Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Elsie

For a moment, nothing happens.

The priest stares at the man in front of him like he doesn’t understand the language that was just spoken.

Salvatore—because I remember now, faintly, that someone said his name that night—doesn’t move. He stands beside me with the same quiet patience he walked down the aisle with, as if he has all the time in the world.

The church is completely silent, and then, somewhere in the back, someone begins to sob softly.

The priest’s hands shake so badly the pages of the book rustle against each other. His eyes flick down to the body at our feet, then back up to the man who just killed him.

Salvatore’s gaze doesn’t leave the priest’s face.

“Continue,” he repeats.

His voice isn’t louder this time, if anything, it’s softer. That somehow makes it worse.

The priest swallows. His Adam’s apple bobs visibly. His eyes dart once toward the congregation, toward the armed men stationed between the pews, toward the open doors where more of them stand watching.

No one moves, not even my parents.

I don’t look at them, I don’t think I can.

The priest lowers his eyes back to the book. His fingers tremble against the pages as he finds the place again.

“We… we are gathered here today…” His voice cracks immediately. He clears his throat, tries again. “We are gathered here today to witness the union—”

Salvatore turns his head slightly toward me.

The movement is small, but suddenly I’m very aware of him standing beside me.

The warmth of his body, the faint smell of smoke and something darker clinging to his clothes.

My heart begins beating faster.

He reaches for my hand and I flinch before I can stop myself.

It’s barely noticeable, really just a small jerk of my fingers away from him, but he notices anyways.

His eyes flick down to my hand, then back up to my face. For a second I think he’s going to say something, but instead, he simply takes my hand anyway.

His grip is firm but not rough. His fingers wrap around mine like they belong there, like this was always supposed to happen.

My palm is damp with sweat but his isn’t.

His hand is steady. The priest continues speaking, but the words blur together around me.

“…sacred covenant…”

“…before God…”

“…to love and protect…”

The body of the man I was supposed to marry lies only a few inches away from my shoes.

Blood has spread across the white runner beneath him, soaking into the fabric in a dark, uneven stain.

I keep my eyes on the altar. If I look down, I might scream, and if I scream, I don’t know what will happen.

My fingers curl slowly into Salvatore’s hand without meaning to and his thumb moves once across my knuckles.

The gesture is almost absent-minded.

The priest finally reaches the vows and looks at Salvatore first.

“Do you—” His voice wavers. “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

The silence that follows feels enormous.

Salvatore doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

The priest nods quickly and turns toward me. Every pair of eyes in the church seems to shift in my direction at once. My throat feels tight.

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the priest asks weakly.

My mind feels strangely empty. A few minutes ago I was about to marry a man I didn’t want.

Now that man is dead at my feet, and the stranger I slept with two months ago is standing beside me with my hand in his.

My parents are somewhere behind me watching. I wonder if this was their plan too.

My stomach twists. The priest clears his throat nervously.

“Miss…?”

Salvatore’s thumb presses slightly harder against my hand. It’s not painful, just enough to remind me that he’s waiting.

I look at him. Up close, his face is exactly the same as I remember from that night.

Mother of my child.

The words echo faintly in my head.

My other hand drifts unconsciously toward my stomach.

It’s barely even showing yet but he looked at it.

He knows. How does he know?

My lips part. “Yes,” I hear myself say.

The word sounds distant, like someone else said it not me.

The priest exhales shakily, as if he’s been holding his breath this entire time.

“The rings,” he whispers.

Someone moves quickly near the front row. One of Salvatore’s men, I realize vaguely.

He hands a small velvet box to the priest.

The priest opens it with trembling fingers.

Inside are two rings that I have no idea where they came from.

Salvatore takes one and lifts my hand.

The ring slides onto my finger smoothly, like it was made for me.

The metal is cool and heavy.

“For better or worse,” the priest murmurs faintly. My chest feels tight.

Salvatore hands the other ring to me.

For a moment I just stare at it while his hand waits patiently in front of me.

I slide the ring onto his finger, his eyes not leaving my face as I do so.

“By the power vested in me…” the priest says, voice barely above a whisper, “…I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

He swallows.

“You may…” He hesitates. “You may kiss the bride.”

The church becomes even quieter.

I realize suddenly that everyone is watching intensely.

Salvatore studies me for a moment, and then he lifts one hand to my face.

My breath catches. His fingers slide gently beneath my chin, tilting my head upward, his touch surprisingly careful.

His mouth brushes mine soft and brief. It’s nothing like the one we shared that night.

When he pulls away, his voice is low.

“Mrs. Vitale.” The name settles over me like as he releases my hand and turns to the congregation.

“You may leave,” he says calmly.

The effect is immediate. People begin standing almost instantly, chairs scraping softly across the floor.

Within seconds the church begins emptying.

My parents stand slowly from their seats.

For the first time since the shooting, I look at them.

My mother’s face is pale and my father avoids my eyes.

Salvatore notices the direction of my gaze. His expression hardens slightly.

“Take care of them,” he says quietly to one of his men. The man nods immediately and my stomach drops.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

Salvatore glances down at me and his expression softens just a fraction. “It means they won’t bother you again today.”

That doesn’t make me feel better.

He places a hand lightly against the small of my back. “Come,” he says.

I don’t argue. I think my body stopped remembering how to do that sometime around the fourth gunshot.

We walk down the aisle together.

Aldric’s body is still lying at the altar and Salvatore steps over him again without looking.

I follow.

My shoes leave small red marks on the white runner as I go.

Outside, the air feels colder and the sky is grey and overcast.

Several black cars wait along the church steps, but that isn’t what catches my attention.

The helicopter does.

It sits on the grass beyond the parking lot, blades already turning slowly. The wind from the rotors lifts the edges of my veil.

I stare at it as my heart begins pounding again.

Salvatore watches my face.

“You’re leaving with me,” he says.

Behind us, the church doors close, and for the first time since the shooting began, I realize something with absolute clarity.

My old life is over.