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Marco’s grip tightens on my hands. His eyes flick past me, and even though he looks calm on the surface, I can feel him tense, ready to spring into action.
“…for better, for worse…”
The intruders are seated at the outer edges of the pews, near the walls. Benedetti soldiers close in from different corners of the chapel, guiding them out through the side doors as quickly as they can. A few guests glance toward the rousing melee and look away. These are mafia families. They know when to pretend they saw nothing.
“…for richer, for poorer…”
The priest holds out a single gold band on a velvet cushion. When I slide the ring onto Marco’s finger, I feel his breath stutter, signaling the smallest fracture of his composure. He’s never worn anything that marked him as belonging to someone else. Nonna’s ruby already sits on my hand, where it’s been since the night she pressed it into my palm.
No second ring necessary. That one says it all.
“In sickness and in health…”
The priest smiles knowingly.
“…’Til death do us part.”
After our vows, the priest blesses our union and pronounces us husband and wife.
In many ways, the danger has receded, though I know better than to think it’s passed.
Marco seals his lips over mine with his hands framing my face, and I’m just about to lose myself in the sensation of our first married kiss when the chapel doors explode inward.
Men pour through the opening, their guns raised. Screams rend the air as the wedding guests scatter in a stampede. My training—every drill Izzy’s pounded into me for weeks—kicks in. The bouquet hits the floor, my hand finds the hidden pocket in my dress, and my fingers close around the derringer. The pale blue ribbon is smooth against my palm as I pull it free.
Beside me, Marco reacts with lightning speed. His own weapon appears from seemingly nowhere, and he positions his body between me and the threat.
“Get her out!” He’s shouting, but I’m not going anywhere.
I fire at a man lunging toward us, catching him in the shoulder. His eyes widen in shock as he drops. The derringer’s recoil jolts my arm, but I don’t stop.
Tomas Greco emerges from the haze of smoke, a gun in each hand and his face twisted with hatred. He shrieks words I can’t hear over the chaos and gunfire and the pounding of my heart, then he aims for Marco.
I act without thinking, stepping in front of my husband and pulling the trigger.
My bullet hits Tomas in the chest. He staggers, fires wildly, and then Marco puts him down for good.
The chapel goes quiet.
Most of the guests have escaped. I stand in the wreckage of my wedding, smoking gun in hand, the bodies lying around me either groaning in pain or dead silent. A sharp pain alerts me to the fact that a bullet grazed my arm. Though it’s bleeding, the wound isn’t serious.
Marco’s at my side, drawing me close to examine the injury. His hands shake against my skin.
“You’re hit.” A dark shadow crosses his face. His fingers brush against the ivory fabric of my gown, now stained with stark red blossoms. The color drains from his face. I’ve never seen terror like this on a man who charges at violence without flinching. “Lucia. How bad?”
“I’m okay.” I hook a finger under his chin, force him to meet my eyes, and caress the tremor in his jaw. “I’m standing. I’m talking. We’re okay. We’re alive.”
He doesn’t believe me. His eyes keep dropping to the crimsons stains. His fingers tighten against my arm like he’s trying to mend the wound closed by sheer force of will.
Around us, Benedetti soldiers secure the chapel and in-house medics tend to the injured and drag away the dead.
Jenna appears, white-faced but alive, her dress splattered with blood that I’m grateful isn’t hers. Sophia, eight months along and unwilling to be anything but useful, directs medics from the doorway with calm efficiency, one hand on the frame and one on her abdomen as if reminding herself to breathe. Meanwhile, Izzy hovers over Tomas’s body with an expression of cold satisfaction.
I peer down at the gun in my hand and the bloodstains on my dress. I can’t tell which part of it is mine or that of our assailants. My eyes then fix on the man I just married, who’s staring at me like I’m a miracle.
“I killed someone.” My voice is quiet. The fact hasn’t fully processed.
“You saved my life.” Marco takes my hand, bringing it up to press a gentle kiss against my knuckles. “And us.”
