Home > Vicious Kings (The Dark Elite #1)

Vicious Kings (The Dark Elite #1)
Author: Eva Ashwood

1

 

 

Grace

 

 

I prop my shaking arm on the vanity as I swipe on a touch of lip gloss. My honey-blonde hair is pulled back in a simple updo, with a few curled tendrils framing my face. My hazel eyes are accented by tasteful eyeshadow and mascara that highlights my long lashes.

The look is understated. Classic.

The picture of an innocent bride.

So why the hell am I so fucking nervous?

I really shouldn’t be getting anxious about something I’ve been looking forward to for months, but now that my wedding day is here, my insides are in a twist. My hands won’t stop shaking, and I don’t know if it’s just typical wedding day jitters or something else.

I love Brian. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have agreed to marry him. If I didn’t completely love him, I wouldn’t be here right now, minutes away from walking down the aisle and marrying him. We’ve been together for over two years, our sex life is decent, and the next step after spending a few years in a relationship is marriage. Because that’s what people do.

Isn’t it?

Ever since my life changed in the blink of an eye when I was sixteen, when I was yanked out of the violent, dark world I grew up in, I’ve always tried a little too hard to be “normal.” To fit the textbook definition of the average American life. And getting married is a part of that.

That’s not why you’re doing it though, Grace, I remind myself. That would be crazy.

I’m getting married because I’m in love. Because I want to start a family soon. Because I’m ready for this next step.

Right?

My hazel eyes seem a shade darker, larger than they usually are, and I shake my head at my reflection, shooting her a quelling look.

“Stop it,” I whisper at the woman in the mirror, clenching the lip gloss between my fingers. “Just stop it.”

I draw in a breath and force myself to unclench my hand, setting the tube down gently on the vanity. I just need to stop worrying. In a few hours, it’ll all be over. I’ll be happily married and on my way to a nice Canadian cabin with Brian, wrapped up in bliss.

From the outside, my life looks pretty perfect already. I went to college and came out with straight A’s and no debt—thank goodness for scholarships—have a business degree, a good job lined up, and I’m getting married to a handsome law enforcement officer who will keep me safe. In a few years, we’ll have kids. Cute kids with blue eyes like Brian and chubby cheeks…

The door behind me gently creaks open, and my gaze snaps up to the mirror, catching sight of my father. He smiles when our gazes meet, and a wave of emotion washes over me at the sight of him all dressed up in a suit. He looks handsome and dapper. I haven’t seen him in a suit in years, although he used to wear them all the time.

Back before we moved to Washington.

Back in the other life we never talk about.

Six years ago, we moved from Chicago to Washington, traveling off the grid and staying low. We were running from our past lives, running from the death of my mother, the wars of blood… the mafia.

Seeing my father looking so much like that old version of himself makes a pit form in my stomach, but I push it away.

Today isn’t a day to be focusing on the past.

Only the future.

Dad gives me a small wave and creeps into the room, closing the door behind him. I watch him through the mirror, biting my bottom lip and probably messing up the gloss I just applied.

“Grace, you look beautiful. I can’t believe my little girl is getting married.” His usually deep voice is a little gruffer than usual, and I know he’s fighting back emotion just like I am.

I turn around in my seat. “Dad, stop.” Trying to laugh, I blink away the tears welling in the corners of my eyes. “You’re going to make me cry.”

“I’m proud of you, honey.” He squats next to my seat and grasps my hands, pulling them to his chest. His solid heartbeat comforts me, and I suddenly realize how damn lucky I am to still have him with me. He’s all I have left. “For once… I’m at a loss for words.”

“Proud of me for what, doing something everyone else does?” I attempt to joke, speaking my earlier thoughts aloud. “Getting married? Doesn’t seem that hard these days.”

“For recovering,” he says seriously. “For flourishing. For making the best of the bad times and coming out stronger than ever. I’m proud of you for putting up with all of my bullshit.”

What he means is the running, the moving, the not knowing where we were going to sleep next. It took us almost a full year to get completely back on our feet after leaving the mafia, a full year of memories we both tune out.

“I’d do it again for you, Dad. You know that.”

“Your mother would be proud too.” Heavy sadness weighs on his voice. She died six years ago, just before we fled Chicago, but I know he still misses her every day. I do too. “I wish she could be here to see you.”

“Me too.”

“I think she must be looking down on you today.”

Clasping my hands in his, my father places a tender kiss to my knuckles, like a benediction. When he stands up, his knees pop with the movement.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you are turning into an old man,” I tease.

“Oh hush.” He cracks a smile. He gives me a flick on the chin like he used to do when I was a little girl. “You know I’m still as spry as a man in his twenties. Cool too.”

To prove his point, he cocks an eyebrow at me and slicks back his hair, turning on his heels smoothly. He’s aged well, still carrying the look of a classic American movie star, and the older ladies love him for it.

“Right. Just don’t embarrass me by tripping down the aisle. Or dancing down it,” I say with a warning tone. He gives me an innocent wink and slips out, shutting the door behind him. As the door closes on his chuckle, I catch my reflection again.

My expression looks lighter, happier, less pinched. Seeing my dad helped calm me down, quieting the little voice of doubt and worry in my mind.

I rarely think about the time before now, but just briefly talking about our past lives brings back a rush of memories. Before we left Chicago, my dreams were completely different—so different that I feel like I don’t even know the girl I left behind. The mafia princess became a picture perfect suburban woman in just a few years.

There was a small part of me that didn’t want to leave when my father dragged me away, that was consumed with the life of the mafia. But how is a sixteen-year-old girl to know what’s best for her?

If we hadn't left Chicago, what would my life have turned into?

One thing is for sure, I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to get married or settle down. I would want to—

I cut off that thought before I can even finish it. There’s no point thinking about the life I left behind. Or the people.

Not even the ones who kept a piece of my heart with them.

Shit.

Now is not the time to be getting cold feet.

My hands clasp the locket at my neck on instinct, popping it open with my thumb. I look down at the familiar and worn picture it holds, a picture of a woman who looks just like me—hazel eyes, blonde hair that glints with natural highlights. The only feature I took from my father was his smile, and he’d never say this, but I know sometimes my dad has a hard time even looking at me. I remind him of Mom too much. Of everything he lost when she died.

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