He doesn't laugh. Neither do I.
My wheelchair is positioned at the end of the aisle, angled so I can see both the entrance and the priest's alcove. Father Donovan waits in the sacristy, probably praying for all our souls.
"The Romano girl," Valentino says. "What do you know about her?"
"Nothing." I adjust my cuffs. The suit is Armani. Pietro insisted on the best. As if expensive fabric could disguise what Iam now. "Nico says she volunteered. Stepped up to protect her younger sister."
"Brave or stupid?"
"Does it matter?"
Valentino considers this. "Might matter to you. Eventually."
I don't respond. The heavy oak doors at the far end of the church creak open, and my spine straightens instinctively.
Pietro enters first, Nora on his arm. My brother's hand rests on the small of her back, protective and possessive. He looks at her the way Riccardo used to look at Ava.
The way I'll never look at anyone.
Lorenzo follows with Sophia. She's wearing something soft and blue, her dark hair pinned up. Lorenzo guides her with that gentle attentiveness he's always had, the touch that makes everyone feel valued.
They approach, footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. I keep my face neutral, my hands still on the armrests of my chair.
"How's everything?" Pietro asks, stopping a few feet away.
Valentino answers before I can. "Men positioned at every entrance. Two on the roof, four in the parking lot, six inside. No one's spoken outside the family, so there's no possibility anyone beyond Sartoris or Romanos knows about today."
Lorenzo releases Sophia's arm and moves closer. "The Romano family should arrive within the hour. Their car left twenty minutes ago."
The doors open again. Nico enters with Kristen beside him, her hair bright against her simple black dress. She's holding his arm, but there's nothing soft about the way Nico moves. He's scanning the room the same way Valentino did, cataloging threats and exits.
"Vittoria and Dmitri just arrived," Nico announces. "They're parking now."
My sister. The thought of seeing her loosens something in my chest, just slightly. Vittoria has visited me more than anyone since I woke up. I've always been a jerk though. I deserve a medal for constantly being a jerk.
"How is she?" I ask.
Nico's expression flickers—something complicated passing behind his eyes. "Glowing. Dmitri won't let her out of his sight."
"Sounds about right."
The Bratva Pakhan treats my sister like she's made of glass and steel simultaneously. I haven't decided if I approve or if I want to put a bullet in him. Probably both.
Sophia moves to stand beside Lorenzo, her hand finding his. "Should we take our seats?"
"Not yet." Pietro checks his watch. "We wait for everyone. Then we wait for the bride."
The bride. My bride.
Antonella
The church doors swing open, and organ music fills the air.
I take my first step inside, my hand resting on Papa's arm. The aisle stretches before me, lined with dark wooden pews. Candles flicker in iron sconces along the walls, casting dancing shadows across the stone floor.
My eyes find the altar.
And everything stops.
