Page 26

I turn my head fully to look at him—and he meets my gaze.

As a father, I understand him.

And as a mafia boss, he understands me.

My intention with this union is to ease the guilt weighing down my chest for taking his son.

And his is to protect the last of his blood.

We may not like each other, but we need each other to reach our goals.

“I will never fully trust you, Matteo,” he says slowly. “But I trust my daughter. And I trust that if she ever needs to, she’ll make the call—and I will get her out of this marriage. To hell with what may come after. She is the last of my blood, and I will not allow her to suffer because of this world.”

His words carry conviction—unshakable, clear.

“You make a single tear fall from her eyes, or you harm a single hair on her head… I will personally hold the gun that puts a bullet in the middle of your eyes.”

I hold his stare. “I will honor her as I did my last.”

I try to keep the image of a smiling Beatrice out of my head. I haven’t thought of her in a while—work usually keeps me busy enough that my mind is never idle. It’s only in the thick of the night, when the silence presses in, that I feel the void in the shape of her.

We sit in the weight of silence. Neither of us dares to speak first.

We both know.

No matter what is promised in a moment like this, it’s the heavens that decide what happens next.

I will honor Maria.

She is my wife. I made a vow.

My word is my bond—and I’ll uphold that part of the bargain.

She’ll never have to worry about a wandering eye. She’ll never need to fear a scandal or a divorce. She will have my loyalty, and she will have my protection.

But one thing she will never be able to claim is my heart.

That has been locked away… for all eternity.

9

MARIA

Isee the sun’s rays peeking out just beyond the horizon.

Just like that, my wedding came and went, but the outcome was nothing like I had imagined.

The large diamond on my finger feels like a shackle—heavy and suffocating. I fight the urge to rip it off. My gown lies abandoned on the floor, exactly where I left it last night after kicking my husband out of my room.

I barely spoke to him, yet I felt his presence like a shadow lingering in the air.

Matteo Davacalli. My husband.

A man I know nothing about, yet one I am now bound to for life.

I didn’t even see his reaction when I locked the door on him last night—did he care? Or was I just another transaction to him?

I wish it were all a bad dream. But no matter how many times I close my eyes and take a deep breath, when I open them… I’m still here.