“Please inform the good Governor why his daughter will not be marrying this decrepit fucker today.”
The silver-haired man begins to recite a litany of my father's sins with the clinical precision of a prosecutor presenting evidence as Rafael requested. Gambling debts scattered across every casino in the city. Backdoor deals with criminal organizations that would end his political career if they ever came to light. Financialarrangements that blur the line between corruption and outright theft.
“Nothing new.” My father's voice wavers, but he tries to summon his usual bravado. He knows damn well if anyone finds out just how dirty he is, they’d put him under the jail.
“So I have a few debts. Nothing that will ruin me.”
“It’s so much more than that,” Rafael counters.
Rafael turns to look at me, and then his gaze slides to my mother, who stands frozen near the altar with her champagne dress so pristine and perfect. Something dangerous flickers in his gaze as he says a single name.
“Luca.”
A raven-haired man with tattoos visible at his collar steps forward and begins tossing photographs onto the church floor, letting them scatter among the crushed rose petals like confetti at the world’s most twisted celebration. They flutter down in a cascade of glossy prints, and I find myself bending to retrieve one before I can stop myself.
The image that stares up at me shatters something fundamental in my understanding of my father.
He’s in the photograph, his face twisted with an expression I’ve never seen him wear in public—something feral and cruel and utterly without humanity. A woman is bent over in front of him, and even through the grainy quality of the surveillance image, I can see the marks on her skin, the fear in her posture, the violence of what he's doing to her.
“Dad?” The word comes out broken, a question and an accusation and a prayer all wrapped into a single syllable.
Rafael holds up another photograph that I can’t bear to look at. “Your father is part of Society 69. A nefarious secret society known for sex trafficking. We’ve worked to tear them down with the help of others, but no dice. Not yet anyway.”
Disgust washes over Rafael’s expression as he considers my father who stands there with a blank look on his face and murder in his eyes.
“What are you talking about?” My mother snatches the photographs from my hands before I can see any more, her fingers trembling as she shoves them back toward Luca with barely controlled hysteria. "Get this filth out of here."
But Rafael isn't finished.
He produces his phone and dials a number, putting the call on speaker so that everyone can hear. A voice answers after two rings, professional and eager. "Chicago Tribune, news desk."
“This is Rafael Milano. Move forward with the article about Governor Fiore. Full release, all documentation included.” He moves the mouth piece down and adds, “By the way, these are copies. I have lots of backup.” He returns his attention back to his call. “I have a man who will show up with all the files as promised. Rowan Volkov.”
“No!” My father lunges forward, but the gun at his head stops him cold. “Stop. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you. Just stop.”
Rafael ends the call and fixes my father with a stare that could freeze the fires of hell. “Hold that order. Let me get back to you.” He pauses, letting the weight of his power settle over the ruined sanctuary. “I’m glad to see you think like I do.”
“Your daughter now belongs to me instead of that piece of shit you sold her to for a clean slate. Consider this a verbal renegotiation of terms and you should know I’ll be in contact about the contracts. Either way, possession is nine tenths of the law.”
Magnus, who remains frozen with a gun pressed against his skull, his face twisted with impotent rage. I look at my father, who sold me to cover his debts, and my mother, who let him do it without a word of protest. I look at Rafael Milano, this man I barely know, this enemy of my family who crashed my wedding with guns blazing and offered me a different cage with the same bars.
But his cage doesn't come with Magnus Sterling’s hands on my body. His cage doesn’t come with the promise of rape disguised as a wedding night. His cage is the lesser of two evils, and right now, that's the best option I have.
I step toward the man I met once in a room full of candlelight. Lesser of two evils and all that is really coming into play here.
Rafael offers me his arm with the same old-fashioned courtesy he showed that night at the Scarlet Thorn. I take it because I don’t know what else to do.
He guides me past Magnus, past my parents, past the scattered rose petals and bits of shattered plaster, and fallen photographs, toward the ruined doors of the church.
“I'll get what belongs to me, Milano.” Magnus’s voice echoes through the empty sanctuary, thick with venom and promise. “You can’t protect her forever.”
Chills race up my spine at his words, but when I glance at Rafael, he doesn't look bothered in the slightest. He keeps walking, hishand warm and steady over mine where it rests on his arm, his stride confident and unhurried despite the threat hanging in the air behind us.
I, on the other hand, can’t seem to breathe.
I drag off the veil and leave it in my wake. The sunlight hits my face as we step through the ruined doors, and I realize with sudden, crystalline clarity that I have traded one monster for another. The only question now is whether this monster will devour me whole or teach me how to become one myself.
Seven
