Chapter 4 Under Attack

CHAPTER FOUR: The Wedding

Marco woke me up just past noon, he knocked once and stepped into the room without waiting for permission, like he owned everything in sight, including me.

"Get up," he said. "We're leaving."

I blinked, still groggy from barely sleeping the night before. "But I haven't packed anything?" I said to avoid breaking rule number one.

He looked at me like I'd asked something ridiculous. "There's no need for that, you won't need anything. We'll get what you need when we get there."

I didn't argue, I threw on the clothes laid out for me, a simple black dress, nothing flashy and followed him downstairs.

He'd brought only a handful of men with him, all dressed in black, all armed but discreet, no suits. No shiny shoes, Just enough muscle to make sure no one got stupid.

"Why so few?" I asked quietly as we got into the second of two black SUVs. I had already said before I remembered rule number one, I looked up at him swallowing nervously.

He didn't look at me when he answered. "Less noise and less attention." it seemed like he hadn't noticed.

I breathed a sigh of relief. The ride to the hotel took less than an hour.

The hotel was a private property Marco owned on the outskirts of the city.

It looked quiet, elegant, with high walls and a long driveway, the type of place made for deals no one wanted recorded.

When we arrived, Marco got out first and gave me a nod and that same smirk that never quite reached his eyes.

I followed behind him into the lobby, the hotel staff was minimal, probably handpicked.

Everyone moved quickly when Marco entered, like they were used to his presence, and feared it.

We were taken to our separate rooms. Marco didn't say a word. He just pointed to the door across from his, and I went in.

My room was large, it looked too perfect and too quiet. I sat on the bed, staring at the wall, trying to breathe through the tightness in my chest.

Night came fast.

I was still awake when I heard the first sound, it was a sharp pop. It sounded muffled, but unmistakable.

Gunshot.

Then another one closer.

I jumped off the bed, my heart beat going wild. Before I could even reach the door, Marco burst in.

His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, gun in one hand. "In the closet. Now," he ordered.

"What-"

"Don't argue, get inside and don't come out until I say."

He grabbed my arm and shoved me into the walk-in closet.

I stumbled back into the coats, barely able to catch my balance before he slammed the door shut.

I heard him lock it.

My breathing was loud in the dark, the gunfire outside grew louder, more frequent. I sank to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest.

Something crashed, maybe a table, maybe a person. I heard Shouting, heavy boots running.

Then silence.

I waited, minutes passed, my limbs started to cramp from the way I was curled up.

I heard nothing now, not a voice or a step, Just my own pulse thudding in my ears.

Slowly, I pushed open the closet door, my room looked the same, eerily untouched. I crept out, barefoot, heart pounding.

The hallway outside was empty except for the flickering lights.

I walked slowly toward the lobby, every step making me flinch. The smell hit me first, gunpowder, blood, and something metallic.

Then I saw bodies, three men in black, clearly not Marco's, one had his face blown open, another clutched his stomach, groaning faintly. The third wasn't moving.

I stepped over the blood trail and made it to the reception.

That's when I saw Marco, he was crouched in front of a man tied to a chair.

The man's face was a mess, bloodied, swollen. His mouth was gagged. With one eye shut completely.

Marco held a knife, not a small one. He looked so calm.

He dragged the blade slowly along the man's arm. Not too deep, Just enough to make him squirm.

I stood there, unable to move, then he looked up. And our eyes locked.

His lips curved into that same cold smirk, I backed away, heart was in my throat by now.

He didn't say a word. Then I turned and bolted back to my room.

What was going to happen to me now? I had disobeyed him.

My feet barely touched the floor as I ran, once inside, I slammed the door and locked it, my fingers trembling so hard I nearly missed the latch.

I dropped onto the bed, shaking.

Was this really my life now? Was I engaged to a man who didn't even flinch while torturing someone?

Tears burned in my eyes, but I forced them back.

This wasn't the time for crying, this was survival.

I lay there, waiting for him to knock or to call me. But there was nothing. Just silence and the image of his smirk burning into my mind.

As I was about to sleep, the sound came.

Knock! Knock!

My heart pounded in my chest as I sat on the edge of the bed, knees pulled up, arms wrapped tightly around them.

The doorknob turned, fuck he had a master key. The door opened slowly.

Marco stepped inside.

His white shirt was stained with blood, none of it his, from the look of him. He looked calm. Too calm.

That smirk on his face was the same one he wore earlier today in the car, and again when I caught him torturing a man like he was simply tying his shoes.

I sat up, back pressing to the headboard, instinctively moving away from him as he closed the door behind him.

He noticed.

"Why are you running, wife?" His voice was low, calm-mocking, even. "Afraid of me now?"

I swallowed hard, but didn't answer.

He took a slow step forward, his boots made a quiet thud against the carpet.

"You broke rule number two," he said, his eyes locked on mine. "Never disobey me."

I pressed my back tighter to the wall, panic rising in my throat.

"And," he added, lifting a brow, "you broke rule number one earlier in the car. Think I didn't notice?" He let out a dry laugh. "You asked questions. You hesitated when I told you not to bring anything. And then you glared at me like you had something to say. Tsk, tsk, Emily."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I didn't mean to. I just... I didn't know."

"Didn't know?" he repeated, cocking his head. "That's your excuse?"

I nodded quickly. "Please. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

He stopped at the edge of the bed, his eyes trailing down my trembling form.

Blood speckles marked his forearm, and the bruising tension in his knuckles told me he'd done far more than interrogate someone tonight.

"Sorry won't cut it, wife."

His lips twitched, "You broke two rules in one day. That's bold and reckless."

My hands clenched the blanket. "Please, I just-"

"You have to be punished." His tone dropped even lower. No anger. Just certainty.

He said it like it was fact, law. "And don't think I'll go easy because of what happened downstairs. If anything, that makes this more necessary."

He moved closer.

I backed up farther on the bed, heart hammering in my chest.

My voice cracked. "What are you going to do to me?"

He smirked again, "I assure you, you'll love it." He said, his eyes twirling in mischief.