My husband hissed as Tino cleaned the wound. As if he’d felt me watching, he lifted his heated gaze to mine. Our eyes locked and as Tino instructed Daniele to pinch the wound closed, he placed something metal against it and muttered a distracted, “Brace,” then began to staple the wound. Ettore’s expression screwed up and he bared his straight white teeth with every click of the device. Still, he kept his eyes on me, and I couldn’t look away.

A fresh bandage was applied and when my husband moved to put his bloodstained shirt back on, Sandro stopped him. “What are you doing? Take my shirt, Tor.”

But Ettore simply shrugged back into the red soaked shirt, buttoning it slowly, eyeballing me. “No.” And just when the other groomsmen began to argue, he lifted a hand and there was silence. “Now, if you’ll excuse us. I need to have a word with my blushing bride.”

Oh no.

The way his voice grated said this was not going to be where he asked me if I preferred chicken or fish.

The men filed out and all I could do was watch.

Please don’t leave me alone with him.

Just before Tino closed the door, he shot me a quick glance and muttered a hushed, “Good luck.”

The silence stretched for a while until he retrieved his suit jacket and leisurely walked it over to me. He held it out. “Please.”

It was a trap. I could smell it a mile away, and yet, after a long moment, I took it from him. He turned. I held it open as he carefully worked his injured arm in first.

“There are some women who would applaud you for what you just did. Some would even say you were justified in your… extreme reaction.” The other arm slid into the awaiting hole. “I will only say one thing.” He spun so quickly that I didn’t know what hit me. My head thumped against the wall as his hand curled around my throat, choking me. And then, he got in my face and spoke caustically through gritted teeth, “Next time you shoot me, you’d better make sure you kill me because I will not stop until your dead, rotting corpse is buried under a pile of manure in my yard.” I gasped for breath, lifting my hands and weakly fighting, scratching at his arm. But Ettore Scala would not be moved. “I can make you disappear. Nobody will ever find you. Do you hear me?” Eyes wide, gasping for air, all I could do was nod. His eyes narrowed on me. “Are you scared?” I managed another nod, but my vision began to grey. “Of course, you are. That’s good. That is very good. You should be.”