Page 94 of Damon

"Is that what you want? To keep me?"

His arm slides around my waist, pulling me closer. "Forever, if you'll let me."

I look around at our families, at the careful negotiations and political maneuvering that brought us to this moment. Then I look at Damon, at the man who saved my life and stole my heart.

"Forever sounds perfect," I whisper back.

***

Three days later, I'm in a bridal shop looking at wedding dresses with Mama when the full reality of what's happening hits me.

I stare at myself in the three-way mirror, wearing a simple silk gown that somehow manages to be both elegant and understated. It's perfect, but I can't stop thinking about how surreal this all is.

Only a few weeks ago, I was sneaking out to nightclubs. Now I'm picking out a wedding dress for a marriage that will unite two crime families.

"You're very quiet, sweetheart," Mama observes. "Do you not like this one?"

"I love it," I say honestly. "It's a lot to think about."

"Marriage always is. Especially when it carries the weight this one does." She adjusts the veil in my hair.

I smooth my hands over the silk dress, imagining walking down the aisle toward Damon. Imagining saying vows that will bind our lives together permanently.

"I want this dress," I tell her. "It's perfect."

"Viviana?" Mama touches my arm gently as we finish up. "There's something I want you to know."

"What?"

"Whatever brought you and Damon together, whatever circumstances led to this marriage, I can see that you care for each other. That's not always true in our world. Hold onto that. Nurture it. It will get you through everything else."

I nod, blinking back sudden tears. "Thank you, Mama."

And standing there in my wedding dress, I feel something settle in my chest.

This is really happening.

In three weeks, I'll be Viviana Lombardi.

And despite everything, I can't wait.

Chapter 30: Damon

I'm standing at the altar of St. Anthony's Cathedral, trying not to fidget with my cufflinks, when the full weight of what's about to happen hits me.

In ten minutes, Viviana Bonacci is going to walk down that aisle and become my wife.

The church is packed with representatives from both families, a careful balance of Lombardis on one side, Bonaccis on the other, with neutral allies scattered throughout. Every face I recognize carries weight in our world. This isn't just a wedding; it's a summit meeting disguised as a celebration.

"You look like you're going to be sick," Tommy mutters beside me. He's my best man, which means he's been putting up with my nervous energy for the past three hours.

"I'm fine."

"You're sweating through a thousand-dollar suit."

"It's hot in here."

"It's sixty degrees outside and the air-conditioning is on."