Bloodlines: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance (The Snake Eyes Series Book 4) (5 page)

Chapter 5

Sofia

I step into the chapel and all movement stops.

Voices fall silent. Heads turn in our direction. Zappias. Lutrovas. Even the servants pause to adjust to my presence. None of them have seen me or heard me speak in two weeks, after all. I guess it’s not every day you see the black bridal gown of Zappia tradition either.

“Sofia!”

There’s one good thing that comes from having to wear this veil. Gio can’t see my face so I don’t have to hide the fact that I cringe every time he says my name.

He grins and rushes down the aisle towards me and Rosalie. “My bride!”

His fingers entwine with my gloved hands and it takes everything I have to stop me from flinching away. I let him tug me towards the front of the chapel, towards the gawking and smiling faces, and I lock eyes with every single one of them.

Antony sits with Nikolai Lutrova off to the side, their murmuring voices no doubt passing mafia trade secrets back and forth.

Beatrix and Nina Lutrova sit in the front pew together, smiling at me with kindness.

The Lutrova brothers stand with the Zappia boys at the front in a line, shifting around as the priest attempts to instruct them on where to stand.

They all can’t tell I’m looking at them. They can’t see the pain in my eyes, screaming at them to let me out.

And then there’s Luka. He stands with stiff posture with his hands in his pockets but he keeps his head down. I wish he wouldn’t. I haven’t seen him this close since we were children. I need to know if those eyes I see in my dreams are still as comforting as they were before.

As we reach the steps, Yuri frowns at me. “I mean no disrespect, Gio, but could you explain the purpose of this black dress?”

Nina flashes him a scolding eye from her seat in the front pew but Gio chuckles.

“No disrespect taken, Yuri,” he says. He lays a hand on my waist and guides me over to display me for all the Lutrovas to see. “In Zappia tradition, a bride wears this gown for two weeks prior to the wedding. She spends that time in silent prayer and reflection to prepare herself for her new life.”

Yuri blinks. “But why?”

Nina glares at him again. Even Luka fires a quick, annoyed glance at his brother and I catch a brief flash of his eyes in the light… along with the black ribbon tattoo swirling up the right side of his neck.

I bite my hidden lip.

Gio smiles. “A Zappia bride must be as pure as freshly fallen snow in every way,” he says. “White skin, white dress. Sofia isn’t even allowed to
speak
to anyone but her life maiden during that time. Not even
me
.”

“Life maiden?”

“A confidant — usually a family member or a close friend. In Sofia’s case, her little sister, Rosalie.” He gestures to the front aisle and Rosalie smiles from her seat next to Beatrix in the front pew, her cheeks filling with blood. “The bond between life maidens is sacred. For a woman to betray hers is punishable by death in Zappia law.”

“My goodness…” Nina whispers, clutching her chest. “That’s a bit
extreme
, is it not?”

Gio waves his hand. “In all of our family’s history, there’s never been a single instance of that happening and I don’t see anything ever coming between these sisters. I wouldn’t worry, Madam Lutrova.”

Yuri shakes his head. “Your laws are certainly something, Gio. I’ll give you that much.”

Gio squeezes my hand a little tighter. “We might be old-fashioned but it’s not without purpose,” he argues. “These laws have existed for hundreds of years and our family is more powerful now than ever. You’ve all heard the phrase—” He raises an enthusiastic fist.
“Only a Zappia may rule in Italy.
Obviously, we must be doing something right.”

“Obviously.” Yuri chuckles and pats Luka’s shoulder. “Maybe our family could learn a thing or two.”

Luka says nothing. Instead, he looks straight into my black veil and I finally see his eyes. That gray color pops, as fierce and bold as the rest of his features, and my knees sway beneath my gown. My fingers twitch with the temptation to reach for him but I force my hand to remain at my side.

Gio twists me around to face him, robbing me of my view. “Anyway, let’s get this rehearsal over with. The staff has prepared a wonderful feast for our guests and I’ve been smelling it all day.”

***

“Sofia?”

I cringe at the sound of my name and turn around as Gio lets himself into my room. He kicks the door closed and flicks his wrist to lock it behind him.

“I think I’ll miss the sight of you in your bridal robes,” he says, his eyes wandering up and down.

I’d hope the presence of company would keep him from coming in here tonight but luck has never been on my side. I stand up from my vanity seat and his smile grows.

“It’s your last night in this room,” he says, licking his lips. “Tomorrow, you’ll finally join me in the master suite.”

He drifts even closer to me and I fight the urge to scream at him. I’ve suffered through two weeks of Gio sneaking in here late at night, trying to get me to break the vow of silence. It’s a little game Zappia grooms have played for generations: get your bride to speak and spend the wedding night punishing her for it.

I won’t give him the pleasure.

Gio holds out his hand to me. “Come here.”

I obey and extend my black, gloved fingers. He takes it and my skin crawls as he leads me to stand with my back against the wall.

He grips my shoulders first and I tighten every muscle to thicken my shell.

“Sofia…” he whispers, “are you looking at me? Tell me you’re looking at me.”

I bite my tongue until I taste blood.

He chuckles to himself. There’s something far more sinister in his voice tonight. He’s impatient; frustrated with my unwillingness to yield. I fully expect him to start stomping his feet like a damn child.

“Sofia.”
He snatches my chin over the veil and squeezes to make sure I feel it. “I admire your dedication to tradition…” He leans in and I try not to gag on his breath seeping in through the thin fabric. “I expect the same
dedication
tomorrow evening. I’ve been looking forward to our wedding night for a very,
very
long time.”

I swallow the bile down my throat.

“I’m sure you have, too…” He releases my face but he keeps his hand on me, sliding his fingertips down my neck and over my breasts. “A Zappia bride wants nothing more than to please her husband.”

My hands twitch with the instinct to push him away but I lay my palms against the wall and close my eyes. He reaches behind my body to grope me and I gasp with disgust as his hardness presses against my hip.

Gio laughs at me. “I love your
innocence
, Sofia…” He leans closer to whisper in my ear. “I can’t wait to corrupt it.”

Finally, he lets me go and takes a step back to look me up and down again. I stand still, unable to move an inch. Fear, hatred, repulsion; it all blends together in me to immobilize every muscle and I fight the urge to cry.

He walks to the door and unlocks it. “Goodnight, Sofia.” His eyes grow about as soft as a stone wall. “Tomorrow morning, you’ll be my wife.”

I wait until I hear the door latch closed behind him before collapsing to the floor.

Hot tears spill over, trailing down my face faster than I can wipe them away.

So, this is it. Starting tomorrow, I will be Gio’s bride. I will be the perfect, doting Zappia wife I was trained to be. I’ll tend to his every need, I’ll bear his children, and I’ll raise a new generation of little Zappia brats until the day I die — and they’d better be sons.

Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Please, and thank you, sir.

I never even had a choice.

I hang my head in my hands and sob, staining the frail, black material sticking to my cheeks. Darkness clouds my vision, hanging over me like a hurricane and I wish for nothing more than to succumb to it.

I force myself to my feet and walk slowly towards the balcony.

Life is worth living. As an orphan whose parents were torn from her at a young age, I know this much to be true but a life in the Zappia way is no life at all. As a child, I couldn’t run. I couldn’t play or sing or dance. Heaven forbid I have a daughter, as she will be expected to live the same life as I have.

I stare down at the concrete patio three stories beneath me and wonder, for a brief moment, how much this will hurt.

Movement teases the tree line below and I pause, feeling my breath catch in my throat.

Luka Lutrova.

He looks over his shoulder, scanning the garden with nostalgia in his bright eyes. I follow his eye line to see a guard wandering the grounds at the other end of the patio. They each regard the other for no longer than a moment before ignoring each other completely and moving on. The guard takes off around the house but Luka steps into the dark trees and disappears into the garden.

The gray-eyed Russian boy.

I smile and wipe the last of my tears away.

I thought there was only one way out of this life but I was wrong. I have one job as a Zappia woman and that’s to ensure the continuation of their bloodline, but what if…

I’ll never get anywhere if I wait for the Zappia family to change themselves. Change begins with a catalyst. One spark will light that fuse and by the time they figure it out, it will be too late to stop the flame from burning them down and destroying all they hold dear.

And I know just how to light the match.

I raise myself over the balcony’s edge, my veins fueled by fresh purpose. The lattice connected to the wall beneath it used to support my weight as a child but the fear of falling does little to dissuade me now. I give it a shake to test its durability and it wobbles a bit but stays in place all the way to the ground.

I slide down, gripping the ledge with tight fingers. My ears train to every sound below me, every snap of a twig or shuffling of feet, anything that will signal the location of a patrol guard or even Luka himself.

I move at a snail’s pace, pushing the fear even further down with each bit of lattice I descend. It takes forever to reach the earth and when my toes finally hit the hard ground, I smile even wider.

Chapter 6

Luka

I wander the grounds alone. My father told me not to worry about it. The Zappias have security covered for the weekend but it’s a hard habit to break and honestly, I wouldn’t trust a Zappia guard to tie his own damn shoes.

The back garden is just as I remember it. It seems rules and traditions aren’t the only things the Zappias keep consistent. It’s like a page right out of my memory. Flowers and tall bushes. Even the darkness isn’t enough to overwhelm the radiant pinks and purples spilling off the leaves.

I sense movement and halt my stride. My hand moves behind me and my fingers brush against the heel of the pistol stashed in my belt.

It’s not a guard. The feet are far too small, far too light. No, this movement is trained and purposeful; covert and full of grace.

A woman.

I twist around to look into the darkness across the lawn and the darkness stares back at me behind a thick, black veil.

Sofia.

I release the grip on my gun and open my mouth to speak but she raises a finger to keep me quiet. She turns and disappears into the trees like a steady, black mist, moving nothing but the grass beneath her and making no sound at all.

I follow her slowly, chasing the very essence of her while keeping my other senses locked around for other guards. There are two on the front lawn enjoying a shared cigarette and one in the driveway that kicks a stone as he passes by it. Another takes a piss in the trees on the other side of the garden. Each of them keeps a finger hugged around their triggers, taking their jobs as seriously as I take mine.

Following Sofia Zappia into the darkness is a sure way to get myself killed and yet… I can’t stop walking.

She waits until I can see her again before walking into the garden shed, the same one I followed her into twelve years ago.

Instinct urges me to turn around and go back to the house. I should go to the guest room, lie down, and sleep until morning but I think of that scared girl cowering in a corner beneath the table and I keep moving.

I close the door behind me and Sofia pulls the string on a hanging bulb in the center of the room. It’s so old it just barely illuminates the dark space but it’s enough for me to make out her shape.

She reaches up and pulls the black veil off her head, revealing her pale, white face to me.

My breath catches in my lungs. Her lips are bright red; her hair a dark brown. Her skin is perfect, like a brand new doll. There’s more beauty in one glance of her mature face than all the landscapes of Italy and Russia combined.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I say.

Sofia smiles, just barely wrinkling her face. “And you shouldn’t have followed me, Mr. Lutrova.”