Blackmailed to the Altar (Caputo Crime Family #2)

24. Chapter Twenty-Four

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

S ebastian

The ringing in my ears was the first thing I noticed, like a high-pitched hum that wouldn’t quit. My head pounded, and everything around me was a blur, colors and shapes bleeding together until they barely made sense. I blinked, trying to focus, but all I saw were faces, dozens of them, staring at me like I was some kind of exhibit behind glass. I felt the burn of their gazes, the silent judgment, the whispers that clawed at the edges of my mind.

Where the hell am I?

I tried to steady myself, my hands trembling as I clutched the cold marble of the altar beneath my fingers. My suit felt tight, suffocating, like it wasn’t made for me. There were flowers; roses, white and blood red, suffusing the air with their sickly sweet scent. The aisle stretched out in front of me, a sea of strangers and familiar faces twisted in concern, confusion, and something darker I couldn’t quite place. My gut churned, and panic spiked in my chest.

Then I saw her.

Dr. Mya Rivers stood before me in a beautiful white gown that showcased her luscious curves, her fiery-red hair cascading down her back, like a flame against snow. But it wasn’t the dress that caught me; it was her eyes. Dark, fierce, brimming with hatred. The kind of hatred that seared right through me, that twisted something deep inside. It was a look that told me I’d crossed some unforgivable line, that I was the villain in a story I didn’t remember writing. There was a veil pulled back from her face. How did I sleepwalk through part of our marriage ceremony?

She stared at me with those cold, unforgiving eyes. Her jaw was set, lips pressed into a thin line, and she held herself like she was made of steel, unbreakable, untouchable. I wanted to reach out, to touch her, to feel that she was real, but my hands stayed at my sides, clenched into fists. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

This wasn’t right. None of this felt right.

The officiant’s voice droned on, something about love, commitment, forever, words that felt hollow and distant. My head spun, and I tried to piece together how I got here. The last thing I remembered clearly was the villa, my office, the phone… But this? A wedding?

I glanced around to see if any of my men were suspicious. None looked anything but happy for the couple. I was a part of that. My wife. Vito handed me a ring, and I looked at him in surprise, but now wasn’t the time to find out why he was prepared.

I slid the ring on her finger, my hands shaking as I tried to control my emotions. I said the perfunctory words, and kissed her on the lips while our guests cheered, but it didn’t feel like my wedding.

I felt like I was outside of my body, watching over the nuptials. Mya’s eyes had softened since the ending of the ceremony. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus. This was my wedding, wasn’t it? My mind was a maze of disjointed memories, and half-formed thoughts, but if this was real, if she was here in front of me, then it had to mean something. Maybe this was the answer, the way out of the chaos. Mya was here, and she could fix me.

“Are you alright?” Mya leaned over to whisper, when there was a break in the procession line.

I nodded. “Yes, little mouse.” Even though I was anything but.

“You know you can talk to me,” she whispered.

We held hands while we walked back towards the villa, for show or real, I wasn’t certain. I didn’t answer her. I could barely think. This was all too much. It was one thing to wake up somewhere and not know how I got there.

I could chalk that up to a drunken night.

But to be in the middle of my own wedding. Something wasn’t right with me.

Let it go, a dark voice whispered in the back of my mind. I knew now that it wasn’t my own. Was I going crazy?

I looked over at my new wife. Maybe she could help me with these issues. A few soldiers walked past me, and I noted they were wearing concerned faces. They couldn’t know my mind was fracturing.

It would be anarchy.

I dragged my wife into my office and closed the door behind us. She walked away and stopped in the center of the room. I gripped my head in frustration.

“What is on your mind, Sebastian?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I think I’m going crazy. This voice is louder and louder.” My voice cracked. I’d never been vulnerable like this before.

Mya walked toward me with her hand out, like she was approaching a wounded animal. “I can help get rid of the voice.” She stroked a hand down my suit jacket.

Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It urged me away from my wife. Away from salvation.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. “I think maybe I need some kind of drug. You can do that, can’t you? Just give it to me to quiet my head a little bit. I can make sure it’s worth your while.”

Mya frowned. “That’s not how it works.”

“I don’t give a fuck how it works.” I slammed a hand against the wall, and she jumped in fright. “If you can make a pedophile no longer believe he’s attracted to little girls, then you damn sure can quiet one fucking voice in my head.”

Surprised, Mya stuttered, “I-I–”

I cut her off. “What’s wrong, doc? I thought you were a genius. The top of your field. You can’t handle a simple mental break?” A laugh broke free from my throat. Unhinged and strained.

She cleared her throat and ran a finger along her forehead. “Uhm, I could try a few cocktails, maybe something with Risperdone or Carbamazepine.”

“I don’t want a fucking cocktail,” I bit out, frustrated that she didn’t have a simple solution. I rushed toward her and seized her arms. “Do better than that, little mouse.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

“So, you’re all talk, are you?” My lips brushed against hers. “I guess you’ll have to live the rest of this marriage with a mad Don.” I smashed my lips over hers, forcing all my fury and irritation into it.

She moaned and relaxed in my embrace. I pulled away, feeling smug at her closed eyes that took a second too long to flutter back open.

“Come, wifey, before they send a search party out for us.”

Mya walked a little less straight to the door.

“This isn’t over,” I warned her. Soon, we would have an empty house, and we would get to the bottom of this madness. She wouldn’t be able to outrun me, and she’d better have a solution to this issue.

If not, she was going to be one unhappy newlywed. I breathed out, trying to feel more positivity about my spiraling mind. I believed, deep down, that Mya would save me. She was a psychiatrist, after all. She fixed broken minds. And mine was shattered, splintered into pieces I couldn’t begin to understand. But she’d put me back together. She’d see the real me; the part of me that wasn’t Riccardo, that wasn’t lost in the darkness.

Or maybe that was just another lie I told myself, to make it through the day.