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A promise is a promise, after all.
The wedding march began.
I imagined this moment so differently.
I imagined seeing my bride at the end of the aisle, and I stupidly dreamed about it often, it wasn’t even about finding true love; it was about finding a family.
Having a family.
Replacing what I’d lost.
Belonging to something that was mine, and that was my choice.
Bella was right. I would never tell her that, but she was right. This was no wedding, this was a funeral.
Hers and mine.
The loss of her dreams of finding a forever.
The loss of mine of finding a family.
It was only loss, no gain.
Every step she took toward me would be stained in both of our blood, every fake smile we gave each other would be our penance. One day, I hoped she’d at least see why, that she’d at least understand that I was sacrificing the last parts of my soul that I had held on to.
Hope died for both of us that night, it was buried right along with our hearts.
The doors opened.
Nixon was in an all-black tuxedo, blue eyes steely, as he stared straight at me.
And Bella.
Was wearing red.
She was a walking sacrifice. In some cultures, it meant good luck, prosperity, happiness, but in the mafia, it meant something else completely.
Atonement.
By wearing red, she was telling everyone around her that she was part of my sin and part of my atonement, accepting me completely into her family and offering herself up as my equal.
Equally guilty of murder.
Equally guilty of taking over the Family.
Equal.
To.
Me.
My bride wore red.
How very brave.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“You always have a choice, at least that’s what people say, but in the end those choices still affect you and everyone around you, so while you always have a choice, sometimes you have to take the worst one.” —King Campisi
