Page 56 of Blind Devotion (Letters of Ruin #1)

Almost Two Months Later

After last-minute touch-ups to my makeup were finished, Alizé adjusted my veil.

“You look beautiful.”

The lacy fabric was as smooth as silk against my skin, tugging ever so slightly on the intricate braided updo.

For safety reasons, my dress had no train and ended at my ankles, but the lacy off-the-shoulder mermaid silhouette with embossed floral designs I wore was better than anything I dreamt up when I was younger.

I knew the moment I first tried it on, the way it draped on my skin, the way it followed my curves, that it was the dress.

I shook out my hands. This was it. Today I was marrying the love of my life.

I bent my nose into my bouquet, letting the aromatic blend of roses and wildflowers handpicked that morning by my husband-to-be calm my nerves.

“Any news on Renzo?” I asked Alizé. He was supposed to be walking me down the aisle in the next hour and had yet to stop by the bridal suite.

She huffed through a lip trill.

“What? What is it?”

“So don’t panic.”

“That is not what you tell a bride on her wedding day.”

“Right. Well, I’ve got good news and bad news. Bad news, his flight landed this morning, but…he wasn’t on it. Good news, Thibault will walk you down the aisle.”

I shook my head as my hand held down the hairpins keeping the veil in place. “Renzo? My brother, Renzo, missed his flight?”

“Yes.”

“No.” Considering his need for timeliness and order, I always thought Renzo was undiagnosed with OCD to some degree. He never would have missed his flight, and certainly not without telling me. “Someone, pass me my phone.”

One of my friends from California, who’d traveled over for the wedding, handed me my voice-operated smartphone. I tapped the screen.

“Call Renzo.”

The call rang and rang until it reached his voicemail. I tried again. Same result.

“Someone else try.” It wasn’t like my brother not to answer the phone. That thing was pretty much attached to his hand or hip, wherever his gun wasn’t, something I used to make fun of him about. Several phones rang out calls on speaker at different intervals. Each got his voicemail.

“He probably just made the next flight out and has his phone on airplane mode.”

I bobbed my head slowly at that suggestion. It sounded plausible if this were anyone besides Renzo.

A heavy knock pounded on the door.

“Persetta,” Erel called, voice muffled. “Your brother.”

Oh, thank god. I crossed the room in a rush. Thankfully, the bridal party cleared the space earlier to make sure nothing stood in my way. I opened the door, expecting something, anything, besides the sullen silence of the hotel hallway.

“Where is he?”

“Here. On the phone.”

He clapped it into my palm. I raised the device to my ear, my hand shaky.

“Renzo?”

“ Ehi sorellina .” Hey, little sister. He didn’t sound injured, only annoyed.

Wherever he was, it was super loud in the background. People were jeering and yelling. Loud buzzing.

“What’s going on? Where are you?”

“Something came up. I’m not going to make it.”

“What the hell do you mean? You promised you were putting aside this animosity with Adrien for the sake of the wedding.”

“This has nothing to do with Adrien. Te lo giuro .” I swear. “I wish I could be there for you. I know you would be the most beautiful bride.”

Wherever he was, dozens of conversations echoed in a cacophony of jumbled words through the line.

“You’re supposed to be here to give me away.”

“I know, but I can’t.” With him being so tight-lipped about whatever the reason was, my guess was it was Cosa Nostra business. Stuff not for a woman’s ears, one of its many antiquated rules.

“When are we going to get a chance to see each other?” The day after we returned from our honeymoon in the Maldives, I started classes.

“I don’t know yet. I just wanted you to know I love you, and I wish I was there with you.” Someone called his name, deep and harsh. “I have to go. Give the phone back to Adrien’s man.”

“Renzo, I don’t under—”

“I don’t have time, Persy! Hand the phone back.”

Taken aback by his brusque tone, I handed the device back to Adrien’s témoin , his ceremony witness, since the French didn’t traditionally have bridesmaids or groomsmen. My brother was supposed to have been mine. Anger rushed through me, and I slammed the door shut. Flipping asshole men.

For a second there, Renzo almost sounded like our father—his biological father and the man who did a shit job of raising me before selling me off.

The wedding went off without a hitch. In traditional French style, Adrien met me at my suite and escorted me procession-style through the streets toward the city hall with all our guests following.

Together, we cut through a sheet draped vertically in our path and walked through the window we created.

We signed the marriage certificate at the town hall with our witnesses, Erel and Alizé, before saying our vows in church.

And when we kissed and said our “I dos,” it was better than every fantasy I had as a girl.

I laughed in my husband’s arms. We danced.

We kissed and drank champagne. We played silly games and listened to the skit his family put on for us.

We even got a “Congratulations” from my new mother-in-law, even if it remained cold and aloof.

Still, it was progress. We ate savory hors d’oeuvres, ranging from cheeses to stuffed profiteroles to tourtières and mini skewers, until we couldn’t eat anymore.

All the while, in the back of my mind, I missed my brother and wished he’d been here for this, for me.

When it came time to eat dessert, we stood before the croquembouche tower of traditionally cream-filled profiteroles, ours covered in caramel and chocolate.

I leaned my back against my new husband’s chest as the servers made us each a plate of a few profiteroles.

Adrien rested his chin on my head, his arms against my waist.

“Do you think we can box some up for my brother for when he makes the trip over?”

My husband stiffened behind me.

“Oh, come on,” I pleaded. “You honestly didn’t think the truce I was asking for between you both was only for the wedding?”

“Tessa, he won’t be traveling for a while.”

Stubborn men. “Well, then we’ll go to him.” He sighed heavily at my back. “Adrien, we’ve been over this. You’re not keeping me from my brother.”

“I’m not, but his actions have.”

“What does that mean?” The server handed me a plate. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He groaned. “I didn’t want to do this today.”

“What?”

“Renzo’s been arrested.”

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The Letters of Ruin series continues with Renzo’s story, coming early 2026.