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CHAPTER3:The Wedding

I'm an hour away from getting married and I've already calculated my ROI.

The dress: $47,000. Custom Valentino. Six weeks old hand-beaded silk.

The flowers: $18,000. White roses flown in from Ecuador. But arranged by someone with a three-syllable name I have no idea how to pronounce.

The place: Cathedral of St. Patrick. Old money. Old power. The sort of place you don't rent, you apply for the right to enter.

In one-hour estimate: Not less than $85,000.

Jason Vitale dropped almost six figures on a wedding.

For a transaction.

For a lie.

For me.

In theory, I should be made to feel guilty about that.

I don't.

I'm good at math. Always have been. Numbers don't lie as people do.

But I cannot compute what this is costing me.

Price: Priceless, cannot put a price on the dress am putting on. Walking down that aisle. Uttering words that could legally bind me to a man.

The man I've known for only three weeks.

A man who trapped me.

A man I'm choosing, anyway.

I hate it.

I hate him.

I hate that I'm doing this.

I do not recognize the woman looking back at me in the mirror. Hair perfect. Makeup flawless. The consummate bride.

All lies.

I am shaking as I put on lipstick. Red. The color of arterial blood.

Fitting.

It's across the ribs that it's too tight. Each breath is work. Controlled. Measured.

Or maybe it's just the panic."

I was sure I was running a con three weeks ago.

Now I'm trapped in one.

A knock on the door.

"Come in."

The door opens. A woman. Late fifties. Elegant in a manner that has nothing to do with clothing or jewelry.

She adorns herself with power the way some women wear perfume.

"You must be Maya." Her voice is cultured. Accented. Italian.

"And you are Sophia Vitale."

Jason's aunt. The family matriarch. The queen.

She's holding a velvet box. Small. Expensive-looking.

I catalog it automatically: Cartier. Vintage. At least $200k from the workmanship we can see from here. 

Old habits.

"A gift," she says. "From the family. Tradition."

She opens it.

A necklace. Diamonds and sapphires. Museum quality.

Beautiful.

And absolutely a collar.

"A tradition that has been three generations in the family," Sophia goes on. "Worn by every Vitale bride when she marries."

She moves behind me. Lifts the necklace.

Cold metal touched my throat.

I watch in the mirror as she buttons it up.

The clasp clicks like handcuffs.

"There." She steps back. Admires her work. "Perfect. You look like one of us now."

"I'm not one of you."

"Not yet. But you will be. Jason is a guy who has the gift of making something magical happen when he touches it. Making them his."

She looks me in the eye through the mirror.

"A word of advice, dear. Jason is my nephew. I love him. But he's also Vitale. Dangerous. Possessive. Heartless when it comes to defending who he believes is his."

"I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can. You're Bratva, after all."

The room goes cold.

"I don't know what,"

"Please," she waved a hand. Dismissive. "We've known even before the engagement. Viktor Konstantin's niece. The prodigal daughter pulling cons across three continents. You really thought we weren't going to look?"

My throat closes. The necklace suddenly feels heavier.

"Then why?"

"Why allow the marriage? Because Jason wants you. And what Jason wants, Jason gets." She pauses. "But understand this, Maya. You're joining a family with its own rules. Laws. Consequences. Do that and not even Jason can save you."

"What are the rules?"

"Loyalty to all. Family first. Always. And what's said within this family stays in this family. We don't betray our own. The Bratva would definitely not work with us."

The warning is clear.

"I'm not in league with the Bratva.

"Good. Make sure you maintain it there."

She turns to leave. Stops at the door.

"One more thing. The necklace has a tracker. That way, we always know where you are. Welcome to the family, dear."

She disappears before I can answer her.

I stare at my reflection.

At the diamonds on my neck.

Not a gift.

A leash.

I reach for the clasp.

It doesn't open.

Of course, it doesn't.

Another knock. The wedding planner. Perky. Oblivious.

"It's time! Oh, you look beautiful! Are you ready?"

No.

"Yes."

The venue is a cathedral. Old money. Old power.

Stained glass and marble columns, architecture that makes you feel tiny.

It works.

I walk down the aisle alone. No, father to give me away. No family is present.

Just me and three hundred strangers taking part in a transaction masquerading as romance.

Jason waits at the altar.

Black suit. Perfectly tailored. He looks like every dark fantasy I've ever had and every bad dream I've run from.

His eyes followed me the complete walk.

Predator watching prey approach.

I should run.

I keep walking.

I run now, after all, that gets Viktor to me.

Means the FBI catches up.

Means everything I've built for three years is going up in smoke.

So I turn toward the beautiful monster who holds me hostage.

And I remind myself this is survival.

No choice.

The officiant begins. Words I don't hear.

Legal forced upon you under the guise of religion.

"Do you, Maya Konstantin, take Jason Vitale?"

"I do."

I don't wait for the question; he continued.

Just get it over with.

Jason's mouth twitched. Amused.

"Do you, Jason Vitale, take Maya Konstantin?"

"I do."

Same impatience. Same finality.

"And by the authority invested in me, I pronounce thee husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Jason doesn't wait for permission.

Just grab me and kiss me.

Hard. Possessive. Publicly staking a claim on me.

This isn't romantic.

This is a brand.

Mine, it says. She's mine now. Legally. Publicly. Permanently.

I melt into him because three hundred others are watching.

And because a treacherous part of me wants to.

The crowd erupts in applause.

The trap closes.

The reception was a blur.

Champagne, I don't drink. Food I don't eat. But it's not just the discussions with people whose names I forget as soon as I hear them.

Jason's hand rests on my lower back the whole time.

Possessive. Proprietary.

Everyone can see it.

That's the point.

Don Dante approaches during dinner. Jason's uncle. The guy who really runs this family.

Seventies. Sharp eyes. Missing nothing.

"Maya." He takes my hand. Kisses it. "Welcome to the family."

"Thank you."

"Jason speaks highly of you. Says you're brilliant. Resourceful. Exactly what he needs."

"I try."

"I'm sure you do." He doesn't let go of my hand. "But know this, brilliance without loyalty is cleverness only. And smart people often outsmart themselves."

Another warning.

How many will I get tonight?

"I understand."

"Good. Then we'll get along fine."

He releases me. Turns to Jason. "A word. Privately."

They step away.

I watch them in the corner. Don Dante speaking. Jason listening.

Then Jason's face tightened. Angry.

He doesn't like whatever his uncle has just said.

Don Dante claps a hand on Jason's shoulder. Squeezes.

The gesture looks supportive.

I know better.

It's a reminder. Of hierarchy. Of power. Of who's really in charge of this family.

Jason nods. Reluctant. Controlled.

They return.

"Congratulations again," Don Dante said. "Your marriage will be long and … I mean, productive."

He leaves.

Jason's jaw is tight. His hand on my back has turned into a grip.

"What did he say?" I whispered.

"Nothing important."

"Jason,"

"Drop it."

Command in his voice.

New tone. I don't like it.

But I dropped it.

For now.

The reception ends.

We're escorted to a town car. Just married. Tradition.

The door closes. Privacy glass up.

Alone.

"Your family knows who I am," I told him.

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Since, before I proposed."

"And you neglected to tell them that?"

"Oh, would that have altered your answer?

No.

"They have trackers on your jewelry.

"I know."

"You know?"

"Of course I know. I suggested it. Family security protocol. Everyone wears them."

He pulls back his cuffs. Show me a watch.

"Cartier outside. GPS inside. We're all on the same grid."

"That's insane."

"That's family. Welcome to it."

The car glides through Manhattan.

Heading to the penthouse.

Our home now.

The cage I'll live in.

"Your uncle had warned me," I told him. "About loyalty. Consequences."

"He warns everyone."

"He must have told you something, too. Something that made you angry."

Jason looks out the window. Silent.

"Jason."

"He reminded me you are Bratva. If you sell this family out, I'll be the one to deal with it."

"Handle it how?"

He finally looks at me.

Eyes dark. Unreadable.

"However, the family requires."

The implication is clear.

"If I betray the Vitales, Jason will kill me with his own hand.

Family law.

"And would you?" I asked. "If they ordered it?"

"I don't know. "I've never loved someone I had to kill before."

"You're not in love with me."

"No. I'm obsessed with you. Which is worse. Love has limits. Obsession doesn't."

The car stops.

We've arrived.

The driver opened the door. Jason exits first. Extends a hand.

I take it.

Last chance to run.

I don't take it.

We entered the building. The elevator.

Forty-three floors up.

His hand on my lower back once more. Guiding. Controlling.

The elevator doors closed.

Alone.

He doesn't wait.

Slams me against a wall of mirrors. Kisses me hard.

Different from the altar kiss.

This one is hungry. Desperate.

His hands slid up my thighs. Under the silk dress.

"We're in an elevator," I gasped.

"I don't care."

"Someone could,"

"I own the building. No one's watching."

His fingers found me.

Already wet.

Cursing my body for turning against me.

"You've been up all night thinking about this," he growled.

"No."

"Liar."

He's right.

Through the ceremony. The reception. Every warning from his family.

I've been thinking about this.

About him.

About what happens now.

The elevator dings. Forty-third floor.

He pulls back. Adjust my dress. Wipes his mouth.

"Later," he promised.

"Later."

We exit. Enter the penthouse.

Rose petals. Candles. Champagne chilling.

Romance played to an audience that doesn't exist.

"The staff made it," Jason said. "Tradition."

"It's beautiful."

"It's theater."

He pours champagne. Hand me a glass.

We stand in the living room. Husband and wife. Strangers wearing rings.

"To marriage," he said.

"To survive."

We drink.

He set down his glass. Closes the distance.

"I've been waiting three weeks for this."

"For what?"

"To have you. Completely. No more negotiation. No more deals. You're my wife now. That means you're mine."

"I'm not property."

"No, you're more valuable than property. You're a weapon. My weapon."

He kissed me again. Slower this time. Deeper.

He's undoing the buttons on my dress with his hands.

One by one.

Patient.

The silk falls away.

I am… white lace down there.

Sophia's necklace was still around my neck.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "And marked. "Everybody who sees this necklace will know you're Vitale.

"I'm Konstantin."

"Not anymore. Which you forfeited when you said 'I do',"

He's right.

Maya Konstantin died today.

Someone else was born.

That is someone who belongs to Jason Vitale.

He lifts me. Carry me to the bedroom.

Lays me on the bed, like I'm precious.

"I'll erase you," he said. "Forget Viktor. Forget the Bratva. Forget everyone except me."

"That's not possible."

"Watch me."

INTIMACY SCENE (WEDDING NIGHT - HEAT 9/10 - INTERCUT POV):

MAYA:

He undresses slowly.

No rush.

Nothing but steady peeling back of layers until he's naked.

The city lights draped him in shadow and gold.

He's beautiful.

Dangerous.

Mine.

No. His.

I'm his.

The thought should terrify me.

It doesn't.

Jason:

She's looking at me while I undress with shrewd eyes.

Still analyzing. Still planning.

Even now.

Even here.

I'm going to break myself of that habit.

Not through force.

Through pleasure.

I return to the bed. Kneel between her legs.

My hands slid up her thighs. Pushing the lace aside.

"Tell me to stop," I said.

"Why?"

"Because if we do this, if I take you as my Lady Wife, there's no going back. This becomes real."

MAYA:

"It's already real. We're legally married."

"That's paper. This is binding."

I didn't tell him to stop.

He takes that as permission.

Jason:

His mouth finds me first.

Tongue, teeth, and most of all, wicked skill."

MAYA:

I arched off the bed.

Hands fisting in the sheets.

"Jason,"

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"Say you're mine."

Jason:

I've said it before.

During the deal. During negotiations.

But this is different.

This is surrender.

MAYA:

"I'm yours."

"Again."

"I'm yours."

Jason:

"Good girl."

I entered her slowly.

Filling. Claiming.

MAYA:

He wraps around me.

Legs. Arms. Everything.

Jason:

I move. Steady rhythm. Building.

My eyes never leave hers.

MAYA:

"This is what marriage is," he said. "This connection. This knowing. No one else gets this. Just us."

Jason:

"Jason,"

"I'm going to make you come until you forget your own name."

MAYA:

"That's,"

He adjusts the angle.

Hits something that causes stars to explode.

Jason:

I stop talking.

Start gasping.

MAYA:

He smiles. Satisfied.

"There it is."

Jason:

She builds me up.

Patient. Thorough.

Reading every response.

MAYA:

When I'm close, trembling, desperate, he stops.

Jason:

"Please,"

"Beg."

MAYA:

"I'm not,"

Jason:

He pulls out. Waits.

MAYA:

I almost screamed with frustration.

Jason:

"Beg, Maya. Let me hear it."

MAYA:

Pride wars with need.

Need wins.

Jason:

"Please. Jason. Please."

"Please, what?"

MAYA:

"Please make me come."

Jason:

"Good girl."

MAYA:

He enters again. Faster now. Harder.

His hand slides between us. Finds the exact spot.

Pressure. Rhythm. Perfect.

Jason:

I shatter.

Coming so hard the sides go soft.

Reality fractures.

MAYA:

He follows.

Filling me. Marking me.

Saying that claims me from the inside out.

Jason:

But she doesn't stop.

Keeps moving. Building again.

MAYA:

"Jason, I can't,"

"Yes, you can. Again."

Jason:

And somehow, impossibly, I do.

The second time is deeper.

Slower.

More intense.

MAYA:

I watched him the whole time.

Memorizing every expression.

Every gasp. Every moan.

This is mine.

She is mine.

Jason:

When all is done, we lie crumpled.

Breathing hard.

MAYA:

The necklace is currently still around my neck.

Cold metal against heated skin.

Jason:

"Do you regret it?" he asked.

"Which part?"

"Any of it."

MAYA:

I should say yes.

Should maintain some distance.

Jason:

Instead: "Ask me in a year."

MAYA:

He pulls me closer.

Possessive even in the aftermath.

Jason:

"I won't let you go. You know that, right? Even if you want to leave. Even if you try."

MAYA:

"I know."

Jason:

"And you're okay with that?"

MAYA:

Am I?

I married a monster.

Joined a crime family.

Betrayed everything I am.

For survival. For money.

For the illicit pleasure of being owned by someone dangerous.

Jason:

"I'm not sure I'm O.K. with that," I whispered. "But I feel like I don't have a choice any longer."

MAYA:

"You don't. You're mine. Permanently."

Jason:

She's right.

The trap has closed.

You’re Maya Vitale now.

MAYA:

And I don't know if I am saved or doomed.

Maybe both.

Jason:

Maybe there's no difference.

BOTH:

We fall asleep tangled together.

His arms were around me.

My head is on his chest.

Listening to his heartbeat.

Counting the rhythm.

And for the first time in three decades

I feel as if I'm at home.

Even if you're in a beautiful cage.

So long as home is a monster's embrace.

Even if home is where I'm lost forever.

I'm home.

And that's the scariest thing of all.