Page 19 of Sinful Bride

The salesman wraps it in a velvet box, and I tuck it into my jacket pocket. It feels heavier than it should, with the weight of everything this represents. A promise, a commitment… and a future I can't predict.

—

Our engagement dinner is at the Capetti estate.

I arrive exactly on time, dressed in a suit that cost more than my first motorcycle. The house is massive and awes me all over again—old money, old world, everything I'm not. A butler takes my coat without meeting my eyes, then guides me through gleaming hallways lined with expensive art to a dining room that could seat thirty people, and every seat is full of associates of the Capetti family.

Enzo sits at the head of the table, Elena one seat down on his right. She's wearing a dark green silk dress that makes her skin glow and clings to her without being overly seductive, her hair pulled back in an elegant twist that exposes the line of her neck. She doesn't look at me when I enter, or acknowledge my presence at all.

I'm seated across from her and next to her brother, close enough to see the tension in her shoulders and notice that she's barely breathing, holding herself so still she might as well be made of stone.

She doesn't want this any more than I do. If that should make me feel better, it doesn't. It makes me feel much worse, in fact.

Lachlan's little speech gave me hope that she'd come into this marriage prepared and ready to make it work. That since she's grown up expecting this, she'd be the one to help us both adjust, to work with me like a partner to figure out how to make this marriage one we can both live with. But the expression on her face makes me wonder if that's true.

Dinner is formal and elaborate, course after course of food I barely taste while I try to remember how I'm supposed to use the place settings I've been given. The conversation around me is all business talk and family gossip that I'm not part of. I'm an outsider here, and everyone knows it. They're polite, respectful even, but there's a distance. A wall between them and me that I don't know how to cross.

I tell myself I'll cross it by saying my vows, and then everything will be better. But there's a pit in my stomach that makes me wonder if I'm doing this all wrong. If this is going to make things worse, not better.

Elena says nothing. She picks at her food, her expression carefully blank, her posture perfect. She's performing, playing the role of the obedient daughter, the perfect mafia princess. And I hate it.

I hate that she has to pretend. I hate that I'm part of the reason she's sitting there looking like a beautiful statue. I hate that in a week, she'll be my wife, and I still don't know how to talk to her without feeling like I'm trespassing in a world I don't understand.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Enzo stands. The room falls silent immediately, everyone's attention snapping to him like he's the sun and we're all just planets in his orbit.

"I would like to offer congratulations," he says, his voice carrying easily across the room. "My daughter Elena will be married next Saturday to Declan Murphy. This union will strengthen the bonds between our families and ensure peace and prosperity for all."

There's applause and congratulations, then people standing to shake my hand and kiss Elena's cheek. She accepts it all with grace, smiling and nodding, saying the right things in the right tone. But her eyes are dead. I see it when she looks at me for just a moment—that emptiness and resignation, like she's already gone somewhere else in her head, somewhere far away from this room and this announcement, and the future that's been decided for her.

When the dinner finally ends, I catch her in the hallway. She's heading toward the garden, moving quickly like she's trying to escape.

"Elena."

She stops but doesn't turn around. Her shoulders are tense, her spine straightening even more if that's possible. "What do you want?"

"To talk to you. Alone."

"We have nothing to talk about."

"We're getting married in a week. I think we have plenty to talk about."

She turns then, and the look on her face is pure ice, cold and sharp and cutting. "We're getting married because my father decided it was convenient. There's nothing to discuss."

"I have something for you." The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them. This wasn't how I'd planned to give it to her… I'd imagined doing it somewhere more romantic and private, making it a special moment, the first step toward our future union. Just because this isn't about love doesn't mean I can't try to make this better for her. But her disdain and coldness rip the words from my mouth in defense instead of what I wanted it to be.

I pull the ring box from my pocket and open it. The diamond catches the light from the chandelier overhead, sparkling against the dark velvet. It's a beautiful ring, one any woman should be happy to receive.

Elena looks at it for a long moment. Then she laughs. It's a cold, bitter, almost mocking sound that makes something twist in my chest.

"You bought me a ring."

I blink down at her, slightly confused by her reaction. It's not as if I chose a small diamond—the center stone is almost three carats. The ring cost me over thirty grand, more than I ever pictured spending on a piece of jewelry, though I can more than afford it now. "Yes."

"A purchased ring." She meets my eyes, and there's unmistakable contempt there. "A real mafia boss would have given me a family heirloom. Something with history. With meaning. Not something bought from a store like a... like a trinket."

A trinket. Thirty thousand dollars, and she's looking at me like I've offered a ring from a gumball machine.

"I don't have a family heirloom," I say, keeping my voice level even though something hot and angry is building in my chest. "I have this. And I chose it for you."