Yet, I continue on.
I don’t know what it says about me that I’d choose a raging storm over a quiet refuge, but safety never made my heart race.
We reach the end of the aisle, and my father’s gaze lands on two large streaks of blood slashed across the pavilion. My eyes carve a path over that trail, eventually ending where two guards lie slumped near the bushes, their lifeless expressions staring up at the sky.
My stomach turns as an unsettling thought enters my mind.
Where is Matteo?
“Fuck this up, and you’ll have every last one of us killed,” my father growls in warning.
He releases me, and I offer a slow, mechanical nod as the priest summons me to join Angelo beneath the ceremonial arch.
In addition to the streaks of blood and two dead guards, the backdrop of our wedding is a marble colonnade draped with climbing vines.
Beauty and violence.
I meet the groom where he stands, and his gaze pans the length of my body, soaking in every detail of his stolen bride. Possession smolders behind those dark irises, but that fire turns to ice when they drift back to my face—lingering on my swollen cheek.
The silence pulses with static as his hand curls into a fist and he drags a thumb over his knuckles. Before the priest can utter a word, Angelo leans in, his voice a deadly calm against my ear.
“Give me a name.”
That low gravel-edged command sends a shiver through me. This isn’t a man who bares his teeth for the sake of show. When he asks a question like that, it’s because he intends to draw blood.
I peer up at him, feeling half-drunk as I lose myself in the darkness of his eyes. I shouldn’t like this beast in him, and I definitely shouldn’t feed it.
Nicky saves me from the paralysis of making a decision when he approaches Angelo and whispers something in his ear. Angelo’s eyes flash, a faint twitch pulsing through his jaw as he pulls back and nods. That response doesn’t bode well for my father, but I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to think about that right now.
The priest opens the ceremony with scripture, then asks us to join together. Warmth engulfs my fingers as Angelo’s rough hands swallow mine—calloused and tattooed to my softness.
Those hands are intimately acquainted with violence. They’ve broken bones, crushed throats, and bled his enemies dry. They’re the hands of a brutal man, but right now, they feel like a refuge under the watchful gazes of our friends and enemies alike.
In a world where kings reign, loyalty and loathing are both offered up with smiles. Some have come to celebrate this union, while others would love to see us fall. In theCosaNostra, it’s never a good thing to be known as a man who hands out second chances. And until me, Angelo never has.
So why now?
Revenge is one thing. Tethering his fate to mine is another.
Whatever his reasons may be, there’s no stopping it now.
The priest concludes his chosen readings and opens the vow ceremony, asking us to declare our intent. Angelo recites the affirmations first, each line delivered more like a blood oath than a formality. The wordsuntil death do us partroll off his tongue like honey, and that poisoned promise curls through the air, wrapping around my throat like a collar. It’s an all-too-chilling reminder of what’s at stake, and when I repeat the words back to him, I don’t miss the subtle reflex of his fingers—a silent warning that this time, I better mean what I say.
I articulate every line without faltering, and it seems the entire room takes a collective breath when that part is over. Nino delivers the rings, the priest blesses us, and we exchange bands. When Angelo slides the heavy emerald-cut diamond onto my finger, it catches the sunlight and the guests’ attention.
Quiet voices sweep through the crowd, and one of the men whistles under his breath. The glittering diamond is impossible to miss, and that’s the point.
Angelo meets my stunned gaze and responds without a flicker of emotion on his face. “If other men can't see your ring across the room, I'm not doing my job.”
I choke down the sting of his indifference, telling myself it’s better this way. But it’s impossible not to notice how this ring, even at a heftier weight, has such a stark contrast to the way Matteo’s felt like a noose around my finger.
When it’s my turn to slip the titanium band onto Angelo’s finger, something hot arcs in my chest. I don’t want to breathe life into that feeling, but when the priest pronounces us husband and wife, the embers remain.
A roar of applause rises from the crowd, followed swiftly by a chorus of cheers as they shout, “Bacio, bacio!”
Angelo doesn’t bend to meet me, but rather, he grabs me around the waist and picks me up off the ground. Our eyes clash,the atmosphere shifts, and lightning strikes as his lips brush mine.
The first contact is a sharp electric spark that cracks open my chest and bleeds out too many raw emotions. I inhale his exhalation, and warmth rushes into my lungs. He tastes like whiskey, and he smells so good I want to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in like a drug.
