Page 33 of Enzo

Enzo and Amadeo Marchetti were playboys and had women lining up for miles to grab their attention. Although, our encounter at their family’s restaurant could have fooled me.

I honestly didn’t know what to think of that night—or him, for that matter.

He’d been mostly quiet, aside from his minor threat about the ring. And no, I hadn’t lost it. The damn rock weighed down my arm even now, making me feel guilty about skipping the gym lately to capitalize on my time with Amara.

“Are we walking?” Papà’s question made me realize I was standing still.

So I took a step, then another, and with each new one, the lump in my throat grew larger. I wished this journey would never end. I wouldn’t mind walking all the way to the end of the earth to avoid saying “I do.”

“Are the Marchettis shocked?” I breathed as we took the slowest steps in history toward the altar and the awaiting groom.

“Flabbergasted,” Papà said, grasping my hand in his. “I think Enrico’s jaw touched the church floor.”

I chuckled, the sound loud enough to echo through the Canon D wedding march.

The groom was little more than a blur through my veil, but the tension in his broad shoulders was unmistakable. He stood with his feet set apart, arms at his sides, hands deceptively calm. Still, there was something so towering, so commanding, about him that I feared one glance might crush me.

As we neared the altar of sacrifice, he finally turned around, and my instinct screamed for me to run. Fuck all of this shit and run, run, run. I could hide and never look back.

Right?

But it was then that I spotted my youngest sibling, taking the whole role of maid of honor seriously. Her pale face and big eyes screamed of fatigue and hinted at the illness she was battling,and I knew there’d be no running. For my family, I’d stay put and take anything Enzo Marchetti dished my way.

For Amara.

As if she could sense the direction of my thoughts, she flashed me a tired smile and waved her frail hand, the rosary hanging heavily around her dainty wrist. It was the rosary that my mama was given on her wedding day by Uncle Aiden.

Ever since her leukemia diagnosis, she refused to let go of it, and it terrified me. Mama and Papà were scared too, although they hid it behind layers of optimism.

My breath hitched. My heart accelerated and my palms grew sweaty as each step closed the distance. We were a mere ten feet away from him. Then nine. Eight. My feet came to a stop of their own will.

More gasps, but all I could hear was the pulsing in my ears. The screams in my head that I didn’t want to do this. My young adulthood rattled the bars that were about to shut.

“Penelope, just say the word and we can turn around,” Papà said softly. “You shouldn’t pay for my mistakes.”

It wasn’t as simple as that. I knew if we turned around, it would mean war. Death. It wouldn’t only impact me, but also my siblings, my aunts and uncles. It would hurt so many people. But most of all, sweet Amara.

So I would do the only thing left to do.

“You look beautiful, Pen,” my sister whispered when we reached her, and despite the doom I was facing, I smiled at her.

She turned her head to look at the waiting groom and I did the same. The man whose destiny had been intertwined with mine stood proud with his best man—Amadeo—by his side.

I couldn’t help noticing Enzo’s and Amadeo’s ties were the exact shade of my dress, almost as if they knew I’d wear red.

“I’ll take it from here.” His voice boomed through the church, and then to my shock, the groom stepped forward, instead ofwaiting for Papà to bring me to him, lifted my veil, and took my hand in his.

His teeth gritted. “Step away from my daughter.”

Enzo looked furious, the muscle in his left cheek threatening to pop with how hard he was clenching his jaw.

“I think not. She’s mine now.”

I hadn’t even said the words yet and this man was already claiming me. I could only imagine how our future would look. Was he planning to lock me in his towering castle—or penthouse—and throw away the key? Would years slowly wither away until I was nothing but a distant memory?

“Let’s go,” Enzo hissed, causing me to tilt my head up and up, until my eyes landed on his face.

“Just because I’m marrying you, Enzo Marchetti, it doesn’t make me yours, and it won’t stop me from being a DiMauro.”