Page 64 of His Eternal Claim

Beautiful. Ivory lace.

Long veil. Typical bride.

Diamonds at her throat.

Ronan Novak beside her with one hand over hers. The picture of a proud Father. Three hours ago, I wanted him dead. Now I’m calculating how many bullets I’ll need before the stained-glass shatters.

My gaze flicks left at Vane. He’s watching me, glass in hand, looking relaxed, like none of this concerns him. Adrian is beside him, looking tall and smug, eyes drifting to Selene far too often. And I want him bleeding.

My attention snaps right at Selene, still beside Hannah. And her Father.

That fucking woman has one hand wrapped around Selene’s wrist beneath the pew, holding her in place, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

If a single scratch lands on Selene, I will ruin every person breathing inside this church.

Burn their names. Salt their bloodline.

Let history remember what happened here.

But all my murderous tendencies go to hell when Crystella reaches me and takes her place as Ronan kisses her forehead and steps back. The ceremony starts, and I mute the priest in my head. I just have to point the gun at Ronan and kill him. Before killing Vane and Adrian, and every other Cosa Nostra member.

I can’t just shoot wildly, not while that woman has her grip on Selene. I need to think before the chaos erupts.

My hand remains steady on the grip of the weapon concealed beneath my jacket. I let the priest’s droning voice fade entirely into the background, timing my movement to the rhythm of the ceremony. The moment Ronan takes his eyes off the crowd to look at Crystella will be my window.

Ronan has to go down first. The Cosa Nostra expects power plays, but they don’t expect a suicide mission. The shockwave of his fall will buy me the three seconds of absolute panic I need.

Before the echo of the first shot can even clear, the barrel will shift. Vane. Adrian. The rest of the Cosa Nostra leadership. They are sitting ducks in these narrow pews, trapped by their own rigid protocol. I will empty the magazine into the front row before their security can even clear their holsters.

Then my men can follow the rest.

I will tear through the screaming crowd, level the entire church if I have to, and pull Selene out of the ashes.

This isn’t just about a broken alliance or Cosa Nostra politics anymore. This is about survival, retribution, and drawing a line in the sand with the blood of my enemies. The moment they put their filthy hands on Selene to use her as leverage against me, they signed their own death warrants. If I let them walk out of this church alive, she will forever be the bargaining chip they use to keep me on my knees.

Ronan, Vane, Adrian—they think they rule this underworld through fear and tradition. They think the Cosa Nostra is bulletproof. By wiping out the entire leadership in a single afternoon, I destroy the very foundation of their power structure. I don’t just want them dead; I need the entire underworld to watch them fall. No one will ever dare look at what is mine with greed in their eyes again.

Let the world burn. Let my name be cursed in the dark for generations to come. They think I have something to lose, but they don’t understand. Selene is everything. Without her, I am just a ghost with a gun. If saving her means becoming the monster they all whisper about, then I will gladly pull the trigger and let hell follow me.

Because every few seconds I look past her, at Selene. Her breathing is uneven, her eyes shining, her hands trembling.

She knows. Or maybe she doesn’t. But she feels something.

And I feel like I’m bleeding out in real time.

The priest smiles warmly.

“Do you, Zagreus Vitale, take Crystella Maria Novak to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

And time stops. I look straight at Selene; a tear slides down her cheek, one silent silver line.

And fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

My lungs lock.