Page 110 of Vows of Blood

I haven't seen her since, banished to the guest wing to prepare separately, because apparently, it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony, and we’re already in enough trouble—Carmella’s words, not mine.

"You're sulking." Nico appears in the doorway, already dressed in his suit, looking annoyingly well-rested and dapper. "It's your wedding day. You're supposed to be happy."

Glaring at him, I redo my cufflinks and yank at my sleeve, my blood pressure rising when I can’t get them to sit right.

"I am happy," I growl, cursing and tipping my head back, praying for patience.

"You look like you're planning a murder," he observes, stepping inside, taking my arm, and shoving up my sleeve to take over.

"The day is young."

A photographer already came close when he tried telling me that it was obligatory to get a picture of the groom and his groomsmen lounging around, smiling and chatting, smoking cigars. One look at my face told him that would not be happening, and if he didn’t get out of my sight immediately, he’d be thrown out.

Nico laughs and crosses to the window, looking out at the grounds where the ceremony will take place in a few hours. White chairs are arranged in perfect rows in front of an arch that’s dripping with pale pink flowers. The kind of romantic spectacle I never imagined for myself, but Sienna deserves nothing less.

"Security's in place," Nico says, shifting straight back to business. "Corso has men at every entrance. We've vetted the guest list three times, and we know who to watch out for. Sienna will be protected at all times."

Good. I trust Corso to make it happen. Even if I don’t see him all day, I know he’ll be there.

"And Mikhail?"

Nico grimaces, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Confirmed. He'll be here."

Enzo strolls in without knocking, a glass of champagne already in his hand, not caring about the early hour. "Are we discussing Mikhail? I have thoughts."

I inhale to prepare. Enzo always has thoughts, although not always constructive ones.

“A bit late but go on then.”

Nothing he can say will be new to me. I’ve gone through every possible situation and scenario, trying to ensure nothing can harm my bride. Corso and I have spent night after night running through all contingencies, trying to eliminate as much risk as we can of something going wrong.

"If you’re going to tell us there’s a chance another family occasion will be ruined by an assassination attempt, we already know," Nico drawls, pulling a hip flask out and taking a long pull.

Enzo drops onto the sofa, sprawling with casual disregard for his freshly pressed expensive suit. "It certainly keeps things interesting. What's a Calvano party without a little bloodshed?"

Biting back the urge to punch him in the face, knowing my bride would prefer him not to be bleeding in the pictures, I point a finger at him. "You're not helping. And if you’re not helping, you can get the fuck out."

Enzo holds his hands up. "I'm providing levity. It's a gift and badly needed around here."

I turn back to the mirror, adjusting my bow tie for the umpteenth time. "If either of you does anything to ruin this day for Sienna, I will personally ensure you regret it for the rest of your very short lives."

Enzo raises his glass in a mock toast. "Understood. We’re on our best behaviors. There will be no brawls and no seducing the bridesmaids." He pauses. "Actually, can we roll back on that last one? Rebecca's going to be here, and I feel like we have unfinished business."

Give me patience.

"Leave her alone, or Sienna will kill you herself."

"Fair enough." Enzo’s easy agreement is concerning in itself. It normally means he plans to do the exact opposite, but I’ve got bigger concerns today.

The hours pass in a blur of final preparations, last-minute adjustments, and the steady stream of guests arriving. I station myself near the front, greeting the family heads as they file in with their wives and entourages. Conti. Marchetti. Fiorenza. Bianchi. All of them are here to witness my union with Sienna, to see the new order taking shape.

My father arrives last, Orlando’s mother on his arm, both of them dressed to impress but wearing matching expressions of displeasure. He nods to me curtly as he passes, no words of congratulations, not even a smile, taking his seat in the front row.

Let him sulk. After today, his opinion matters to me even less than it did before.

The music shifts, signaling the start of the ceremony, and I take my place at the altar. Nico stands at my shoulder, and Enzo beside him, both of them unusually solemn for once. The guests fall silent, turning in their seats to watch the procession begin.

And then, I see her.