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The heaviness in my chest is unbearable—like wet cement pouring in, layer by layer, pressing against my ribs, refusing to set, building until I’m on the brink of suffocation.

“Ti amo, amore,” he says softly as he kisses my cheek. I love you, my love.

When he pulls away, I catch it—the sadness in his eyes. But he buries it quickly behind a hollow smile.

Then he steps back, releasing my hand fully into Matteo’s grasp.

The moment our skin touches, a flutter stirs in my chest—soft, disorienting—followed by the sickening churn deep in my stomach. My gaze traces the path from our joined hands, up the length of his arm cloaked in smooth black fabric, until it finally collides with his eyes.

My breath catches. “Mr. Davacalli.”

My voice comes out no more than a whisper. But against the thick silence of the cathedral, I may as well have screamed to the heavens and beyond.

Fuck.

“Maria.” His voice is thick, laden with emotion. His eyes pierce through mine, stripping me bare—leaving me with nothing to shield myself.

“You’re breathtaking, Maria.”

His compliment catches me off guard, so much so that the priest has to clear his throat to get my attention, urging me to step forward with my fiancé. Matteo helps me up, his hand still wrapped securely around mine.

“Please face each other,” the priest says, his white cloak draped elegantly around him, a serene smile on his face.

“Join your hands, please.”

I hand off my bouquet to one of the women seated in the front row—someone I’ve only seen once or twice before. Then,I place my hand into Matteo’s. The warmth that travels up and down my arm is not only distracting but unnerving.

I don’t know why my body decides to short-circuit whenever he’s near me—let alone touching me.

“We are gathered here today…” the priest begins the ceremony, but it all just blurs into the background. My mind circles back to one unshakable truth—I’m about to marry a man I don’t want to marry.

I woke up hopeful this morning, believing I was stepping into a future filled with light. But instead, here I am—being cast to the lion.

Had this been the plan all along? Were they all in on it?

I resist the urge to glance back at my parents.

The ceremony moves on, my thoughts stealing most of my attention. Before I know it, we’re exchanging rings, and the priest finally moves to the part I’ve been dreading.

“Do you, Matteo Angelo Davacalli, take Maria Antoinette Faravelli to be your lawfully wedded wife—to honor, cherish, and protect her, for as long as you both shall live?”

The words echoed off the stained glass windows.

“I do.”

Matteo holds my gaze without a hint of shame. His hands squeeze mine ever so slightly at his declaration. He then reaches down to the ring bearer and takes my ring from the velvet pillow. With careful precision, he slides it onto my finger—a perfect fit.

It’s stunning. A sleek platinum wedding band. It’s the kind of ring I would’ve chosen for myself—had I been given a choice.

“Do you, Maria Antoinette Faravelli, take Matteo Angelo Davacalli to be your lawfully wedded husband? To honor, cherish, and love him as long as you both shall live?”

Love.

Such a heavy word—especially when paired with the Warlord.

How does one love the darkness?

Is that even possible?