Bruno doesn't move.
No. That's not right. He does move. But not toward me.
He wheels backward. One smooth push of his hands against the wheels, and he's a foot farther away. Then two.
He's not going to kiss me.
Heat floods my cheeks. I stand frozen at the altar, bouquet clutched in my hands, veil still covering my face. The silence stretches. I can feel eyes on us. My family. His family. Everyone watching this disaster unfold.
What am I supposed to do?
Do I step forward? Do I wait? Do I pretend this isn't the most humiliating moment of my life?
Bruno's expression gives nothing away. Stone. Ice. A wall I can't see past.
He doesn't want me.
The thought hits like a slap. Of course he doesn't. Why would he? I'm a transaction. A debt payment. A stranger forced on him by circumstances neither of us chose.
But he could have at least pretended.
Movement catches my eye. A woman approaches from the front pew. Dark hair. Sharp features.
She stops in front of me.
"You're still wearing your veil," she says softly.
I blink. My hands move automatically, reaching up to push the lace back from my face. The church comes into sharper focus. The candles. The flowers. The faces watching us.
The woman smiles. It's warm. Genuine. Nothing like the cold reception I expected.
"I'm Vittoria Sartori. Bruno's sister."
I nod. My voice seems to have abandoned me.
"Welcome to the family." She takes my hand and squeezes it. Her grip is firm. Reassuring. "I know this isn't... traditional. But you're one of us now."
One of us.
People start moving. The ceremony is over. My family rises from their pew. The Sartoris do the same. Bodies converge around us in a blur of dark suits and expensive perfume.
Someone hugs me. I think it's Gianna. Her arms wrap around my waist and she whispers something I can't quite hear. Then Claudio is there, his hand on my shoulder, his expression tight with worry.
Papa hangs back. He won't meet my eyes.
Good.
I don't want to look at him either.
"Pietro."
Bruno's voice cuts through the noise. I turn.
He's already near the side door. The man who stood beside him during the ceremony—tall, dark-haired, built like a soldier—waits with one hand on the door handle.
"I need to get back to the compound." Bruno's tone is flat. Businesslike.
That's it.
