The music swelled louder, pulling me back.
The bride reached the altar.
I blinked, refocusing. My body was tense with arousal, but my face remained impassive. Perfect control. No one could see what I'd been thinking.
Father Lawrence greeted her with warm words I didn't hear, but the familiarity did nothing to calm her trembling. Strange. The ceremony began. Standard vows–love, honor, cherish—meaningless words people said before breaking every promise.
Father Lawrence continued, oblivious: "Do you, Bianca Lombardo, take this man—"
"I do."
Her voice was barely audible. Trembling. But she said it.
"And do you, Cesare Monti, take this woman—"
"I do." My voice was steady. Final.
My mind was still half in that fantasy, anticipating tonight. Imagining Bianca beneath me, around me, taking everything I gave her.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Time to make this official.
I reached for the veil, lifted it.
The fabric fell back.
Everything stopped.
This was the wrong woman.
Not Bianca. The same face—nearly identical—butdifferent.
My mind cataloged the differences in microseconds: the freckle on her right cheek that Bianca didn't have. Eyes a brighter green. Softer features, less makeup. Fuller bottom lip.
But more than physical differences—theenergywas wrong.
This woman looked terrified. From what I’d gathered in the last few months, Bianca Lombardo was as cold and cunning as I was–so why wasn’t she standing before me? And who was this woman?
Her eyes were wide with fear, practically pleading. Her hands shook so badly the bouquet rustled audibly.
This was not the woman I'd agreed to marry. It could only be Bianca’s sister, the other Lombardo girl who had practically disappeared from society when she went away to college… But why? She clearly didn’t want to be here.
Options raced through my mind in the space of a heartbeat.
Expose this, stop the ceremony, and demand answers.
But three hundred witnesses sat behind me. Third row, left side—Viktor Kozlov. Russian mafia boss. My oldest enemy. He was watching with sharp eyes, waiting for any sign of weakness.
If I exposed this deception, showed I didn't even know my own bride, I looked like a fool. Weak. Uninformed. Not in control.
The Lombardo-Monti alliance would collapse publicly. The fragile peace would shatter.
Viktor would move on my territory within days. There would be war and blood in the streets. My men dead.
All because I couldn't control one simple wedding.
Decision made.
