Page 9 of Sworn to the Enemy

I look from his outstretched arm to his face, searching for signs that he's having second thoughts about this whole thing, but his jaw is set. He doesn't regret it. I swallow a lump in my throat.

“Grazie, Papa,” I say, taking his arm.

Slowly, we both walk down the aisle—him with a subtly shaky gait, me with decided steps. The violin starts, soft and eerie as it accompanies our walk. Guest's eyes burn into me—Papa’s men, Enzo’s crew, watching this union like it’s a spark near dynamite.

We get to where the officiant's standing at the altar, and my father hands me over to Aida, but not before whispering “your mama would be proud to see you today.”

I refrain from rolling my eyes. This wedding wouldn't be happening in the first place if she was alive.

I watch him walk back to his seat, a calm resignation settling over me.

Aida clutches my arm, her voice wobbly as she says, “Serafina, you’re stunning.” I glare at her. She's wailing. She's overdoing this whole thing on purpose. I don't know whether to laugh or berate her.

I settle on the latter. I pull free from her and mutter through clenched teeth, “enough.” She just sniffles, fanning her face. I scoff at her.

I scan the crowd, delaying looking at Enzo.

I spot Adriano, Enzo’s advisor as I've been told, standing in as his father. He’s old—should be in the same age range as my father—silver hair slick, face beaming.

I don’t trust that smile. There's something sinister about it that makes my gut twist. I don’t like him, not one bit.

Knowing I can’t delay the inevitable, I deliberately seek Enzo out.

Even if I could avoid him, I can't. He's moved closer now.

Jesus. My breath snags. He's in a black tux, tailored to every hard line.

His dark hair is tamed, but those eyes, they're dark, piercing through my soul as he returns my stare.

The man's dynamite, and I hate how it stirs me in places that are forbidden. My pulse hammers in my throat as I continue to stare at him, unable to look at him. His presence is like a magnet, commanding me to keep my eyes on him and not look away. There's no acknowledgement in his gaze. His jaw’s set, lips curved faintly, like he knows I’m struggling.

I clench my fists, my nails biting into my palms as I keep my face blank.

I break the spell by looking away first, willing my racing heart to be still. Already, I'm failing at the first hurdle.

The officiant’s voice booms as he preaches peace and unity, and love.

I almost laugh. Love. If only he knew.

This unity is built on anything else but love. It's strategic. Two men had come together, and deciding they knew what was best for me, they brokered an agreement with me as the deal.

My eyes flick to my father who's staring straight at me, his expression emotionless. He has to feel something at least at giving his daughter away in this manner. Damn him.

Riccardo's nowhere to be seen. Papa had thought it wise to send him on a mission two days before. It's all the better, because if Riccardo was here, with his hot-headed nature, he could jeopardize the fragile peace that'd been brokered.

I shift my gaze to Enzo, my eyes catching the way his jacket pulls across his shoulders. His dark eyes molten under the bright lights that grace the courtyard. Shit. He’s smoking hot. My scalp feels prickly, my fingers cut deep into the skin of my palm as I try to keep my emotions at bay.

It hits me then, like a jolt, raw and deep—I’m attracted to him. Crazily, deeply attracted to Enzo Mancini, so much so that there's no wishing it or willing it away. And I want him again. And again.

It’s a punch to the gut. It twists hard and I almost double over as it threatens to nauseate me. How dare my body betray me like this? How dare I notice the faint curve of his mouth, the heat in his stare. My body's a traitorous bastard.

I swallow hard, focusing on the officiant. I can't give in to it. I won't.

We say our vows. It's short and crisp. Not the traditional vows. Nothing warm. Nothing promising. To commit and to cherish. To lifelong partnership. His voice is low and steady. It sends an unwanted shiver through me.

“I do,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. The pull tightens, squeezing my chest, forcing the air from my lungs.

The officiant repeats the same words he'd said to Enzo. I hesitate. Am I really binding my life to my enemy?

Am I really doing this? Can I?

My eyes cut to Papa again, and his eyes are twin pools of warning. I force my gaze away from him and I force out my “I do.” My voice is firm, but my insides churn.

The crowd stirs. There are sharp sounds of applause and hoots. Amid the noise, the officiant calls for the kiss. Enzo steps close, his scent—smoke and cedar—wrapping around me, same as that night. My heart pounds, but I hold myself rigid, not betraying my emotions.

He grabs my waist roughly, and pulls me against him, his lips crash into mine.

It's like a recall of the kiss we shared before on that night, those days ago, only this time, it's more intense. It’s a fire that sears through me.

His mouth is hard and demanding as he impales me wholly.

It's like a branding. He's claiming me. It's him saying I'm his.

I'm his.

His tongue pushes past my lips, unrelenting as it tangles with mine in a way that makes my knees buckle.

My hands grip his arms, for support. I feel the hard muscle under his jacket.

Like before, I'm well and truly caught. My body is screaming to lean in, to let this storm take me, to let him consume me fully.

I hear the roaring of the crowd, but it’s distant. My world narrowed to this moment, to his lips, his heat, the way he’s owning me.

I fight it. I keep my body stiff, refusing to melt into him. His hand tightens on my waist, his fingers digging into my dress, searing through it to warm my skin. His tongue strokes mine, slow and deliberate, like he’s daring me to break. I won’t.

God, I want to.

I bite his lip. It's not grand, just enough to sting. I taste his blood on my tongue before he pulls back. Through the haze that has clouded my eyes, I see him smirking. His eyes are undoubtedly glinting with amusement.

I step back too, my knees almost giving way.

My lips throb, swollen from his kiss. Heart thudding heavily against my chest, I step back, my face a mask of cool indifference.

I ignore the heat curling in my belly. The crowd’s still cheering, clueless as to the storm brewing within me.

I turn away from his triumphant gaze, my hands trembling.

God. I hate it. I hate how that kiss sank its claws into me. I hate how I can't shake it—him. I hate him.

I move as though I'm in a daze through the remainder of the ceremony. We transport ourselves to Enzo's manor where the reception is waiting.

The reception’s a blur, but I manage to immerse myself in the sounds of clinking glasses, the boisterous noises. I cloak myself in the fake smiles and the words of congratulations.

Luckily, both groups are on their best behavior, and no fight whatsoever breaks out, although they regard each other warily.

Years of rivalry and steaming bad blood coming to an end on a cursed union.

It's maddening. I want to shout it to everyone's hearing that it's nothing but a sham, but I keep it cool and persevere.

I manage to get through the entire thing until it's time for the toasts. Toast to long-lasting peace and harmony. That's when I tune out. Aida comes to find me, still crying. She glues herself to me and I shove her away, annoyed.

I slip away, needing desperately to breathe. The manor’s garden is quiet as I take in the cool and crisp air. I lean against a stone wall, closing my eyes, but the kiss, his presence is imprinted on my mind. He's there, everywhere I turn.

The fact that he's proving unshakable angers me. I’m Serafina Rossi. I'm not some fool swayed by a man, much less a man who’s supposed to be my enemy. But today, at that altar, I'd swayed. It's a hard thing to admit.

An even harder thing to admit is that it’s got me rattled.