Her eyes flashed. "Your protection is the last thing I want."
"And yet here you are."
Father Salvatore cleared his throat. "Shall we begin?"
The ceremony was a blur of Italian and English, vows that meant nothing and everything at once. Sienna's voice was ice when she spoke, but her hand trembled when I slid the ring onto her finger—my grandmother's diamond, reset for this occasion.
I'd made sure it couldn't be removed easily.
"Io, Luca Romano,prendo te, Sienna Moretti,come mia sposa..." I spoke the traditional words, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me.
The weight of my family's expectations pressed down on me as I repeated ancient promises. Loyalty. Honor. Protection. Words that had lost meaning in our world of broken vows and bloody betrayals.
When Sienna spoke her part, her Italian was flawless but frigid. "Io, Sienna Moretti,prendo te,Luca Romano...". Each syllable dripped with barely contained rage.
For a fleeting second, her mask slipped. Something vulnerable flashed across her face—a glimpse of the woman beneath the fury, the one who'd been traded like property her entire life. A woman who'd tried to run, only to be caught and caged once again.
The moment passed so quickly I almost thought I'd imagined it.
Throughout it all, I couldn't take my eyes off her. The defiant tilt of her chin. The pulse hammering in her throat. The way her chest rose and fell with each angry breath.
Mine. The word echoed through my head with primitive satisfaction.
My hand moved unconsciously to my jacket pocket, feeling the small worn box I'd carried for eight years. My mother's ring—the only thing of hers my father hadn't destroyed in his rage after her death. White gold, simple and elegant, with a single diamond that caught light like her smile used to.
I'd brought it today. Some foolish impulse, some half-formed thought that maybe—
But no. This wasn't that kind of marriage. Sienna was a strategic acquisition, not a love match. She deserved the ornate Romano family ring I'd placed on her finger during the ceremony—the one that screamed wealth and power and dynasty. The one that meant nothing.
My mother's ring meant everything. And I couldn't give something so precious to a woman who looked at me with barely concealed hatred.
I left the box in my pocket, the weight of it a reminder of sentiment I couldn't afford.
She may have hated this arrangement, but in the eyes of our world, she belonged to me now. No other man would touch her.
The thought made something dark and possessive unfurl in my chest.
Thunder cracked outside, closer now. The storm's fury echoed my own—violent, primal, barely contained.
"You may kiss the bride," Father Salvatore announced.
Before I could move, Father Salvatore cleared his throat. "The traditional blessing," he said, producing a thin gold chain from his vestments. "Your grandmother's, Prince Romano?"
I nodded curtly as the priest draped the chain—holding a small gold cross and saint's medal—around both our joined hands.
"San Giuseppe, protettore della famiglia," Father Salvatore intoned. "Che questa unione sia benedetta con figli forti e fedeltà eterna." Saint Joseph, protector of the family. May this union be blessed with strong children and eternal loyalty.
Several of the men crossed themselves. I caught Vito Caruso whispering what sounded like a prayer.
Sienna's eyes widened. We hadn't discussed this part.
I had intended to keep it chaste—a brief press of lips for appearance's sake. But when I cupped her face in my hands, something shifted.
Her skin was soft under my rough palms. Her lips parted in surprise, and I saw the flicker of something besides hatred in her eyes.
I captured her mouth with mine.
The kiss was meant to be brief. Clinical.
