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Rosaria brings me my wedding gown, holding it as I step into the cloud of satin and tulle. It’s stunning—a fitted satin bodice and a full tulle skirt spangled with tiny diamonds, the bodice fitted perfectly just above the corset with delicate tulle straps that hang just off my shoulders. Angelica helps with my chapel-length veil, slipping the sapphire-and-silver comb that holds it into my updo. The fragile tulle of the veil floats around me like a cloud, edged in delicate lace, and I reach up gingerly to touch where it’s fastened to my hair.
The sapphire comb—my something blue—was my mother’s. She wore it on her wedding day, as well as the pearls that are sitting on my dresser—a matched set of drop earrings and a strand necklace. I touch the pearls gently as Caterina clasps them at the back of my neck, remembering what my father told me about their wedding day.
His marriage to my mother was a love match. Unusual for mafia—but he fell for her, and luckily, she was an advantageous marriage for him as well as one they both wanted. It’s why he never remarried, and why he tried to arrange the same for me—a husband that would both benefit us and also make me happy.
He succeeded. And today, I have them both with me in spirit, as I walk down the aisle and fulfill his final wish. That I be happy.
“Are you ready?” Rosaria hands me my bouquet as I step into my white satin heels, taking a deep breath. My pulse is fluttering in my throat like a trapped bird, and I feel giddy with excitement. “The driver is downstairs with the car.” She checks the time, biting her lip. “We should probably go, so there’s no chance of traffic making us late on the way to St. Patrick’s.”
There’s a bottle of Dom Perignon on ice waiting for us in the limousine, and Angelica pops it open as we all pile into the back of it. I know I should be careful how much I drink—I don’t want to be a tipsy bride going down the aisle, and I’ve very rarely been allowed to drink at home, other than a glass of wine with dinner. But I take the flute from her, the fizz of the bubbles exploding on my tongue, matching the buzz of excitement in my veins. With each mile, as the driver heads towards St. Patrick’s, I feel my heart beat faster in my chest, the distance closing between me and my future husband.
Between Pyotr and I.
The girls are excitedly chattering, the back of the limousine a cloud of pink satin and white tulle, the floral scent of my bouquet mingling with the flower and vanilla perfumes we’re wearing, and the bright, sharp tang of the champagne. I look eagerly out of the window as we enter the city proper, fussing nervously with the ribbon of my bouquet and the locket attached to it, as the cathedral comes into view.
“We’re almost there.” Angelica touches my hand, smiling at me. “You’re the most beautiful bride, Gia. Everything is going to be perfect.”
The limousine pulls up in front of the church steps, and the driver comes around to open the door, helping each of us out. I’m the last one to slide out of the car, my skirts puffing out around me as Rosaria and Caterina arrange them and my veil, Angelica helping me with the blusher. As we walk into the church, I’m immediately struck by the warmth of it, the dry scent of incense filling the air, and I see Salvatore standing in the nave waiting for us.
He’s wearing a bespoke charcoal suit, elegantly fitted, his dark hair swept back from his face, smoothly clean-shaven. He’s the one who will be walking me down the aisle today in the absence of my father, and I can feel the tension in him as I take his arm.
“Are you ready?” He glances down at me, and I can’t help but think that he’s hoping I’ll say no. That I’ll balk at the last minute, asking for him to postpone the marriage after all. “If you’ve come to your senses about marrying into the Bratva, all you need to do is say the word.” His dark eyes are filled with worry as he says it, confirming exactly what I thought. “You won’t need to take any of the responsibility, Gia. I’ll handle all of it.”
I shake my head, quickly. “No. I’m sure. This is what my father wanted.” And what I want. I shift impatiently, looking at the double doors in front of me. I don’t want to talk about this any longer. I want to say my vows and leave the church with my husband. I want to be alone with him. My skin heats at the thought of everything to come, of being able to finally make good on our desire.
Salvatore lets out a sharp breath, but he says nothing else. I can hear the music change, and a moment later, the wide doors that lead into the church open, the three members of my bridal party leading the way as we begin the slow walk down the aisle.
With every step, my heart beats faster, fluttering in my chest. It leaps when I see Pyotr waiting for me at the altar, his dark blue gaze fixed on me as I glide down the aisle, and I imagine I can see the barely-concealed desire in his face. My cheeks heat a little, thinking of the first time he’ll kiss me at the conclusion of our vows, and I’m glad for the veil’s blusher to hide my face.
I almost wish that we could skip the reception, as beautiful and fun as it will be, so Pyotr and I could be alone together sooner.
Salvatore leads me up to the altar, placing my hand in Pyotr’s. I see him glance at me out of the corner of his eye, but he gives my hand to Pyotr without hesitation, as if he’s finally accepted that there’s no going back from this. That now, at this moment, it’s too late to change what my father set in motion.
Relief washes over me as I feel Pyotr’s fingers close around mine. He’s an arm’s length from me, and my pulse flutters, seeing how handsome he is. He’s wearing a dark blue suit that is only a few shades darker than his eyes, and the errant piece of dark blond hair that so often falls into his eyes looks as if it’s on the verge of slipping free. I have to fight the urge to reach up and push it back, to touch his handsome face.
Soon, I’ll be able to. Whenever I want.
I smile at him, biting my lip and tasting lipstick. His hand is warm around mine, and I barely hear anything the priest says as he begins to speak. I want the ceremony to go by as quickly as possible, to move past all the formalities so that Pyotr and I can be husband and wife. I feel like I’ve been waiting so long for this, and it’s finally here.
The guests are all seated, watching us. The music has gone silent; the only sound is the priest’s droning voice as he begins to speak about the sanctity of marriage. A moment later, he asks if anyone has any objection to Pyotr and me being wed.
I tense impatiently. The time for objections is past—and who would dare, anyway? Here, at the altar, with the ceremony already having begun—no one would speak up now. I swallow hard, waiting for the moment to pass so that the priest can continue.
But instead, there’s a soft gasp from the congregation, just as a sharp, clear voice cuts through the air. A voice that I know.
“I have an objection.”
Salvatore’s voice.
Salvatore
The sound of a collective gasp fills the church, the shock of a hundred guests reverberating all at once. I can feel my skin prickle, the hairs on the back of my neck rise, and every pair of eyes turn towards me to see what will happen next.
I’ve never been a man to act on impulse. Not in all my forty years of life.
But seeing Gia standing in front of the Bratva heir, her hand in his as she looks innocently up at him with such anticipation, is the last straw.
I know I’m undoing what Enzo arranged by stopping the wedding. I know I’m disobeying his wishes. I know I’m going to anger Gia, and that the consequences of all of this could be dire.
