By Fate I Conquer (Sins of the Fathers #4)(122)

After a quick kiss, I went into the bedroom and picked up the towel, stuffing it into my suitcase. I didn’t trust the cleaning staff not to do some shit with it. I’d burn it later at home.

I grabbed my knife from the nightstand and brought the tip down on my upper arm. Once I’d spread some blood on the sheets to create a satisfying image, I got dressed. Not a moment too soon because a knock sounded. I opened the door and allowed my aunts and some wives from traditional families to gather Greta’s dress and the bloody sheets.

Gianna stepped in their way when they tried to leave. “You realize how misogynistic this tradition is, right?”

“It is a tradition we all agreed on. Even your daughter will have to follow it,” one of the women said haughtily.

“Over my dead body.” The women pushed past Gianna who glared at their backs.

Mom and Serafina lingered in the hallway, not bothering to be part of this show. Mom gave me a sympathetic smile.

“I really hope this was fake,” Gianna said with a warning look at me. She turned on her heel and stalked away.

Mom poked her head in, and Serafina hovered beside her. “Everything okay?”

“You can ask Greta yourself,” I said with a knowing look. I doubted Mom or Serafina were worried about my wellbeing, and I couldn’t really blame them.

When Greta emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a white dress with red polka-dots and red flats, her eyes grew wide at the sight of our mothers hovering in the entrance area of the suite. “Is everything okay?”

Mom laughed and exchanged a look with Serafina, who said, “That’s what we were going to ask you.”

“Oh,” Greta said, her cheeks blushing, and a pleased smile parted her lips.

“No words necessary after that look,” Serafina said, flushing too. “I guess we’ll give you another moment. But you should be downstairs in ten minutes.”

With a wave, they disappeared, closing the door after them.

I pulled Greta against me. “It’s a pity that we still have social responsibilities. But we have to face the wolves now.”

“Are you referring to my family?”

“Definitely. Don’t tell me you think they won’t cause a major scene at the presentation of the sheets.”

Greta looked sheepish. “They are protective, but sometimes they behave.”




Of course, I was right. I could already feel the Falcone bunch buzz with angry energy when Greta and I entered the room. They probably would have questioned her right away if my old aunts hadn’t sauntered into the ballroom in that moment, carrying the sheets as if they were a hard-won treasure.

The blood-stained sheet spanned between the two as they turned to the crowd. I glanced at the Falcones. Nevio stood slowly, pulled his knife while Massimo poured liquid from a flask on a cloth napkin, which Nevio pierced with the blade, and Alessio lit it up with a lighter. Greta followed my gaze and so did a few others, like my dad, Matteo and Remo. Nobody did anything.

Nevio hurtled the knife with practiced precision through the room so it cut through the sheet and let it burst into flames.

My aunts and the other women around it let out screams and dropped the burning sheet. Soon the carpet was burning too.

“If someone still wants to see blood, they can come to me and I’ll show them their own!” Nevio shouted while the fire spread on the carpet.

With a howl the fire alarm began and a moment later water exploded from the sprinklers above our heads, extinguishing the fire and bathing us in cold water.

“I knew it,” I muttered.

Greta peered up at me with an embarrassed smile, her hair plastered to her face. Soon her dress became see-through. I removed my jacket and draped it over her shoulder.

“I knew it would never get boring with you.”

Greta laughed and together we watched as most guests began to rush out of the room. Nevio perched on the edge of the table and toasted us with the flask before he took a deep gulp. He looked as if he was still hungover from last night. As long as he didn’t cause more problems than this, I could deal with it.

All that mattered now was that Greta was my wife and that we’d be leaving for our honeymoon in Spain tomorrow.




I anchored our yacht near a bay that was supposed to be one of the most beautiful in Ibiza. We’d been cruising the Mediterranean for the last twenty-four hours. I headed toward the bow of the boat and watched people milling on the beach or splashing in the clear-blue ocean.

Many of them were stark-naked. This was Ibiza for you. I shook my head with a wry smile. Soft footfall sounded and my smile broadened.

“I can’t wait to take a dip,” Greta said. I was glad Remo had insisted she learned to swim after she jumped into the Hudson. I turned and froze. Greta was completely naked, every gorgeous inch of her. Rust colored nipples perky, and the triangle of soft curls on her mound teasing me.

“I thought you want to head to the beach?” I said, unable to tear my eyes from my gorgeous wife.

Greta nodded, her gaze moving past me to the coastline. “It’s a nude beach.”

Possessiveness roared its furious head. “You won’t walk around naked in front of anyone but me.”

Greta tilted her head in that pensive way of hers, her dark brows bridging and a smile playing around her heart-shaped mouth. “It’s just skin and body hair. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t change that I’m yours.”