Page 49

We could both be super-kinky with immeasurable hots for each other and a desire for role-play.

Our eyes lock, and the chapel fades until I see only him. Everything else pales into the crimson current crackling between us.

His chest rises and falls. Then the groom with wonder in his eyes vanishes. His mask slips back to that stony, unreadable visage, dumping cold water on the little fantasy I just built up. The sensible voice in my mind rises…

Don’t forget, Sophia, this is survival, not some scene from a rom-com.

Every stride up the aisle should feel like a betrayal. To my mom. To myself. To the version of Sophia who used to plan her dream weddings on Pinterest to a straitlaced boy.

But it doesn’t seem like that. Not when I walk up. Not when I take his hand and his eyes bore into mine.

The old, white-haired priest wears robes too big for his shrinking frame, and his hands tremble slightly as he clutches the prayer book. His voice wavers but holds authority. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…”

The world blurs, and heat rises to my ears. I slip my hand from his and clutch the skirt of the dress. Wrinkles and lace bunch in my fists.

I want to run or cry, but with every sentence that slips out of the priest’s mouth, I realize I won’t escape the villain’s lair.

The chapel doors burst open, and Marco, the man who Enzo sent to take me on my second walk, rushes in. He’s sweaty as he hurries up to the altar and whispers into Enzo’s ear.

Enzo’s eyes widen. His hand curls into a fist at his side. He spares me a glance, and I immediately realize the people who want to hand me over have returned.

Enzo addresses the priest. “Faster.”

The priest blinks, confused. “But Signor Ricci, the vows are…”

“Now.”

My heart hammers so much, I can barely breathe. The priest gulps, his hands shaking as he flips through pages, his words tumbling out rapid-fire until the Latin blurs together. He’s practically babbling as he attempts to race through centuries of ritual in seconds.

Enzo’s hand finds and squeezes mine again. His palm is so warm, solid, and grounding that I squeeze back.

The priest stammers through the vows and final blessing. “I now pronounce you…” Just as he declares us husband and wife, the real storm arrives. The doors fly open again to reveal another man.

He’s as tall as Enzo, his dark hair cut low and a swagger in his gait as he strides down the aisle.

“Gabi.”

The murmurs rippling through the pews confirm this is the Padrino. Izzy Benedetti trails behind him.

Gabi doesn’t stop until he’s right below the altar, close enough for me to see his red, furious face contort and his eyes blaze.

“What is this?”

I want to disappear, maybe sink into the floor, but Enzo doesn’t release my hand. He remains rigid beside my trembling body.

“A wedding.”

Gabi’s complexion purples. “You were supposed to hand her over to the Russians tomorrow.” He moves in, his clenched jaw grinding his teeth. “I gave you an order, Ricci.”

Everyone in the chapel seems to be holding their breath.

Enzo’s fingers press into my back. Protective. Possessive. “And now, we can’t do that, Padrino.” While his tone remains calm, I can sense the lethality underneath.

“I. Gave. An. Order.” Gabi’s voice rises as his hand drifts toward his waistband, exposing a handgun.

My heart stops.

“I made a choice.” Enzo doesn’t flinch or reach for any weapon. He remains still and calm.