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My head is spinning. It feels impossible to sort out everything I’m feeling—shock, anger, heartbreak—as Salvatore turns me back towards the altar and stands opposite me. He has both of my hands in his now, and I look dizzily between him and Father McCallum, waiting for the priest to put a stop to this. To say that this is impossible, that I’ve already been promised to Pyotr, that Salvatore can’t simply step up and take his place.
“Father.” Salvatore nods to the priest. “There’s been a change of plans. Gia D’Amelio will marry me here, today. Please continue.”
My knees nearly buckle, nausea sweeping through me. Only Salvatore’s grip on me keeps me upright—the last person in the world that I want supporting me in this moment.
What I want is for him to stop touching me. For time to rewind, and go back to the way things were. The way everything was supposed to be.
“Don Morelli—” Father McCallum hesitates, just long enough to give me a moment’s hope. But Salvatore gives him an even look, and I see the priest’s gaze flick from Salvatore, to the back of the church where the Bratva are being forced back out to the street by Salvatore’s men. “Very well,” he says, after a moment. “A change in groom doesn’t mean that we can’t celebrate the blessed union that was intended to be held here today.”
“What?” I stare at him, at Salvatore, and back again. “No! I haven’t agreed to this. I didn’t agree to marry him!”
“Gia.” Salvatore looks down at me, his face calm, though I can see the angry tension in his jaw, feel it radiating from where his hands are gripping mine. “Don’t cause a scene. It will do no good.”
“A scene? Where is Pyotr? Where—” I twist around, looking to see if he’s still in the church. I catch a glimpse of him as the broad doors leading out to the nave open, his face furious and his hair mussed as he and his men are forced back. “No! I’m supposed to marry Pyotr. I want this wedding to go ahead as planned! I don’t accept another groom, I don’t?—”
Salvatore’s hands tighten, and I swallow hard, feeling hot, angry tears filling my eyes. Father McCallum has already returned to behind the lectern, preparing to begin the ceremony again, and everything feels as if it’s spinning out of control. It’s all moving too fast.
“I’m not doing this.” I set my jaw stubbornly, narrowing my eyes at Salvatore. With every bit of strength I have, I yank my hand free, shoving my blusher back so that he can see my face fully. I don’t care about propriety any longer, or how this is supposed to go—I barely cared about that in the first place, and only because I was marrying the man I wanted. Now, I don’t give a shit about any of it. “I’m not marrying you.”
Salvatore lets out a sharp breath. “I’ll explain later, Gia.” He glances up, over my head, to where I can hear the guests becoming restless. There’s no requirement for an audience for the marriage to continue; only two witnesses to confirm it. However, it would reflect poorly on Salvatore for the guests to run from the wedding he arranged. To my right, I can see that Rosaria and Caterina are still standing there, pale-faced and nervous; Caterina’s bouquet has fallen on the stairs at her feet. But Angelica has retreated—either back to the pews, or pulled away by her husband.
“There’s no explanation!” I stamp my foot, shaking my head. “You can’t make me marry you?—”
A muscle jumps at the side of Salvatore’s jaw, impatience in his expression. “I know you’re used to getting your way,” he says in a low voice, his dark gaze fixed evenly on mine. “Your father spoiled you, I understand that. You’ve been told that what you want always matters, more than anything else?—”
“You’re betraying my father!” I raise my voice, not caring who hears, ignoring the dark look that passes over Salvatore’s face at that. “You’re going against his wishes, breaking the agreement you both made. He didn’t want violence—what the hell do you think will come of this?”
“Watch your mouth,” Salvatore snaps, reaching for my other hand and catching it in his. I can tell from the way his lips press together that what I’ve said landed a sharp blow. But he presses forward, and my heart trips unsteadily in my chest as I begin to realize that there might be no way out of this.
Salvatore is my guardian now. Short of Father McCallum refusing to perform the ceremony, there is no one to speak against it. No one who outranks him who can put a stop to this. And even if Father McCallum were to try, there are other priests. Other ways of making sure that the marriage is both legal and sanctified by the Church, the two requirements for a marriage to be recognized according to our traditions.
Aside from the third—the wedding night.
My knees nearly buckle at that. “I’m meant to be in Pyotr’s bed tonight, not yours,” I hiss, the pakhan’s accusations that he flung at my godfather a moment ago still ringing in my ears. “I don’t want you!”
“It’s not about wanting,” Salvatore says tightly. “You were given into my care after your father’s death, Gia. I intend to do what’s best for you whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t like it!” I shake my head, feeling my cheeks blaze hot, my face flushed with anger. “I’d rather die than marry you!”
I hear Caterina gasp. I hear Rosaria let out a small, frightened squeak. And a moment later, I hear the click of a gun’s safety, and see a dark shadow out of the corner of my eye as I hear Josef, Salvatore’s second-in-command, speak.
“That can be arranged, Miss D’Amelio, if you refuse to listen to the don.”
Salvatore flinches, his eyes narrowing. “Stand down, Josef,” he says sharply. “I didn’t ask you to threaten her. But it’s not necessary, in any case. Gia will obey.” He looks at me evenly. “Good mafia wives are obedient. And now is as good a time as any for her to begin to learn that.”
I feel hot tears brimming at the edge of my lashes, my heart racing almost painfully with fear, the loss of Pyotr, and the shock of all of it, feeling as if a fist has reached in and crushed my ribs. I glance back towards the doors—the Bratva are gone. Pyotr is gone. The guests sit stiff and silent in the pews, all of them seemingly uncertain as to what to do. There are no more Russians in the room—the congregation is half-empty, only the mafia guests remain. And they all answer to Salvatore.
I hear Caterina whimper. I look at Rosaria, and see the wide-eyed, frightened expression on her face. And I realize, my stomach plummeting, that there is no way out of this.
Father McCallum clears his throat, confirming my fears. “May I continue?”
“You may,” Salvatore says through gritted teeth, and for the first time since he stood up and objected, I say nothing.
There’s nothing for me to say. Nothing that will change what is happening, as everything I envisioned for my future is wrecked in front of me.
It’s over. Everything that my father and I planned, everything that I wanted.
And I have no choice in what lies in front of me.
