His Juliet: An Age Gap Hurt Comfort Mafia Romance (Empire of Royals Book 2)

I’d never been a girl who fantasized about getting married, but the few times I’d thought about it, I certainly hadn’t imagined marrying a man more than twice my age who looked at me like I was a piece of meat.

Spiro Abazi leered at me as he signed our marriage license. He handed me the pen, and I shuddered as his fingers brushed against mine. I stared down at the license.

We were in a small room with a man who looked like a government official, the Butcher, and two other soldiers. I had expected a large public wedding ceremony, but maybe this was it? My stomach twisted with guilt, like I was betraying every fiber of my being, when I leaned down and signed my name on the blank line. Why couldn’t I be a fighter? Why was I so weak?

The Butcher clasped Spiro’s shoulder and let out a booming laugh as they headed out of the room. I’d been dreading the moment I had to kiss my new husband, but it seemed we were skipping that part of the ceremony. The soldiers shoved me forward, forcing me to follow the two men through a maze of hallways until we arrived at the mouth of a massive great room filled with hundreds of people. A loud ringing filled my ears, and a wave of dizziness made me stumble. I couldn’t go in there. I couldn’t do any of this, but with the armed soldiers at my back, I had no choice.

I carefully slipped my hand into my pocket. Queenie’s soft fur was the only thing keeping me from falling apart. The cheering crowd was a blur as I walked down the center aisle, which was flanked by long tables laden with elaborate displays of red poppies, gold dishes, candles, and hanging crystal chandeliers.

Someone pushed me into my seat at the head table. Spiro collapsed into the chair beside me, his hand immediately finding my thigh. I flinched violently, and his fingers dug in harder. I bit my lip, blocking out his touch. No one here was on my side. I was completely alone. My breathing went short and ragged. I was moments away from completely losing my shit when I saw her. Elira. Her fiery eyes met mine for the briefest moment before she turned back to the man beside her. It wasn’t logical, but seeing her made me feel less alone, like I had someone on my side after all.

Spiro leaned over and said something in my ear. I couldn’t understand his words, but I understood his body language all too well. His lips sloppily hit my cheek, and I was seconds away from throwing a punch when a shout across the table distracted him.

My fingers twitched, burning with the urge to pick up the knife beside my plate and dig it into my skin. I was adrift in a vast ocean and needed the pain to bring me back to myself. I imagined slicing my flesh and bright red blood spilling onto the floor, matching my dress and the flowers.

I ran my finger along a poppy before methodically ripping off the petals. Poppies seemed like an unusual wedding flower. They were so delicate. My fingers froze just as I was about to rip off the last petal and I glanced over at the Butcher. I did a double take as I realized there were two of them—this must be his twin. The closer man was already looking at me, a sick smile on his face. My stomach sank as I remembered the bouquet of poppies left on my desk after the signing. I quickly looked away. These men had been haunting my every step in more ways than I would probably ever know. I was their cornered prey.

I wanted Romeo. I wanted him to destroy all the men in this room and carry me out in his arms. I wanted his protection, care, love.

Except he wasn’t here, and he might not even exist. Not the version of Romeo I’d fallen in love with.

No one noticed my quiet panic while they spoke in Albanian, which thankfully saved me from the pressure of contributing to the conversation. In fact, for this being my wedding, people seemed completely uninterested in me as the bride. The men kept shouting and toasting. I thought I heard someone say Matteo Rossi, but I couldn’t be sure. Did that mean all of this had been orchestrated between the Italians and the Albanians?

How much pain could a heart handle before it gave out completely?

Plate after plate of meat was placed in front of me. I hadn’t eaten a full meal in days but couldn’t stomach a single bite. Instead, I slipped little pieces to Queenie. Her happy purr vibrated against my body. At least one of us was calm right now. I was just grateful the dark fabric of my dress concealed the wet patches of sweat breaking out across my skin.

One of the Butchers stood to loud cheers and shouts around the room. Once the crowd quieted, he started giving a toast. While he spoke, women with trays of drinks wove through the tables. The men took the tall shot glasses filled with cloudy white alcohol.

Elira’s words came back to me. She had said the drinks were poison.

I averted my eyes to not seem suspicious, but my heart raced. Had she been telling the truth? Were these men about to be poisoned? Unexpected hope trickled into my numb soul. Not a single woman took a shot glass as they were passed around.

More men took turns standing and giving toasts, each ending with another shot. Everyone was in high spirits, and soon, a live band started playing upbeat folk music. Women dressed in black skirts, white shirts, and vests decorated with gold and red moved to the middle of the room and started dancing.

I counted the seconds, waiting for the men to collapse or go unconscious. But no one looked even remotely unwell. Maybe it took a while to kick in? Or maybe these drinks weren’t the ones with the poison in them?noveldrama

A loud shout echoed across the room, and suddenly, hands were on me, urging me forward to where Spiro stood in the middle of the floor.

“Raki!” one man bellowed. A shot was shoved into my hand. I shook my head and tried to give it back, but then Spiro’s fingers were around my wrist as he forced the glass to my lips. I kept my mouth shut tight and the liquid sloshed against my skin. His expression darkened and he gripped my jaw so tight I cried out in pain, giving him the opportunity to pour the alcohol down my throat. I coughed and spluttered at the burning sensation.

“We need her relaxed for the wedding night!” the Butcher roared in English to loud shouts.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Oh my god.

Am I about to die?

The room turned hazy. My skin flashed hot and cold as the guests surrounded us, waving handkerchiefs in the air to the beat of loud drums. Spiro faced me, pulling another cheer from the crowd as he danced to the music. I could barely stay upright, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of my panic, exhaustion, or the poison.

The Butcher broke through the circle, raising Spiro’s and my hands in the air. He shouted something, leading to uproarious laughter, and then Spiro dragged me away from the throng of guests.

When I realized he was pulling me out of the reception hall, I dug in my heels. I could not be alone with this man. My struggle barely registered against his huge body and crushing grip. I managed one last look over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of Elira. She was turned away from me.

Tears burned my eyes. Had she lied? Or had her plan failed? Sickening despair replaced the brief hopefulness I’d felt earlier.

Spiro made a sharp turn and I stumbled, twisting my ankle. A cry of pain escaped my lips followed by an agonized no when I saw the movement had dislodged Queenie from my pocket. She fell to the ground with a sad meow, her eyes on me as Spiro pulled me through a door and slammed it shut.

We were in a bedroom. A large four-poster bed with plush pillows and a velvet blanket loomed like a dark omen. He faced me, a cruel gleam in his eye. He spoke, and while I couldn’t understand the words, the meaning was clear.

My sweaty hands clawed at the door handle, but before I could get it open, Spiro lunged at me. I shrieked when his body crashed against mine. My mind spun, blank with terror, as I tried to remember the self-defense moves Romeo taught me. I kicked out, catching Spiro in the knee. He grunted, but it didn’t stop him from dragging me towards the bed.

My back hit the mattress, my heartbeat thundering in my ears, before he landed on top of me. I jerked my head up, slamming his nose with my forehead, and he let out an infuriated roar. My face snapped to the side from the force of his backhand. He tore at my dress, ripping open the front and exposing my bare breasts. I screamed. I wouldn’t go through this again. I fucking refused.

I lashed out with my arms and legs, even as they grew heavier and heavier. Spiro’s movements turned clumsy and his words slurred.

The poison.

His strength finally gave out, and he collapsed on top of me with a grunt. His weight crushed the air out of my lungs. I shoved him off with weak arms and lay panting on the mattress.

Get up.

You have to get away.

Move.

But I couldn’t do it.

The room spun, a blur of red and gold, until my eyes drifted shut.

My last thought before fading away was that I wished I could have kissed Romeo one last time before the end.