SANDRO
It doesn’t matter how little interest I have in a wife. I can’t deny the truth staring me in the face. Evelina Lombardi is objectively the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. I knew she was pretty the night we met. And even bloodied and half-feral, I stayed far longer than I would have otherwise, because I found her oddly… mesmerizing—like theMona Lisa, with her quiet composure and secretive smile.
But here, draped in ivory silk, pearls glittering against her throat, plush lips parted like she’s afraid she might forget how to breathe, my bride is devastating. Her shiny chestnut hair falls in gentle wisps around her face, calling attention to her refined features and warm gold-flecked gaze. The veil cascading down her back and wrapping around her bare shoulders draws my eyes to her slender collar bones and impressive curves that she’s put on full display today.
Lucky. That’s the word. I’m lucky. Out of all the families whose support we could’ve bought with a ring, Raf chose hers. It’s a gift, even if I never asked for it. He stands behind me now, presiding over the ceremony as the new Don—or, more likely, ensuringthat I don’t try to leave. But with my bride standing before me, her slender fingers trapped between my rough ones, it’s the last thing on my mind.
The ceremony blurs. The priest drones on. Leo, Miko, and Gio sit in the front row with their wives, witnesses to the new strength I’ll bring to our family with this alliance. I can hear the soft murmurs of our guests, no doubt whispering about how desperate the Lombardis must be to willingly marry off their only daughter to the mad dog of the Chiaroscuro family.
But none of it lands.
My focus is locked on her—this girl who trembles and glows all at once, like the light of an inextinguishable flame. She looks so scared, she’s still standing by sheer force of will, and yet she smiles, the light in her eyes promising a kind of acceptance that can only come from someone who’s either incredibly simple or unfalteringly kind. And though I know through proven fact that kind people do not exist in my world, I can’t ignore the glimmer of intelligence in Evelina’s eyes. So I convince myself that it must be a trick of the light.
I’m so riveted by her eyes that I almost miss the priest’s directive to exchange rings. And when I slide the ring onto her finger, my thumb brushes her warm, delicate skin—too delicate for a man like me.
Then the officiant is pronouncing us man and wife, and I step forward robotically to do what’s expected of me. One arm catching around Evelina’s waist, I pull her close and lower my head to kiss my bride. She smells like liquid sunshine, the fragrant warmth of a summer garden, and I inhale deeply without realizing it’s to take more of her in.
Our eyes lock, hers widening slightly in the moment before I cradle the back of her neck with my palm. Then her painted eyelids flutter closed, her long, thick lashes fanning across her rosy cheeks as her lips part on a shuddering breath.
The crowd erupts in applause as our lips meet, but I barely hear it. Because the moment her mouth finds mine, scorching heat blasts through me. I recognize the feeling.
Desire.
It’s ridiculous. I’ve kissed women before. I’ve fucked them too. I know the mechanics, the routine, the relief. I’ve done things to women that would make my virginal young bride blush to the roots of her lush brown hair. But compared to my bloodlust, sex has always been… muted, background noise, a way to take the edge off when my fists weren’t enough for one night.
But this—this is different.
Maybe it’s because this is the first woman I’ve ever calledmine. Maybe it’s because, despite my lack of interest in social conventions or living by the rules, this moment still carries the weight of significance that it should. But I don’t think it’s just that.
Something about Evelina compels me in a way that no other woman has before.
Her lips are soft and inviting, hesitant but pliant. She tastes of nerves and sweetness, like spun sugar dissolving on my tongue. And my body reacts—my pulse kicking, my chest tightening, my fingers pressing into the small of her back as if to steady myself as I bring her closer.
A soft gasp rushes past her lips, and I’m dangerously tempted to chase it with my tongue. Instead, I pull back before I lose my grip. And I lock my emotions down before she can see the truth on my face.
The applause swells. My brothers smirk. And my beautiful bride smiles at me. Radiant. Unassuming. As if she has no idea what she just ignited in me.
The rest of it is obligation—toasts, dinner, endless congratulations. I’ve learned to play my role well enough, and tonight is no different. I raise a glass when I’m told, nod politely as the patriarchs of prominent families drone on about alliances and prosperity.
Then it’s time for dessert. My hand wraps around Evelina’s delicate one as we cut into a three-tiered cake with a knife I’d rather use on someone’s throat. The effort Anika has put into this wedding isn’t lost on me, and I can’t help but think it’s the wedding she would have loved if she and Miko hadn’t rushed into a ceremony just to bring her under the protection of our family name. At least Evelina seems to be enjoying it all.
And she truly shines beside me as she shares her warmth with everybody present. My wife smiles like she means it. She laughs when someone teases us, blushes when I rest a hand against the small of her back and pull her close for our first dance. She glows as if the candles scattered around the ballroom have cast their light just for her. Her presence softens the edges of the night, almost enough to make me forget that this isn’t for me. It’s for Raf. For my family. For our survival. Our revenge.
Eventually, my obligations run dry.
The guests are drunk. The speeches are finished. My brothers dance with their wives while the Family elders disappear to their cigars and politics. My bride is twirling with Gio and Stephanie’s little boy, Jackson, her skirts swishing, cheeks flushed with laughter as she dances with my nephew like she was born to be a mother.
No doubt my new bride will want children of her own to fill her time and pour her love into once she realizes how little I can offer her as a husband. Then again, she probably already knows, considering I’ve done nothing to hide my reputation. Above all, I value honesty, which is why I’ve done what I can to show Evelina exactly what she’s in for.
And tonight won’t be any different.
She doesn’t notice when I slip out, finding my opportunity when Raf is deep in conversation. I don’t bother changing. It will only increase my chances of getting caught. Instead, I head out on foot, welcoming the opportunity for a moment of peace and quiet after hours of agonizing socializing.
The night air is cool against my skin as I leave the estate, tuxedo jacket slung over my shoulder to trade marble floors and chandeliers for the stink of sweat, blood, and cheap whiskey.
The fighting pits.
Hidden under an Irish-owned pub, down two flights of concrete stairs, through a door no civilian would ever mistake for anything but storage, the bare-knuckle brawling competitions the Irish mafia host are tucked away where no one can accidentally find them. Only those who have received a special invitation from the Murrays themselves can enter, and once earned, that right is almost never revoked.
