A hand brushes mine. Not cruel. Not rough. Just steady. I feel the cool slide of a ring down my finger, and something in my chest twists so tight I forget how to breathe. The priest keeps going, unbothered by my question. Or my lack of consent.
And then—finally—the hood lifts. His mouth finds mine. Just the corner. Just enough to seal whatever oath he thinks this is.
I blink hard against the light, vision sharpening one second at a time. Enzo is towering, dark-eyed, in a perfectlytailored tux that probably cost more than my father’s bribes last year. That face that I know so well—sharp jaw, mouth like sin, looks down at me. My stomach flips. Because I know that face. He looks at me not with triumph, but something quieter. Something almost…protective.
Relief flares in my chest before I can kill it. Because it isn’t Anthony that slid a ring on my finger. I now belong to someone else.
And it’s a man that I know. My mind and my heart are at war inside me. I want to be pissed, but I also want to cry that I’m now protected by a man that I know isn’t going to let anything happen to me.
“You bastard,” I scold him to cover what my heart is screaming. “You had us married against my will?”
His mouth tips in a satisfied grin, eyes are steady on mine. “Correction,Mrs. Marchetti…” His voice drops an octave. “I saved you.”
The priest leaves without a word,escorted by my men. The door shuts, and the penthouse falls into silence, only the crackle of the fireplace breaking it.
Zara sits bound to the chair, chest rising hard beneath the torn wreckage of her wedding dress. Her eyes lock on mine, blazing with fury so sharp it could cut. Lesser men would already be ashes under that glare.
But to a man like me, she’s never looked more beautiful.
“You’re Enzo Marchetti.” Her voice shakes, equal parts rage and disbelief. “You lied to me this entire time?”
A dark chuckle slips past my lips. “Angel, you lied too.”
“I—” she stutters, breath hitching, “I had good reason.”
“So did I.”
Her eyes flash. “I can’t believe I slept with a fucking Marchetti.” The words drip venom.
I step closer, arms folding across my chest. “And I can’t believe I had my enemy’s daughter under my roof. Tell me, were you gathering information for your father?”
“Fuck you. I hate that man.”
My tone hardens. “I hope you mean that. Because you wear my name now, and in this family, betrayal isn’t forgiven.”
She spits each word like a curse. “Fuck. The. Fuck. Off. I hate my last name. I would never do a goddamn thing to benefit Lachlan.”
I study her, let the silence hang long enough to make her squirm. Then I nod once. “Good. I believe you. Just needed to hear you say it. And don’t worry about your last name any longer, you have a different one now.”
Her laugh is humorless, bitter. “So what is this, then? Did you agree to an alliance too? Because I hate to break it to you—the Emerald Brotherhood is crumbling. Lachlan has nothing left to offer you.”
Another step forward closes the space between us. I lean in the firelight throwing shadows across her face. “I don’t need anything from Lachlan Kavanagh. I didn’t marry you for power, Zara. I did it to save you.”
Her expression falters, her veil’s half-torn, hair tangled around her shoulders, lipstick smudged from the chaos. She radiates fury, indignation—and underneath all of it, that same wild defiance that first hooked me two years ago in Detroit. I don’t move right away. I savor the sight of her like a final exhale after too many days without air.
She jerks one foot back as soon as it’s free. I reach for the other, feeling her legs tense beneath my hands. “Untie me,” she snaps, voice sharp.
I saunter closer. “Are you planning to behave if I do?”
Her head tilts, glare full of venom. “Why the fuck should I, Enzo?”
“It sounds so good to finally hear you say my name.”
Her brows pinch. “Go to hell.”
I crouch in front of her, sliding my fingers beneath the knots at her ankles. “Already there, Angel. Been living in it since the moment I realized you were missing.” I move to release her hands. When I rise and step behind her, her shoulders draw tighter.
“Don’t pretend to be gentle now,” she mutters, yanking her arms away the second they’re free.
