Page 5 of Vow to Claim You

He stands at the altar, tall and composed, built like a Viking who stepped out of some forgotten saga. At least six-foot-five with the shoulders of a warlord. The tailored suit he’s wearing hugs every inch.

He turns as I approach, and the moment our eyes meet, it’s like the breath is knocked out of my lungs.

Those eyes.

Pale blue, regal in their intensity yet glacial in their coolness, like the Nordic sky on a winter morning. They pierce through the veil as though searching for something beneath it. His pale skin contrasts with his thick black hair, swept back in a way that looks careless yet is anything but, framing a face made to tempt fate. A strong jaw. A mouth that knows too many sins. And the bridge piercing resting between his eyes, twin glints of silver threading just above the line of his nose. It draws attention straight to those painfully focused eyes, the kind of eyes that don’t just look at you…they decipher. Eyes that make you feel like he already knows your worst secrets. Add to it the silver in his ear, a constellation of metal that should’ve made him look rebellious but somehow makes him look controlled.

He looks like a danger I should run away from. The kind of man mothers warn their daughters about. The kind of man you don’t survive loving.

He’s handsome, I’ll give him that.

So handsome it’s, in fact, infuriating.

So handsome he could’ve been my fantasy, but I don’t get to live that life.

Instead, I’m walking down the aisle like a lamb to slaughter. And when I stop in front of him, he looks at me like he already regrets every second of it.

Too bad, the feeling’s mutual.

CHAPTER THREE

Ayanna

Itake my place beside the man whose name I refuse to say, hands trembling as I clasp the bouquet of white peonies. I refuse to look at him either, because looking at him is like staring at the blade of a guillotine. Literally.

The priest’s voice echoes through the chapel, reciting the line everyone treats like theater. “If anyone knows a reason these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“I object.” The words slice through the silence like gunfire, turning my blood to sleet.

Instinctively, I turn my head toward the back pews to see Luca.

My Luca.

Except he’s not mine anymore. He wasn’t supposed to exist at this moment. He was supposed to stay in the past, where I buried him the day I signed that stupid contract (also known as my death warrant).

But he’s here, standing there with his jaw tight, eyes locked on me like I’m the only person in the room. And he’s already walking down the aisle with that stubborn, reckless stride I used to love.

I glance at Aric, half expecting rage or shock, maybe even a flare of that infamous mafia temper. But nothing. Not a blink of his eyes, not a twitch of his lips. He just stands there like a statue carved from Nordic ice.

“I can’t let you do this, Ayanna.” Luca’s pleading, desperate tone echoes through the chapel. “You can’t marry him.”

My eyes suddenly flick between his, and before I know it, I am drowning in the depth of his warm caramel eyes—the opposite of my husband-to-be’s.

“Who the hell is he?” a man with ice-blue piercing eyes like those of Aric erupts. The heavy accent adds a hint of danger to the way he speaks.

It must be Vidar, Aric’s father. They look like two peas in a pod: same glance, same skin tone, same hair shade. Despite the clear age difference, his hair has remained as ink black as Aric’s.

But before anyone can drag Luca out (or shoot him, because let’s face it, that’s not off the table), a voice I haven’t heard until now cuts through the tension.

“Enough,” Aric declares.

Oh, so he can talk. And god, his voice… The sound is so low, husky, and controlled.

“Leandro, do something,” my mother stresses, nudging my father, while everyone looks at Aric—as astonished as I am myself.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Vold, we’ll take care of this…situation,” my father mutters as if frightened for his life. But in truth, he’s frightened by the precious alliance, which could crumble like a house of cards because of Luca’s performance.

“No.” Aric raises his hand, cutting my father off before fixing his gaze on my boyfriend.