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My jaw tightens. “We don’t let them get through because we know their playbook too. We know how Tomas thinks, how he operates, and what he’ll prioritize. Our men can counter his.”

“At the risk of changing your wedding into a war zone.” Enzo meets my eyes from across the table, his gray gaze unblinking. “You should postpone. Wait until we’ve neutralized the threat, until Bruno’s handled and Tomas is back in a hole. No one would blame you.”

The suggestion hangs in the air, heavy with implication.

I think about Lucia’s face when she said yes, the light in her eyes when she talked about finding a dress, how she’s started to believe—really believe, for the first time since I’ve known her—that we might actually have a future and that she might deserve one.

“No.” The word rushes out, firm and final. “She deserves this, and I’m not letting Tomas Greco snatch one more thing from me. He won’t have one more night, not one more moment. Certainly not this.”

Enzo dips his head, approval dancing across his features. “Then we prepare. Double the visible security, triple the hidden. Put shooters on every rooftop with sight lines to the chapel.” He pauses, weighing his words. “And Marco? You need to tell her. She deserves to walk into that chapel with her eyes open, knowing what she’s choosing.”

I nod, though even as I do, I’m not sure I can. I’ll have to watch her eyes spark with fear yet again.

When I walk into our quarters, I find Lucia before the full-length mirror in a flowing white gown. She looks…ethereal. For a second, I forget why I’m here. The fabric glows in the lamplight, pools around her feet, and frames her so completely that my heart stops mid-beat. She swirls around when she hears my footsteps, hope and nerves and radiance all tangled together in her expression. My heart races with happiness at the sight.

“What do you think?” She smooths the fabric with nervous hands, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “Sophia helped me select it. I know it’s bad luck for you to see before the wedding, but I needed to know the fit was right.”

I cross over to her slowly, drinking her in. I memorize how the gown hugs the curve of her shoulders, how her hair falls loose around her face, and how her eyes search mine for approval.

“Dio,” I growl. My chest tightens, and my eyes burn with tears I refuse to let fall in front of her. “You’re going to destroy me walking down that aisle, and I’m going to let you.”

Her smile widens, becoming genuine. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I cup her face in my hands, feel the warmth of her skin, and kiss her softly. “Tomorrow, you’re going to be my wife.”

“Scared?” She’s teasing, but there’s a real question underneath and vulnerability she doesn’t often show.

“Terrified.” I take her hand and press it flat against my chest, over my hammering heart. “But not of marrying you. Never of that. I’m terrified I won’t be able to protect you from what’s coming.”

Her eyes narrow as if she senses the worry behind my words. “What’s coming, Marco? Tell me.”

Enzo’s words echo in my head.

She deserves to walk into that chapel with her eyes open.

“Tomas Greco escaped.”

Fear flashes across her face before she pulls herself together. I explain how Bruno used Jenna’s kidnapping as a diversion, pulled our soldiers to Newark, and walked Tomas out of his cell.

“Bruno knew about and planned for every move we made. And now Tomas is back in his hands with everything he knows about our security. We think he’s planning to hit the wedding.”

I search for any crack in her composure, any sign that this might be getting too much for her and that I need to rein in how much I’m sharing. She shows no symptom of being overwhelmed, her mouth flattened in a thin line of concentration.

The fact that she’s taking this so well makes me think of the other bomb I’ve got to drop on her. I have the Mason file that proves her ex-boyfriend played a role in her brother’s death waiting in a locked desk drawer.

I’ll tell her about that tomorrow, when she’s officially mine and the famiglia’s protection is hers by law. Tonight, she gets the version of me who only has to be honest about the threats I’ve already fessed up to.

“Are we still doing this? Getting married tomorrow?”

“Yes.” My tone holds no hesitation. “If you still want to.”

“I do.” Her hands frame my jaw, her palms warm against my skin. “I want to marry you, Marco. Tomorrow, tonight, whenever. I’m done running and being scared. If Tomas wants a war, let him bring it. Let him come. But he’s not stealing this…or anything else…away from us.”

I clamp my mouth over hers, my heart pounding with hope and the fierce, terrible love that’s deeply rooted in my chest. She kisses me back with equal ferocity until we both need to catch our breath. When we break apart, we laugh.

She waves me off so she can change into the gray sleep shirt she must have claimed from my drawer. It’s three times larger than her usual size, but she looks adorable.

Soon, we’re lying in the dark, her head on my chest, her hair fanned across my shoulder, and her body snuggling into mine. Her back is against me, my arm is slung across her ribs, and we’re both facing the window where the compound lights give the curtains an amber glow.