Chapter 4
CELINA
After the mall, Joren vanished. As if he'd forgotten I existed.
I didn't call him. I didn't call anyone.
I followed the wedding on my phone like everyone else. The orchids flown in from Ecuador. The twelve-piece orchestra. A guest list with every name in Halcyon City worth knowing. The wedding of the decade, the papers called it.
Not one of them mentioned a marriage license. There wasn't going to be one. You can't marry a man who already has a wife.
I wondered how much that was eating at Romina.
I found out on the morning of the wedding.
They came in at eight a.m. Six of them, sleeves rolled to the elbow. On every forearm, the same tattoo: a crowned lion, one paw raised.
My family's crest. On Rafe's killers.
Before I could get a word out, two of them had me by the shoulders and slammed me face-down onto the kitchen table.
"Does Joren know you're putting your hands on me?" I asked the one in charge. Calm, like I was asking about the weather.
He smirked. "Mr. Ashby's a little busy today. He's marrying Miss Grassi."
I twisted my wrist, drove back an elbow, and broke free—for about a second. Two years in a hospital bed had turned my muscles to water. They had me pinned again before I got my feet under me.
"Listen to me. I'm the real Grassi in this city. If you touch me—"
He slapped me so hard my ears rang.
"You?" He leaned down, and I saw real hatred in his face. "There's only one Grassi in Halcyon City. Romina Grassi."
I licked the blood off my lip and said nothing.
He liked that. He tossed a folder onto the table beside my face.
"Sign."
DIVORCE SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT
Joren's signature was already on the last page.
So that was it. Romina had the ring, the house, the son, the wedding. The one thing she couldn't have was the piece of paper that would make her his wife.
I almost laughed. "All this, for a signature?"
His lip curled. "If you'd stop clinging to Mr. Ashby, Miss Romina Grassi could stop crying over you. Sign it, and I'll let you live."
I picked up the pen and signed. No hesitation.
He took that for fear. The contempt on his face deepened.
"There," I said, sliding the folder back. "Run along and show her."
He tucked the folder under his arm. But he didn't call his men off. Instead, he pulled a gun from his waistband, and his smile turned ugly.
"My mistake. You sign, we bury you in one piece."
I stared down the barrel and didn't move.
His finger was tightening on the trigger when the front door crashed off its hinges.
The hands on my shoulders loosened for half a second.
Half a second was all I needed. I caught his gun arm, twisted, and threw him over my hip. He hit the tile flat on his back, and the air went out of him in a whoosh.
Behind me, men in dark suits poured into the kitchen. Ten seconds later, the other five were on the floor with their hands behind their heads.
I crouched beside their leader and slapped him back. Same cheek. Same force.
"Want to know how you catch rats?" I smiled. "You don't go looking for them. You leave the door open and wait for them to walk in."
He stared up at me, and for the first time, he looked afraid.
Good. He and I were going to have a long talk about Rafe.
But not yet. I had a wedding to get to.
JOREN
The string quartet swelled as Romina floated down the aisle. She glowed in ivory silk. The red diamond blazed on her finger, and the heirloom pearls I’d taken from my first wife rested perfectly at her throat.
Five hundred guests watched us in awe. Everything was exactly as I had planned.
I took Romina’s hands in mine, ready to say my vows.
Then the sky began to roar.
A low thunder rolled in, drowning out the music. Five hundred heads tilted upward. Out of the bright noon sky, a fleet of sleek black helicopters descended straight toward us.
Their side hatches slid open in perfect sync.
First came the rose petals. Thousands of them—a breathtaking, blood-red blizzard raining down over our pristine white wedding. The crowd murmured in delight.
Then came the money.
Crisp hundred-dollar bills spiraled down in a thick, slow storm. The guests gasped, laughing and reaching up to catch the cash like giddy children.
Romina’s eyes lit up. She squeezed my hands, laughing a bright, thrilled sound. "Oh, Joren... you did this for me?"
"I..." I muttered, a cold knot forming in my gut. "No."
Then, the cheering stopped.
The laughter died out like someone had cut a wire, replaced by a sudden, suffocating silence.
A woman in the front row had turned a bill over. She read the back aloud, her voice trembling.
"Cheers to Joren Ashby. Broke his vows in the bedroom, then married the hit-and-run mistress."
The romantic illusion shattered. A man nearby dropped his handful of cash as if it burned him. He read his out loud, horrified. "To the blushing bride: Next time you try to run over the first wife, make sure she's dead."
Another voice cut through the dead air, loud and confused. "Cancel the honeymoon. The groom is still legally married."
Romina’s triumphant smile vanished. She froze, her bouquet slipping from her trembling hands to the petal-covered grass.
My blood turned to ice. I snatched a falling bill from the air, staring at the bold black ink, before my eyes snapped back up to the open hatch of the lead chopper.
Standing there, staring down at me like I was nothing but dirt, was Celina Grassi.
