To ensure the Spanish factions didn’t turn my wedding into a bloodbath...
They had delivered.
Without hesitation. Without question.
Because they understood what would happen if they didn’t.
Even with that—
I had limited who entered the cathedral.
The bride’s bloodline was Spanish.
A complication.
A risk.
Only a handful of her relatives had been allowed inside.
Carefully chosen. Carefully vetted.
Matteo—her father—was not among them. He had earned that exclusion, yet somehow, he still managed to be present.
I stepped forward, leaving the garage behind me.
The weight of the day settled across my shoulders as I moved.
Like armor.
This wedding would happen.
No matter what stood in its way.
The promise would be kept.
Not for love. Not for tradition.
But because I had said it would be done.
And when I said something—
It was done.
The side entrance of the cathedral loomed ahead.
Heavy oak doors.
Old. Solid.
I pushed one open.
It groaned on its iron hinges, the sound deep and resonant, echoing faintly into the vast interior beyond.
Cool air met me first.
Then silence.
Renzo stepped in at my left without a word.
