was in a fancy topknot, and tiny curls bobbed around her cheeks—it was a neat updo, but the way it teased and bounced with the faintest movement reminded me of the way a woman would raise her hand to grasp a hold of her hair during a blowjob when shit got real and she got down to business.
The thought, surprisingly enough, had my dick twitching when my mind’s eye switched Inessa into that role, but I pushed thoughts like that aside and focused on my future wife. Her ears sported heavy emeralds that complimented her engagement ring and her clear green eyes, and her mouth was made for sinning.
At my unveiling, the congregation hushed down, evidently thinking the show was about to start, but when I reached for her bouquet, more whispers stirred.
She frowned at me, her brow puckering at the move, and I appreciated the push and pull as she tried to evade my grasp on the bouquet, but I ignored it. And the second our hands collided, she did too.
Her eyes transmitted her confusion, but I wasn’t confused.
She was just registering the truth.
She was mine now.
Tossing the godawful lilies at the flustered maid of honor, who caught them with a gasp, I tugged her forward, being more gentle than I usually would have been, because rage was filtering through me with the purity of distilled vodka—and these fucks knew what that tasted like—and I didn’t stop until we were standing opposite Doyle. I’d curved an arm around her waist, bringing her into me.
The move was not traditional, and Doyle’s lips parted to scold me, but my scowl was evidently deterrent enough, because he instantly intoned, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—”
As he got on with the ceremony, I tilted my head to the side. “I will make them pay for beating you.”
She stiffened. “I-I…they didn’t.”
“Bullshit.”
Another flinch.
“Don’t lie to me, Inessa,” I warned, and as Doyle droned on, I whispered, “They did a good job, but not good enough. You’ll dance in their blood if you want.”
She didn’t reply, and while she was tense from the unusual hold I had her in, she relaxed somewhat at that.
If there was any consolation to marrying Bratva scum, it was that she’d been raised in the life.
She knew aggression and bloodshed were the universal language. Aoife, who was married to Finn, wasn’t of the life, but she knew about the Five Points, had been raised in one of our neighborhoods, and the violence of our world still surprised her.
Not Inessa.
She was as used to it as I was, even if I doubted she’d ever gotten her hands dirty.
I twisted my fingers about said hand, surprised by the daintiness of it against mine.
My father had beaten the shit out of me just over a week ago when I’d raised hell about the upcoming wedding, but I was a man.
More than that, I was used to a beating.
Inessa?
She looked like a china doll, and while I’d never found that sexy in the past, had never found virginity or fragile women attractive, this was different.
She was mine.
I’d never put those pieces together until now.
She belonged to me.
This marriage would see to that.
She was mine to protect, mine to defend, just fucking mine.
Unlike every other aspect of my life, I wouldn’t have to share her.
Not with my brothers, not with the family, not with the Five Points.
She belonged to me, and Eoghan O’Donnelly protected what belonged to him.
That was a fucking fact.
INESSA
He knew.
Even as terror had filled me that he’d reject me, break off the wedding I knew he didn’t want—probably even less than me, considering he’d managed to evade every single one of my father’s invitations for us to meet—he’d raised my veil.
And he’d seen.
He’d seen what few men would.
He’d seen what I was supposed to hide, what fantastic makeup had tucked away, but he’d noticed. Had witnessed the truth of what had gone down a few days ago.
My heart had been beating like I’d been working out for hours on end, and by the time he’d tucked my hand into his, I wasn’t sure if I was going to pass out or not. Whether it was from discomfort at his focus, fear of his rejection, or terror of being returned to my family… The latter was a fate worse than death.
I would die if I failed in this, if I shamed the family name.
So, when he tugged me toward the altar, the sweetest relief filled me, and I took a second to gape