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“I do,” I say, forcing the words past the lump in my throat.

I’m handed Matteo’s platinum band, and I slide it onto his finger. The expensive metal shines against the sun rays that stream in through the window of the church.

A sigh echoes softly, likely from my father in the front pew.

He was probably holding his breath, worried I’d make a scene.

But I’ve committed to this.

And now, I have to see it through.

“You may now kiss your bride.”

The words fall like a gavel in my mind, locking my spine into place.

No.

We remain facing each other, our eyes locked in a silent war.

Neither of us moves.

I freeze, uncertain how to navigate this moment.

I had braced myself for the younger Davacalli—the boy I once made mud pies with in the backyard.

But the man standing before me now is no boy.

He’s the deliverer of death. Warlord.

The Warlord.

How do I kiss darkness and walk away unscathed? How do you kiss death—and survive it?

I must hesitate too long, because Matteo lifts his large hands to cradle my face. He leans in, and the air between us crackles with electricity.

Sparks kiss the surface of my skin and bounce back into the atmosphere.

His thumb strokes my cheek gently. The pad of his thumb heats the skin he touches, branding me. The cathedral, filled with people, fades away. My eyes flutter shut. I wait, caughtbetween fear and anticipation for what’s to come. This man has assaulted my senses from the moment I saw him across my brother’s grave.

And now…

Inches vanish.

Our breaths tangle together in a cloud of tension?—

And then…

He presses his lips to mine.

Fireworks. No—detonations. Explosions of heat and electricity ripple through me, setting my nerves ablaze and short-circuiting every carefully constructed defense I’ve built. My body, traitorous and unthinking, leans into him—into the storm—melting into the impossible warmth of the man who shouldn’t feel like home.

The kiss lasts mere seconds—five, maybe—but it fractures something deep within me. When he pulls away, his eyes are no longer cool and distant; they’re the raging sea. For a heartbeat, I see it all—passion, hunger, danger. A man on the edge of ruin, and I am the tether he both fears and craves. It calls to me, beckons me closer like prey to its predator.

And then he blinks—shutters it all—and the veil falls back into place.

The crowd erupts into cheers, and just like that—the trance is broken.

“May I introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Davacalli. May their union be blessed, and may they be protected by the Almighty,” the priest announces to the congregation.