pale shoulders, the row of buttons down the back of her dress. I could rip them off with ease. I could. But as her departed husband learned, just because you could do something doesn’t mean you should. He shouldn’t have tried to take my primary cocaine provider from me. He shouldn’t have pressed the families to grant him my share of the underground fighting ring. But he could do those things. And he did. And now he’s dead, and his blushing bride is a spoil of war.
“I said go ahead and do it.” That voice again, the sweet tones so sad they’re haunting.
I reach out and trail my fingers down her veil. “And what would you have me do?”
She doesn’t move.
“Afraid, cara mia?”
“Ready.”
“Ready for …” I bury my fingers in the thin fabric and pull the veil free, the comb falling to the floor and her hair flowing dark and wavy.
“Just go ahead.” She turns to look at me, the caramel brown of her eyes like a dagger that goes straight to where my heart should be.
But, as many of my enemies have learned, there is nothing there. No heart. No mercy.
But there is need. And desire. She sparks it with her petulant lips and big eyes.
This beauty is mine. As a final insult to the Tuscani family, I will own this innocent creature, bend her and break her until she is something new. She was never meant for the weakling her father shackled her to at that wedding. Antonio didn’t deserve this bride. Not this ethereal creature that sits before me and asks for me to end her.
None of this fits her. Not the groom. Not this house. Not her dress—the heavy satin, the overdone veil, the huge skirt—I hate it. In fact, it disgusts me.
I grip the back and rip it, the buttons popping just as I’d surmised, and the fabric parting with a rough sound that is pleasant on my ears.
She leans forward, trying to get away from me, but I yank again, splitting it all the way down past her waist.
“Take it off.” I step back as she struggles to her feet, then whirls on me.
She holds the torn dress to her chest. “Stop!”
I like this better, the fire in her tone. No more dead water. Instead there’s heat there. Ire.
I want more. “I said take it off. I don’t like it.”
“No.” She kicks her chin up. “If you’re going to kill me, get it over with, but I’m not here to be your peep show.”
I could bend her over this table here and now, ravage her and walk away. I should. I don’t need any more messes from the Tuscani clan.
Instead, I stand my ground. “Take it off.” The tone I use--it’s the same one plenty of men have heard right before I kill them.
She doesn’t respond, but her chin trembles.
“If you don’t, I’ll do it for you.” I’d enjoy that. Just ripping it down the back has my blood running hot.
With a look that could break a normal man’s heart, she drops the torn fabric and crosses her trembling hands over her breasts even though she’s wearing a white bra.
“Better. Now step out of it.”
“Why?” She glances down my body, distrust in her caramel eyes.
“I already told you. I don’t like it. The moment you’re out of it, I’ll have my associate burn it.” I snap my fingers and Gio hurries into the room.
“Boss?”
“Take that gown and dispose of it along with Antonio.”
“Yes, sir.” He strides over to her and grabs a piece of the poofy skirt, then waits for her to obey my command.
“Step out of it.” I move toward her and offer my hand.
She eyes it like it might bite her, but takes it so she can wrestle her way free from the white monstrosity. Then she lets go. Her soft touch warmed my skin, and I flex my hand.
Once she’s free, I see she’s wearing demure white panties and low-heeled white shoes. No lace, no garter, nothing intentionally sexy. She didn’t intend on having a fun wedding night, though I’m certain Antonio would have rutted on her all the same.
“Come.” I hold my hand out again.
She shakes her head as she presses her thighs tightly together and keeps her hands over her breasts.
“I won’t ask you again, cara mia.” I take her in, enjoying the way her waist narrows and her hips flare, the thick thighs and the small ankles. She was far too much woman for Antonio. “You won’t like