Then he bends to pick up the bouquet, and I can’t help noticing the contrast.Soft white blooms against knuckles that are marred with blood.
What a perfect metaphor for the disaster that my life has become.
When he straightens, his gaze returns to me.“You dropped these.”He holds the remaining flowers to me.
I hesitate.
And his eyes become dangerous.“Take them.”
Our fingers brush as I follow his order.
“Now your shoes, Valentina.The priest and our guests are waiting.”
He holds me steady while I reluctantly slip into the pumps.
After he nods his satisfaction, he places his fingertips against the small of my back.I feel his touch through the delicate fabric of my dress.Surprising me, he isn’t rough, but he’s firm enough to leave no doubt about who’s in control of the direction we’re about to take.
Evidently satisfied, he knocks on the door, then guides me from the relative safety of the bridal room.
Soldiers lead us and follow, and numerous others flank the walkway.
We reach private chapel, and instead of releasing me to walk down the aisle, Moretti keeps his fingers where they are.
The beautiful space is smaller than I expected, and the soft glow of candlelight fills every corner, reflecting against polished wood and stained glass.
At least a dozen soldiers line the room, completely on guard.
The few guests rise and turn to face us.
Bella is standing next to her husband, Nico, who I remember from Las Vegas.
He offers no acknowledgment, but Bella flashes a small, reassuring smile that feels almost painfully kind in this moment.
We begin the too-short walk down the center of the room.
Then I take in the people next to them.
Immediately I recognize Gina Moretti, Dante’s mother.
Her dark hair is swept into a smooth twist, pearls resting at her throat like a deliberate statement of elegance and control.
Beside her is a man I’m guessing is the youngest brother, Dario.
His hand rests lightly on Gina’s forearm in a gesture that’s protective without drawing attention to itself.
On her other side is Alessia.Like Bella, she gives me a small smile.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t return it.
At the altar is Matteo.
He stands beside the priest, his posture perfectly composed, mouth set in a grim line as we draw closer.
Instinctively I look around again, searching.But my brother isn’t here.
In a place full of Morettis and their soldiers, I don’t have a single ally.
The realization settles into my chest slowly, like something heavy sinking through deep water.
