Page 64 of Angel of Light (Lords of The Commission: New York #5)

ALISON

The dress felt different than it did just a few hours ago.

Last night, it felt magical in its tragic beauty. But this morning, as I stood in front of my mirror while three stylists fussed around me, it felt like a shroud. It could have been sewn with gold thread, made out of the finest fibers, and that still wouldn’t have changed how much I hated it.

The pristine silk that had felt like liquid moonlight against my skin now felt restrictive. The delicate lace that had made me feel royal felt like chains, binding me to a fate I didn’t care for.

“You look absolutely radiant, Miss Battaglia,” Maria, the head stylist, said as she made final adjustments to my veil. “Like a princess from a fairy tale.”

A fairy tale.

If only she knew how far from the truth that was. Fairy tales had happy endings. Fairy tales had the princess marrying her true love. In fairy tales, love conquered all.

This was a Greek tragedy dressed in white silk and lies.

I caught my reflection in the mirror. The makeup artist had done her best to hide the evidence of my sleepless night, but I could still see it.

The grief.

The resignation.

The knowledge that I was about to bury the best part of myself in a marital grave marked with someone else’s name.

“Your father is here,” Maria announced softly. “Are you ready?”

Never.

Was anyone ever ready to smile and make a sacred vow to a man they didn’t love while the man they did love stood at that same altar, staring into your eyes while you lied to the world?

“Yes,” I replied with a lie instead.

Dad knocked softly on the door before entering, and I saw his breath catch when he saw me. For a moment, his composed mask slipped, and I saw the expression I’d always yearned to see on his face. Adoration mixed with pride, even if it was for the woman I was about to bury.

I looked into the eyes of the man who’d vowed to protect me from my nightmares, from the monsters under my bed and the ones lurking in the shadows.

Too bad the biggest monster was duty itself.

“ Mon coeur ,” he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. “You’re beautiful beyond words.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

He approached slowly, his eyes searching my face. “Are you... are you certain about this, Alison? Because if you’re not, if there’s any doubt in your heart, we can–”

“I’m sure,.” I cut him off, lacing my arm with his while he hesitated, seeing through my deception.

“I love you,” He said finally, a sigh escaping his mouth. “I know I haven’t been the best father, but don’t you ever doubt that.”

“I know,” I kissed his cheek gently. “I love you, too. We shouldn’t keep my fiancé waiting. He might worry.” I tried to lighten the mood for his sake.

He didn’t need to know I was doing this because I didn’t have a choice. Because the alternative was chaos, and bloodshed, and watching everyone I cared about suffer for my selfishness.

But mostly, I was doing this because we’d failed to find another way. And if the man I loved more than breathing couldn’t find a solution, then there wasn’t one to be found.

The cathedral was bathed in the afternoon sun, the glorious glow of the stained glass behind the altar almost like a mockery in comparison to the darkness flooding my chest.

Every single guest was dressed in white, just as I’d requested. From a distance, it looked ethereal, like a gathering of angels. Up close, it looked like what it was. A room full of people dressed for a funeral.

I took Dad’s arm and let him lead me through the massive wooden doors.

I inhaled sharply, my eyes set on the red carpet ahead.

The church was absolutely filled with people.

My family. Closest friends. Business partners.

The Massimos. Members of other mafiosi famiglias who had come to witness this historic alliance.

My eyes climbed to the altar again, the vision before me cutting my breath.

Max was up there waiting. Watching. Dying a little more with each step I was about to take because I was walking towards the man standing next to him.

Vincenzo stood tall, his face stoic and calm, but I knew better than to think he wasn’t relieved to see me walk through these pews.

Standing there, side by side, my future husband and the love of my life. How much crueler could this moment become?

For the first time, I noticed the similarities between them. The same collected manner that held them together when I was certain they were both anything but undisturbed.

“Ready?” Dad asked softly.

I nodded, not trusting my voice at this moment.

With his signal, the wedding march began. Cliché. Generic. So not me. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like I’d made an effort to turn this event into everything a girl could want on her wedding day.

Every head turned toward me, and I felt the weight of their stares like physical touches. But I kept my eyes forward, focused on the altar where Vincenzo waited in his white tuxedo, looking every inch the handsome groom he was supposed to be.

He smiled when he saw me. Despite everything, it was genuine.

Max’s expression darkened with each step I took. The way his eyes set on mine told me he was about to do something everyone in this damn cathedral would pay for with their lives.

I nodded towards him. Trying to stop whatever suicidal plan was forming in his head, pleading silently for him to finally set me free.

Without averting his gaze, Max brought his ring finger to his mouth, kissing the tattoo that wrapped around his skin, my pet name branded on him forever. I fought back every tear that threatened to escape, swallowing the lump that formed at the pit of my throat.

When we reached the altar, Dad kissed my cheek and placed my hand in Vincenzo’s. The gesture felt final, like a passing of ownership from one man to another.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest began, his voice echoing through the cathedral, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of Vincenzo Massimo and Alison Battaglia…”

The words washed over me like white noise, blending together. I responded when I was supposed to, said the right things at the right times, played my part in this performance.

Vincenzo held my hands gently, his thumbs stroking over my knuckles in what was probably meant to be comforting. He was trying to be kind, trying to make this easier for me.

Why?

It only made it worse.

“If anyone has a reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The cathedral was silent.

Deadly silent. And when Max made a movement to speak, I widened my gaze and shook my head violently.

NO.

Everyone I loved had a target on their backs. I couldn’t and wouldn’t be the source of their misery, even if that meant living a life that wasn’t worth my breath.

The question hung in the air for a few moments. No one would dare object to a wedding this politically important. No one would risk the consequences of speaking out against an alliance forging two mafia families together.

“Very well,” the priest said, smiling. “Vincenzo, do you take Alison to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, until death do you part?”

“I do,” Vincenzo said, his voice strong and certain.

The priest turned to me. “Alison, do you take Vincenzo to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, until death do you part?”

I opened my mouth to say the words that would seal my fate forever.

The cathedral doors exploded open with a bang that echoed through the grand space like thunder.

Every head turned toward the back of the church. A man I immediately recognized stood in the doorway, flanked by at least a dozen other men in dark suits and black shirts. They moved with the grace of predators, their hands resting casually near their weapons.

Sicários and their master.

Even I knew enough about the criminal world to recognize killers when I saw them.

Diego stood in front of them all, leading them into the church. Tall, dark-haired, with the kind of cold beauty that spoke of violence and power. His eyes swept the room with calculated precision before landing on Vincenzo first, and then me.

Diego’s presence here meant that everything was about to go very, very wrong. Maybe Jackson had fucked up the deal, and now my life was on the line. At least I was dressed for my own burial.

I was so blinded by his entry that I didn't even notice the moment Max had left Vincenzo’s side to come stand next to me, one tiny step ahead, ready to shield me in case anything happened. Both Matt and Liam were on their feet, too, their hands already buried into their jackets.

Their guns were certainly sheathed there, ready to strike if the threat evolved into something more.

But Diego didn’t draw a weapon. He didn’t make any threats or demands. Instead, he calmly made his way to the front, took a seat in the first row, and gestured for the priest to continue.

A chill ran down my spine. This wasn’t the rescue or interruption I was almost hoping it would be. Considering death to be better than this message spoke volumes.

When the priest didn’t resume, Diego ushered him to pick up where he’d left off.

“Continue,” he practically ordered, his voice carrying easily through the stunned silence. “Don’t mind my interruption. I’m just here to witness this... historic occasion.”

The priest looked at Vincenzo, uncertain.

“Continue,” Vincenzo said through gritted teeth, though his hands were squeezing mine a little tighter now.

The priest cleared his throat nervously. “As I was saying... by the power vested in me by God and the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

“No, you don’t.”

Another voice cut through the cathedral, this time a woman’s. Desperate and heartbreakingly familiar.

Every head whipped toward the side entrance where a woman in a simple black dress stood framed in the doorway, her chest heaving like she’d been running.

Camila.

She was just as beautiful as her brother. Same dark hair and eyes, with the kind of fierce determination that had probably kept her alive and hidden for four years. In her hand, she clutched a folder of documents.

“He can’t marry her,” Camila said, her voice booming through the cathedral. “Because he’s already married. To me.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Vincenzo went white as a sheet, dropping my hands to turn to her. Diego was standing already, halfway towards his sister.

“Camila, what are you doing here?”

“Don’t you dare,” She hissed, her finger raised and pointed at Diego.

Camila walked down the aisle with her head held high, ignoring the hundreds of eyes tracking her every movement.

The gasps and whispers that echoed against the stone walls.

“We got married four years ago in Las Vegas. The wedding was never annulled. I never signed the divorce papers even after you did.”

She held up the folder, and I could see official-looking documents inside. “I have the marriage certificate right here.”

The cathedral erupted into chaos.

But all I could focus on was the woman standing at the foot of the altar, staring at Vincenzo with a mixture of love, pain, and absolute determination.

“This marriage is null and void,” she said, her voice cutting through the unrelenting murmur. “Which means…”

She turned to look at me, her eyes filled with something that looked almost like pity.

“You’re free, Dear.”