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Lucia appears at the end of the aisle, radiant in her white gown. Her eyes find mine across the crowded space.
The world drops away, the crowd, the loud hymn, the threats, the violence, the war waiting outside those doors. In this moment, I see only her, and the smile that breaks across her face when she meets my gaze briefly stops my heart.
Then my phone gives three short buzzes against my thigh.
It’s Nico’s emergency code, and a trio of sharp vibrations means only one thing.
It’s starting.
Chapter 29
Lucia
I sit in front of the mirror, trying to recognize the woman looking back at me. A wave of nausea rolls through my stomach. I press my hand flat against it, breathing deeply.
It has to be wedding nerves.
Jenna appears behind me, still in pajamas, her hair a glorious disaster of sleep-tangled waves. She holds two steaming cups of coffee, the rich scent cutting through the floral notes of the room and grounding me.
“You look like you’re about to perform surgery, not get married. That’s your ‘I’m about to tell someone they have six months to live’ face.”
“I’m not sure there’s a difference.” I accept the coffee and wrap my hands around the ceramic, letting the heat seep into my palms. “Both require steady hands and the ability to pretend you’re not terrified of what’s to come.”
Jenna settles on the arm of the chair, angling her head in one of her signature tells before calling me on my own nonsense. “Underneath all the doctor composure, are you frightened? Is that actually the issue?”
“Scared of marrying Marco? No. Scared of what comes after? Yes. His world, and the people who want to hurt him, do frighten me.” I recall the text I read on Marco’s phone and the image of Mason’s name glowing in the dark. “And then there’s all the secrets I don’t know that I’m not supposed to see.”
“That’s cryptic.” Jenna’s eyes narrow, and she steps closer with worry in her expression. “Want to elaborate?”
“Not yet.” I set down my drink, reach for her hand, and grasp her fingers. “But I have a feeling I’ll be able to share more after the wedding.”
She slurps her own coffee. “Then let’s get you ready.”
The morning passes in a blur of activity. I endure hours of my hair being pinned and twisted while makeup is applied in careful layers. We laugh when Jenna counts the number of tiny covered buttons that line the back of my ivory silk dress and declares it a bridal hazard.
The dress is understated and elegant, with a modest scoop neckline, fitted waist, and gentle fabric that flows over my hips to the floor. It’s perfectly in line with my style, and when I glimpse myself in a full-length mirror, I understand why people cry at these moments.
Sophia arrives with quite a number of fresh flowers, from dahlias in deep burgundy and amber to chrysanthemums in cream. They all enhance the atmosphere. Izzy materializes with a flask of some unknown liquor that burns going down and chases away the last of the morning chill.
“Nonna’s recipe.” Izzy grins at my expression and my slight cough. “For courage. It also works for forgetting, if things go sideways.”
“Nothing’s going sideways.” Sophia’s firm tone brooks no argument. She has one hand braced against the small of her back in a posture I’ve often seen from women in their third-trimester. She should be resting because her due date is mere weeks away, but instead she straightens my train, adjusts my veil, and surveys me like a general preparing for battle. “Today is perfect. Say it with me.”
“Today is perfect,” I repeat, and for a second, I almost believe it.
Jenna takes fifteen minutes to pin my delicate tulle veil into place, then steps back to admire me.
“You’re stunning, Lu. Marco’s going to lose what’s left of his mind when he sees you.”
“That’s the goal.” I smile, but my eyes keep drifting to the window that overlooks the compound below.
Many of those men in dark suits aren’t just guests but security detail disguised as attendees, and I’ve learned to spot them. I spy the extra bulge under jackets that aren’t just formal wear and note the way certain men position themselves near exits, near the altar, and near me. They’re good at what they do, but I’ve already spent so much time paying attention to signs and signals in this world.
As Marco told me, trouble is coming.
Izzy appears at my elbow, her expression shifting from festive to focused. “Walk with me.”
We slip into the hallway, away from the chaos of preparation, and the voices fade behind us. Izzy’s drops to barely a whisper.
