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Nick
The guests are here. All the families are represented, even the Scalingis. Lorenzo sits in the front row, his mistress at his side. She seems to have realized the danger--perhaps it’s the blood running from the gash on Lorenzo’s forehead that gave it away--and hews close to him, her eyes wide.
She won’t be harmed. But it doesn’t bother me that she fears for her life. Fucking Lorenzo was a bad life choice. Now it’s time to pay.
The other bosses sit with their wives, their faces mostly stoic. I’m certain they were more than a little surprised to be attending a second wedding today, especially one with the same bride, but they’re hiding it, waiting to see how this situation plays out. They don’t need to wonder. By the end of the ceremony, I’ll control the Davincis, the Tuscanis, and have a powerful foothold with the Scalingis. If anything, they should worry, because if they cross me, it won’t be long before I come for their piece of the pie.
“Nick.” Father Rantini takes his place at the front of the room, his formal robes setting the right tone. This isn’t a sham wedding or a payment from one family to another in the form of an unwilling bride. This is a marriage, a bonding of souls, a meeting of minds, and it is the first true step toward my dynasty. With Sophia at my side, this city will be ours. That it angers Lorenzo is a bonus.
The string quartet begins to play some song I’ve heard at weddings all my life, and the guests seem to relax a little. Music soothes the wild beasts, apparently.
I adjust my tie as Gio steps up beside me, his tux almost as fine as mine.
“You ready?”
He pats his pocket. “All set on my end.”
“The jeweler followed my instructions?”
“To the ‘t.’” He nods and peers out at the small assembly. “They at a wedding or a funeral?” he whispers.
“If anyone steps out of line, it may be both.”
“Nick, if you’re ready, we can proceed.” Father Rantini smiles, his old, watery eyes missing no detail. It’s a mob wedding, but he’s done plenty of these over the years.
Carlotta hovers at the entrance to the west hall. I jerk my chin at her, and she smiles and hurries away to retrieve my bride.
“This is it. Off the market.” Gio gives me a sidelong glance. “Unless you intend to be nailing chicks on the side.”
“Not happening. Sophia is my only one.” The thought of another verges on disgusting.
“I was just busting your balls. You think I don’t know how you are when you set your mind on something? I’ve seen how you look at her. She’s the one.”
“I never thought it would happen.” I can’t believe I found her. All this time, other families tried to sell me their daughters, innocent little creatures with wide eyes and empty heads. But Sophia is different. There’s fire in her, and over time, it can burn hot enough to forge our family. “But a king knows a queen when he sees her.”
“Right on.” He rolls his shoulders. “I think she’s almost here. Hey, do you think Lorenzo’s going to explode or what?”
I glance at him. His face is red, and he clutches his poor mistress’s hand in his grip like it’s a stress ball.
“If he does, I’ll handle it.”
Dante stands at the entry door, his head on a swivel as he eyes the guests. We’re all armed to the teeth despite our tuxes--my tailor knows what sort of man he works for and always leaves just enough room for a gun and some knives.
The music changes to the wedding march, and I hold my breath as Dante opens the doors.
My mind stops, my heart stumbles, and I go completely still as she appears. A vision in understated elegance, she locks eyes with me as Marco escorts her down the aisle. The guests stand--all except Lorenzo--as she walks among them like a goddess through a throng of peasants. My love, my heart, the half of my soul that had been missing until I walked into the Tuscani home, killed her husband, and took her for myself. But that’s the way it was meant to be. I will kill as many as necessary to claim her, because we are one.
She keeps her eyes on me, each step bringing her closer. When Marco passes her to me, I can’t seem to stop smiling. She glances down, demure for a moment, then looks up into my eyes. The joy in hers matches mine as we turn to Father Ratini.
He begins his introduction, a clipped version of the same service he performed this morning. I keep looking at her, the beauty by my side. Her veil floats down her back, and I’m pleased that she has chosen not to cover her face. She should never hide, not from me, not from anyone. A queen should be seen, desired, coveted, but only ever truly mastered by her king. And, oh, how I intend to master her once this ceremony is completed.
“Sophia.” Father Ratini smiles at her. “Do you take this man to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
She bites her lip for a second, and my whole world balances on the next words from her sweet mouth. With a deep breath, she says, “I do.” The smile that follows is one I will never forget.
Father Ratini repeats the same question for me, and I don’t hesitate. Not when my Sophia is on the line.
“I do.” I squeeze her warm hands in mine.
