what they can rightly guess is a mob execution. A metallic taste is in my mouth, and my empty stomach is roiling. The echo of slammed doors dies away, and I stand speckled with my betrothed’s blood, my plan for vengeance dying at my feet.
How am I going to get close to Stephanos now? David was the closest tie I had. Except...
Stephanos sends his regards.
Stephanos ordered this hit. I’ve made a study of the top tier of his gang, and I don’t recognize this ice-eyed hitman. In a rustle of satin, I turn to face him.
Up close, his beauty is sharp and striking. He’s beautiful like a well-balanced knife is beautiful. In the way a Sig Sauer pistol or a F-22 Raptor is beautiful. Stunning and deadly.
The killer still hasn’t looked at me. I might as well be an object on the altar—a candelabra or a tablecloth—for all the attention he’s paid me. If this was a hit on my life, if I was the actual target, he would’ve made his move by now.
Right?
That smug curve to his lips tells me he likes killing and the thrill of the hunt. Everything in me screams to run or fight.
Adrenaline floods my veins. My fingers flex, aching to reach for a weapon. But I hold the rest of me still, waiting to make my choice. Each second, I gather more information and expand my choices.
The hitman finally looks at me, and his blue eyes snag on my lips. I painted them red, a color bright enough to be seen under the stupid veil. His gaze trolls up and down my body, taking in my stained gown and the thick shroud over my features. There’s no flicker of recognition on his face.
If the hitman doesn’t know me, does he just see a bride standing over her love, too shocked to scream? I probably should run or cry. I’ve spent too much time calculating my next moves. I need to play my part.
But those arctic eyes freeze me. His head cocks to the side, and for a moment, I think he’ll speak.