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“I’ve heard chatter about Tomas planning an attack today. We don’t know when, and we don’t know how, but it’s gonna be big.” She meets my eyes and holds them, searching for the answer to a question she hasn’t yet asked.
I nod once.
Izzy beams. “You have to make a choice.”
“A choice?”
She reaches into her dress and pulls out a small pistol.
Of course she’s armed.
“Do you have Nonna’s derringer?”
I nod again. The gift sits in the hidden pocket Jenna sewed into my dress. She even tied a cerulean ribbon around the grip, giggling as she knotted it and calling it the most dangerous “something blue” in wedding history.
“Can you use it?”
“Yes.” I touch the pocket, feel the weight of it against my thigh, and check the safety through the fabric the way Izzy taught me.
Izzy offers a warm, approving smile I’ve never seen from her before. She slides her own pistol back beneath the silk of her dress. “You’re going to fit in just fine, Doc. Now let’s go get you married.”
The march to the chapel is slow and deliberately drawn out, every detail sharp and vivid. Jenna walks ahead, scattering petals that drift to the ground in soft clouds of white. Sophia adjusts my train with every stride, and Izzy scans the crowd with eyes honed by countless hours of combat training.
When we walk through the doors, my eyes snap to the altar.
Marco looks devastating in his dark suit. His eyes find mine across the sea of guests, and the awe and joy on his face prompt my heart to stutter.
I glide down the aisle, and the world narrows to him.
Halfway there, several guests in the back pews whose eyes constantly rove around catch my attention. One particular woman in a hat can’t quite conceal her earpiece.
I keep going, a smile on my face and my hand steady on the bouquet.
When I reach Marco, I pass my bouquet to Jenna without looking, and his hands clasp mine. Tension runs through his grip. I lean in, pressing my forehead to his as if overcome by emotion, my lips barely moving as I speak.
“A few men and a woman sitting along the aisle aren’t ours.”
“You saw them.” His voice is low, barely louder than a breath.
“Yeah.” I squeeze his hands and soak in the heat of his skin. “Tell me what to do.”
“Marry me.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “My people will handle the rest. Trust me to handle it.”
“And what if it’s not enough?”
“Then we handle it together. Like everything else.”
The priest begins the ceremony, his voice warm and practiced. I repeat vows I mean with my whole heart, but all the while, my senses are attuned to every flicker of motion and every shadow that doesn’t belong.
“I, Lucia, take you, Marco…”
In the back row, a man’s hand slowly slides into his jacket.
“…to have and to hold…”
A man near the far wall shifts, his eyes on the first guy.
“…from this day forward…”
