Page 25

For a moment—just one—I forget how to breathe.

Bianca glides down the aisle, a vision in black silk and gold.

The silk clings to her curves like it was sewn into her skin just this morning, molten gold threading catching the candlelight with every step. The gown bares her shoulders, exposes the soft rise of her breasts, then cuts back in with the discipline of a blade. Her legs move beneath the fabric like poetry.

And those eyes...

Those amber eyes cut straight through me.

She doesn’t cry. Doesn’t stumble. Doesn’t glance around the room for an exit. She walks like a woman with no chains—her chin held high, mouth set, jaw clenched.

It’s a lie, of course. But it’s a beautiful one.

She walks like she chose this.

But she didn’t.

I choseher. Not the other way around.

And she’s walking because she knows what happens if she doesn’t.

Still, that defiance? That’s real.

And it makes my blood burn.

Teresa walks beside her, hands folded neatly at her waist like a chaperone. Matteo and Alessio flank the procession a few steps behind, my cousins forming a barrier between her and any escape route she might have calculated.

Not that she'd try. I already know she's smart enough to know better.

I watch Bianca’s every move—the sway of her hips, the controlled fury behind her steps.

When she reaches the altar, she stops just short of me, slowly reaching my eyes with the look of a ghost.

I take her hand. Her skin is cool, but her pulse races under my thumb. Good. She should fear this. Fear me.

The priest begins the ceremony, droning in Latin, invoking blessings from gods I stopped believing in a long time ago.

I don’t listen. I watch her.

The way she swallows. The way her hand twitches in mine. The breath she holds when the priest asks her to repeat her vows.

“And do you, Luciano Ravelli, take this woman—”

“I already have,” I interrupt, voice low and lethal.

The priest blinks, flustered. I slide the ring onto her finger—thick gold, Ravelli crest carved into the band like a brand. It’s too big for her delicate hand. That pleases me more than it should.

The moment the metal touches her skin, the shift happens.

I feel it in the room. In the weight of the crowd’s gaze. In the tension winding through the marble pillars holding this sacred cathedral up.

The crown just tilted. The power of this family has just pivoted, and everyone in this room knows it.

She's mine now.

My queen. My weapon. My key to the throne.

And now there is only one thing left to do: kiss my bride.