Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(57)

Nick gives me a concerned look when I move out of his arms and off the dance floor. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I think. I just need some food. Why don’t you take some time and talk to your guys? I think they want to congratulate you or something.” Chris and the others have been antsy all night, almost like they want to dance with Nick but I’m not letting them.

He nods. “Okay. Come and get me right away if you need anything.”

“Sure.”

I grab a finger sandwich or two, hoping it’ll help me feel a bit more myself. As I’m heading for the chicken satay, though, a hand closes on my arm.

I know that hand. But it can’t be him.

I turn. It’s him.

His fingers tighten hard, making me flinch. “Let’s dance.”

“No.”

Sal leans closer. “Don’t make a scene, Sarah. I just want to chat.”

“Why are you even here?” I snap. He’s tugging at me now. There’s no sign of Nick anywhere close.

He leans in again and says right in my ear, “Your husband invited me.” His breath reeks of alcohol, and not just champagne. He’s been into the hard stuff at the cash bar.

The hell? I’m so shocked at this that I forget to struggle, and he pulls me out onto the dance floor.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Sal says with a sneer. “I assume by the speedy wedding arrangements that you’re expecting.”

“Fuck you, Sal.”

“I didn’t think you liked that anymore.”

“I never liked it, you son of a bitch. Let me go.”

“We’re just dancing. For now.” He’s holding me far too close. Where the hell is Nick? A few other guests are eyeing us like they know what’s happening isn’t right, but nobody seems to have the balls to do anything about it. I’ll give Nick about forty-five more seconds and then I’m kneeing Sal in the nut sac, scene or no scene.

“You just enjoy your happy little life, my girl,” Sal says, his hands tightening on mine as we dance. “You never know how long it’s going to last.”

“Excuse me.” Oh, thank God. That’s Nick, looming up behind Sal and tapping him on the shoulder. “May I cut in?” The words are polite, but his tone is ice cold and knife-edge keen. He’s teetering on the edge of violence.

Sal lets go of one of my hands but not the other, turning to half face Nick. “I believe you already did.”

Nick takes a step forward. “Get the fuck away from my wife,” he growls. It’s low and it’s not the kind of sound anybody should fail to take seriously.

“Fine.” Sal lets go of my other hand. “If sloppy seconds is your thing, don’t let me stop you.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“I’m an invited guest, just like everybody else.” He makes a sweeping gesture at the other occupants of the dance floor. Most have abandoned any pretense of dancing, just gaping at the three of us.

“Well, I’m uninviting you. Didn’t want you here in the first place, but Spada insisted.”

“Isn’t that nice.” He takes a silver cigarette case out of the inside of his jacket. “Well, I guess I’ll be off, then.”

Lighting the cigarette, he moves away from us, looking back with a smile, one hand cupped around the flame of his lighter.

“And no smoking!” Nick hollers after him.

“No problem,” says Sal, and, just inside the room, snubs out the cigarette in one of the big pink roses on my beautiful, perfect wedding cake.

Nick flies across the room. I’ve never seen him move so fast. He’s on Sal before Sal can quite get the door open.

Sal staggers back as Nick’s fist slams into his face. “I said get the fuck out,” Nick says.

Sal drags himself to his full height, his face twisted into an ugly sneer. He’s lost all pretense of control or faux politeness. “Fuck you, Angelino. That cunt is mine and you know it. I own every hair on her fucking body.”

Nick stalks another step forward, fists clenched. I hear rustling around me and suspect several guests have their hands on their previously concealed guns.

God, no. Not a shooting at my wedding.

“You just watch your back, Angelino. And you too, you fucking little whore.”

Finally he leaves the hall. Outside, I see him get into that fucking silver Porsche. Nick comes back to me and pulls me into his arms.





Chapter Ten



Nick



I hold Sarah carefully. There’s so much rage seething through me I’m afraid I might hurt her.

Goddamn Sal De Luca. I stroke Sarah’s back and take another look at the wedding cake. It’s still edible, but goddammit if I’m going to scrape off that ashy rose and act like nothing happened. De Luca has desecrated my wedding. My wedding. More importantly, he threatened Sarah. I’m not putting up with his shit. If anything happens to Sarah, Sal’s a dead man.