Fuck.
I force my eyes away. Matteo would kill me if he knew all the things I want to do to his little sister. God, Luca would probably kill me too. Half the men in this room would. She’s the family’s darling, the one who gets protected before anyone else. The one we keep sheltered so she never has to know what it feels like to drown in darkness.
Too late—she already does, because of me. And Rafael is the only one who knows.
The priest says something about love and commitment and partnership. About choosing a person every day. Words that feel too clean for a world like ours. Dante slides a ring onto Bianca’s finger I haven’t seen yet—no tracker this time, I’m guessing. She’s crying, laughing, pulling him down for a kiss before the priest even finishes.
The crowd laughs. Applauds. The whole room warms like sunlight breaking through stained glass.
Someone behind me whispers about “young love” like this is a fairytale instead of two people who crawled through hell to get here.
I continue to watch Isabella.
Her shoulders relax slightly, as though she was holding her breath until now. She smiles—a real smile, one that makes her whole face light up like she swallowed a sun. I feel the hit of it straight to my chest. The kind of smile that could undo a man if he let it.
Christ. She’s so fucking beautiful.
“You’re staring again,” Rafe says under his breath.
“Shut up.” I don’t even bother pretending this time. “You watch the happy couple.”
“I am. I’m also watching you crash and burn in real time. It’s fascinating. Like a nature documentary.”
The ceremony ends. Dante and Bianca walk back down the aisle, grinning like idiots, hands linked so tightly their knuckles are white. The crowd rises and begins to spill toward the reception—velvet ropes, champagne flutes, live band already warming up somewhere.
I should move. Should follow the rest of them like a normal person. Should pretend I’m not losing my mind.
Instead, I stay frozen in my seat.
Because Isabella’s standing now. Turning. And for the first time in months, her eyes meet mine.
Just for a second.
But it’s enough. Enough to make my chest tight, my lungs useless. Enough to drag me back to every memory I’ve tried to bury.
The way she looked at me when she was nineteen and told me she loved me. The way her voice shook. The way her face crumpled when I told her to grow up. That what she felt was just gratitude for saving her life, nothing more.
The lie still tastes like blood in my mouth.
I’m such a fucking liar.
And we both know it. Or at least I know it.
She’s not nineteen anymore. She’s not a little girl with scraped knees and too much hope. She’s a woman now, and she wears the change like armor—stronger, steadier, no longer looking at me like I hung the moon.
I see it. That’s all I can see.
Yet she’s my best friend’s little sister. My Don’s little sister. The princess of a kingdom built out of bullets and loyalty. And I know—deep down, bone-deep—that if I ever put a finger on her, Matteo will put a bullet through my head without blinking. And maybe he’d be right to.
But god, I want to. I want to more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
She looks away first. Breaks the moment. Turns and follows Alessia toward the exit, her dress swishing around her legs like she doesn’t feel my gaze on her anymore.
“You’re an idiot,” Rafe says quietly. “You know that, right?”
“I’m protecting her.”
“From what? Yourself?” He stands, straightens his jacket, already bored with my excuses. “News flash, Enzo—she doesn’t need your protection anymore. She needs you to stop treating her like a kid and start treating her like a woman.”
