Page 5 of The Mafioso’s Bride

“Marry her,” he growls.

I stare at him.

I’ve served at Dante’s side for years. He’s given me orders that ended lives and orders that saved them. This one binds mine to a stranger’s.

“Quickly,” he adds.

The purpose is plain. The Rafinellis brought their daughter here to bind their house to the Lombardis—two traitorous families uniting. If the Rafinelli daughter leaves as my wife, every fucker in this church will carry the story across Chicago before nightfall. Giuseppe loses his bride along with his claim to strength. Antonio loses the alliance he sold her to secure.

Obedience has kept the Corsinis alive. Dante gives an order, and I carry it out.

That doesn’t make it fair to her.

I holster my pistol. “Father.”

The priest raises his head from behind the altar. His face has gone gray.

“Come here,” I tell him.

He rises and retrieves his book from the floor. Giada’s eyes move from Dante to me. Her lips part, but she says nothing.

I stop an arm’s length from her. She’s younger than I expected. Her dress, jewelry, and elaborate veil mark her as a daughter raised for this world and displayed for a useful marriage.

She’ll want the name, the house, and the protection. Women from families like hers learn early to measure a husband by status. One groom exchanged for another shouldn’t matter to her as long as the second has more money and power.

Her fingers keep tapping. “What’s your name?”

“Giada Rafinelli.” Her answer is strong and clear, but her eyes stay on my tie.

“I’m Luca DiCenzo.” I remain where I am. “Your groom escaped. Your father ran. You’ll marry me instead.”

She checks the pistol at my hip. “Are you going to shoot anyone else?”

“Not unless anyone gives me a reason.”

Her attention settles on the knot in my tie for several seconds. Rifles surround her. Her father abandoned her. The man she came here to marry used her as cover while he fled. Nothing about this altar offers her a free choice.

“All right,” she says.

It’s the safest answer in a church controlled by my men. For a moment I actually sympathize with her. So much so I make an internal vow. I’ll obey Dante and take this woman—young woman, Christ, she must be in her early twenties—as my wife, but I won’t demand obedience from her in private. Marriage may require her presence beside me in public. It gives me no claim to her body. She’ll share my bed when she’s ready. When she chooses it.

The priest opens his book with shaking hands.

“Can I have a minute?” she asks.

I nod once to give consent.

Her gaze travels across the overturned flowers and the guests kneeling between the pews. “How much time can I have?”

“As long as you need.”

Giada takes several deep breaths.

Whispers pass through the pews. Mattia silences them with a stare.

After a couple of minutes, she faces the priest. “I’m ready.”

The ceremony is short. The priest omits the homily and rushes into the vows.