Page 145 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

"The Rossi family only has one daughter now."

My chest cinched hard.

Gun barrels and blood in that warehouse flashed through my head. I didn't miss Isabella, but I couldn't feel happy she was gone either. She had turned her whole life into a competition she had to win against me, and in the end she had bet her life on it.

"I know."

My father watched me in the mirror. "I used to think she was more suited to inherit everything."

"So you gave her everything you could. You only remembered I existed when you needed a replacement."

His face tightened. "I've made a lot of wrong calls."

"The first time you shoved me up those wedding steps, you didn't think it was wrong."

"I didn't."

He didn't argue.

"And now?"

"Now I know you're not anyone's substitute."

Tears surged up so fast it almost scared me. I bit my tongue and forced them back down.

He didn't comfort me. He didn't scold me for it either.

"I can walk you down that aisle," he said. "At least I'm still your family."

I turned to face him. "You can walk me to the doors. After that, I finish the rest myself."

His pride fought in his eyes for a few seconds.

"Fine."

He held out his hand. I hesitated a beat, then took it. The past didn't disappear because he'd softened today. But I could feel it, sharp and real: his guilt wasn't a performance.

Music rose. Olga waited in the hall, broad shoulders squared like a wall meant to block winter from a kid. I hugged her. She hugged me back and still told me not to ruin my makeup.

The church doors opened slowly.

The first thing I saw wasn't flowers. It wasn't the guests rising.

It was Kiryan.

Black formalwear cut across his broad shoulders like a weapon. His dark gray eyes didn't move off me. The weakness from the gunshot had burned away. Only a faint stiffness lingered in his left shoulder.

Heat ran up my spine.

At my first wedding, his gaze had been ice, like he was judging me. Today it wasn't appraisal or possession. It was a man who had bled, who had fucked up, who had finally gotten to the thing he valued most.

At the mouth of the aisle, my father let go of my hand.

"Go."

I walked toward Kiryan alone.

I wasn't being handed over.