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He looks up, and for a second, I think he’s going to argue, but he doesn’t. He nods once and walks back to his seat. Before I can pull her back to me, Liv steps forward, her hand slipping from my grip, and she walks straight toward Antonio before he sits.

I stay back, giving her the space to do whatever the hell this is, but I’m close enough to intervene if the old prick gets disrespectful.

“For what it’s worth,” she says, sincerely, “I really am sorry about Cindy. I did what I had to do for my family, but I never meant for her to get hurt.”

Antonio stares at her with an unreadable expression. He doesn’t say a word or acknowledge the apology, but he doesn’t reject it either.

For me, that’s a win.

Liv turns back to me, and without another glance at Antonio, we walk to the end of the aisle together. The altar looks hand-carved out of cream-colored stone, streaked with darker marble veins running through it. Right on top is our marriage certificate, already laid out,with a pen next to it, just waiting for us to make this shit official.

Just then, Father Santo steps out from the side and makes his way up to the altar, Bible in hand. His white hair is thinning, more scalp than strands now, and the deep lines across his face say he’s seen more life than most. He’s gotta be pushing eighty, maybe older. He’s the same priest who baptized me thirty-two years ago, when my mom still forced us into church pews every Sunday. He’s always been quiet, but sharp as hell, even if he moves a little slower these days. But he’s trusted and has been with our family for decades.

Liv and I aren’t saying vows or standing in front of a crowd exchanging rings. It’s just the two of us and a signature on paper. But with Father Santo here, it’s authentic and official in the eyes of the Church, the Commission, and every old bastard who’d dare question it.

Without thinking twice about it, I pick up the pen and sign my name. Liv does the same. The ink settles, sealing our names together. But I’m not done. I reach into my jacket, pulling out my knife. The same one I had, the night I met Liv in her apartment.

I flick it open and drag the blade across my palm. Blood wells instantly, dripping onto the paper.

A blood oath. The most sacred oath a Don can take inLa Cosa Nostra. We only take it when we become Don. When we swear our lives to something or someone else, that’s exactly what I’m doing today.

Dad exhales sharply, and I can feel the eyes of the Commission burn holes into me.

I lift my gaze to Liv, locking onto hers, and let the words fall from my lips. “I swear to love and protect you with my life, no matter what.La famiglia è tutto.”

Liv’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, but before I can say anything, she steps closer and takes the knife from my hand.

“Liv, n—” I start, reaching for her, but she’s already dragging the blade across her palm.

Blood pools, slipping down her fingers before she lets it drip onto the paper, mixing with mine and the room goes fucking still.

I don’t think a woman has ever taken a blood oath inLa Cosa Nostra. When I glance back at the Commission Dons, all I see is approval and fuckingrespect.

Liv looks up at me, “And I swear to love you and protect you with my life,” she says, putting the knife down. “You and me… till the end.”

I grab her hand, pressing my bloody palm against hers, sealing our promise. “Till the fucking end.”

57

Liv

When we step outside just after 7:00 P.M.., the sky looks soft and gold, like it’s trying to be romantic. My eyes immediately lock onto the vintage Triumph Bonneville parked near the curb, and I freeze.

My excitement is bubbling over, and I turn to Alessio, my heart already hammering in my chest. “Are you serious?”

He smirks. “Ready for our date?”

I let out a squeal. An actual, undignified squeal and skip toward the bike, nearly tripping over my heels in my rush to get to it.

“Alessio!” I spin around, throwing my arms around his neck, reaching up on my toes to kiss him. I don’t care that people are watching, that the Commission is still lurkingbehind us. This... iseverything.

This dress is not made for riding, but do I care? Not even a little. I hike it up, trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to climb onto this thing without flashing half the world.

Alessio mutters something under his breath, a low growl in his throat. “Damn,Sirena. You’re killing me.”

He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders, probably to ensure the entire Commission doesn’t get a free show. I slip my arms through the sleeves, the scent of him wrapping around me, the fabric hanging loose on my frame. He puts on his helmet, hands me mine, then swings a leg over the bike with me settling in behind him.

“Ready?” Alessio’s husky voice comes through the helmet speaker.