My groom.
The music pushed me forward. My feet moved—one step, then another. The train whispered behind me. The veil obscured my vision, turning everything hazy and dreamlike.
Each step felt like walking through water. Unreal. Impossible.
But the details were sharp enough to cut. The rustle of silk, the weight of the bouquet. Whispers from the pews—too quiet to hear, loud enough to feel.
They thought I was Bianca. They thought this was what I wanted.
Halfway down the aisle and I could see him more clearly now.
Cesare Monti was... not what I'd expected. Somehow both more and less frightening than the monster I'd built in my mind in the short ride it had taken to get to the church.
He was tall—well over six feet, with the kind of presence that commanded attention without effort. Broad shoulders in a black suit that probably cost more than my yearly rent. His dark hairwas styled back and the strong jaw made him handsome in a brutal, unforgiving way.
And his eyes.
Even through the veil, I could feel them. Dark and intense, tracking my every movement. Cold. Assessing. Dangerous.
This was the man who would own me after today. The man who thought he was marrying my sister. The man whose bed I'd share, whose name I'd take, whose world I'd be trapped in–unless I could find a way to escape. But for years I’d been separating myself from my family’s mafia lifestyle, and I was sure I didn’t have the cunning or intelligence to get away from whatever this was free of consequences.
My hands shook. The roses trembled.
Ten more steps. Five.
I reached the altar.
Time slowed. Sound dimmed. The entire world contracted to this moment—standing at the base of these marble steps, looking up at the stranger who would be my husband.
I raised my eyes.
Met his.
The impact was physical, as if he’d reached out and touched me, caused a tingle to run down my spine. Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe, or recognition. Too quick to read. Then his face went blank again, a mask of cold control.
Terrifying.
Beautiful.
Mine, whether I wanted him or not.
Father Lawrence, the man who had been our priest throughout my childhood, stepped forward, his voice rich with ceremony. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."
The bouquet nearly slipped from my fingers. I gripped it tighter, the thorns biting through the wrapping into my palms.
This was it. The point of no return.
I was about to marry a monster.
And there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it.
CHAPTER 2
Cesare
Istood at the altar with Piero beside me, my brother's presence the only warm thing in this cathedral of cold limestone and colder ambition.
"You good?" he murmured.
