With This Ring (To Have And To Hold Duet #1) - Natasha Knight Page 0,3
tells him.
Jacob, my uncle, nods and reaches behind him to where he must have had his pistol all along.
“What’s happening?” I cry out, a new panic taking hold of me even though guns aren’t new to me. I live in a world of violence. It’s my inheritance. It will be my legacy. I am the princess at the heart of it. Or I was when my father was alive. Since his murder I’ve become a pawn.
I pull my legs back, readying to stand. I’m barefoot, I realize. I must have lost my shoes in transit.
All the men turn to me.
I only look at the one in charge. He appears taller than before but that’s because I’m still on the ground. He steps toward me. I scramble backward, my hand falling on the rusting metal frame of a cot. I pull myself up to stand, willing the nausea to subside. Willing my fear to.
I realize I still have my mother’s veil in one hand. It’s bloody too. Probably from the woman his men killed in the tower.
He stops when he’s only a few feet from me. He’s taller now than he appeared in the tower room. I’ve lost the four inches my shoes gave me. I have to crane my neck to look up at him and my gaze moves from his deep blue eyes, to the scar on his cheek, to his mouth, his neck. Another scar there. The edge of one. It disappears beneath the collar of his shirt.
This man has been through war.
“Kneel, Scarlett,” my uncle calls out from behind him. “Show some fucking respect.”
I shift my gaze from that scar on his neck back up to his eyes. Someone chuckles at my uncle’s command.
The man’s gaze skims my face, then down. I follow it, see how the blood had splattered over the torn bodice of my dress, too. I don’t know why I’m surprised.
I reach to put my hand over it and cover myself.
“Do you know who I am?” he asks in the same quiet tone he used to tell his soldier to check on Noah.
My gaze snaps back up to his. I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before in my life. I study him, shift my gaze to the other one who’s watching me, hands still in his pockets, but nothing. I shake my head.
“Grigori,” he says.
Grigori?
That isn’t right. They’re dead. The whole family massacred.
I swallow, feeling the blood drain from my face. Because I know what we did to him. To them.
He smiles at that like he sees inside my head. Sees what I’m thinking.
“Say my name,” he commands.
Grigori. That’s their family name. My brothers attacked them after turning on my father.
“Say it.”
I swallow, lick my lips.
He waits patiently. But if he’s alive, he’s had time to learn patience. It’s been ten years.
Grigori. I do the math. He must be in his late twenties. I glance to the other one. See the resemblance. He’s younger though.
“Grigori,” I try out the name. “Cristiano Grigori.”
I don’t know how he hears me. My voice is barely above a whisper, but he gives the faintest smile and a slight bow of his head.
“Scarlett De La Cruz.” His gaze shifts down to the swell of my breasts above the ruined gown. “All grown up. Shame you have to die.”
My mouth goes dry. I’m speechless as he closes his hand over my shoulder, his grip slightly less painful than it was earlier as he forces me to my knees.
He leans down, brings his mouth to my ear.
I’m caught off guard by the tickle of the scruff on his jaw.
“Don’t look,” he warns, and I know what’s coming. I know I’ll have to look.
He walks away from me. I watch him from my place on the hard ground. He stands before my brothers as my uncle gives the order for Angel to be made to kneel beside Diego.
I can see their faces from here. See how when Cristiano crouches down in front of Diego, a dark patch blooms on the insides of Diego’s trousers. My brother pisses himself. My all powerful, ruthless brother pisses himself.
I would laugh but it would be insane when we’re all about to die.
Cristiano doesn’t miss the expanding dark spot.
In my periphery I see Noah just starting to move. Will they kill him too? He’s a kid.
“Where is Rinaldi?” Cristiano asks.
“How the fuck should I know? That mother fucker set us up. He’s the one who orchestrated—”