"This is still fake," I whispered.
"The marriage license is real," he said quietly. "The vows are negotiable. But the ring is permanent, Julietta. Once it's on, everyone in this world will know you belong to me. And I belong to you in the way that matters—completely, irrevocably, no escape clauses."
"That's not—"
"I know." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek. "But it's what's true anyway. You figured that out already. That's why you're not running."
He was right, and I hated how much that realization terrified me.
The courthouse was chaos contained by careful planning.
Security surrounded the building, disguised as city workers and maintenance staff. Dante's men positioned themselves at exits, their hands never far from the weapons I now knew they carried because he'd shown me, honored his promise of transparency.
Fifty people filled the small courtroom—some I recognized from the compound, others I'd never seen. All watching as I walked toward Dante, my hands trembling.
Judge Castellano spoke quickly, efficiently, like he wanted to get through this and into witness protection. The vows were traditional, generic, meaningless on paper.
Except they weren't.
When Dante took my hand, his thumb brushed across my palm like he was memorizing the feel of me. When he said the words—"I do"—his voice was quiet enough that only I could hear it, and it sounded like a promise instead of performance.
"I do," I repeated, and it felt like stepping off a cliff.
He kissed me like he wasn't performing for fifty witnesses. Like it was just us, like the ring on my finger actually meant something permanent instead of temporary. His hand came up to cup the back of my neck, and I melted into him, letting the world blur into insignificance.
When we broke apart, the courtroom erupted in applause.
By midnight, I was sitting alone in Dante's bedroom—our bedroomnow, I supposed— with the ring still on my hand.
Funny how I'd been sleeping here for weeks, but calling it 'our bedroom' felt more permanent than the marriage certificate. More real than the vows I'd spoken in front of fifty witnesses.
The reception had been brief—champagne at a private venue, carefully vetted guests, the announcement queued to go live at seven a.m. across every major platform. Lorenzo's people would be scrambling to piece together what had happened. Dante's network would be buzzing with the news.
The mafia princess had married the Don.
It was strategic. It was brilliant. It was exactly what we needed to neutralize the threat.
And I couldn't stop looking at the ring like it might dissolve if I wasn't watching carefully enough.
The bedroom door opened quietly. Dante crossed to me, still in his suit, and sank onto the bed beside me. He took my left hand gently, examining the diamond.
"Second thoughts?" he asked.
"I'm having approximately ten thousand thoughts," I admitted. "None of them second. First, third, and fourteenth thoughts."
He smiled, that dangerous expression softening into something almost tender. "What are they?"
"That this was supposed to be fake." I looked at him. "That I'm supposed to be using this as leverage, building power, planning my next move."
"And?"
"And I can't stop thinking about how real it felt when you kissed me. How real it feels right now."
Dante pulled me against him, and I let myself rest my head on his shoulder. His hand came up to my hair, stroking slowly.
"It doesn't have to be fake," he said quietly.
"Yes, it does." But my voice wavered. "Because if it's real, then I'm trapped. And if I'm trapped again, I'll—"
