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“The ring?” Father Ratini glances at Gio.
“Oh.” He reaches into his pocket. “Got ‘em.”
He hands me both rings. One is a plain platinum band, though I’ve had Sophia’s name engraved on the inside so she’s always on my mind whenever I look at it. Hers is just what I demanded from my jeweler--a diamond-filled band with a platinum base. It gives off sparkling reflections as I hold it up, each emerald-cut stone a perfect match to the one next to it. It’s weighty, but so is my commitment to my queen.
Sophia’s eyes widen, and she holds out a shaking hand.
I steady her, just as I always will, and slide the ring on. She takes my ring and does the same. Bound. Not by family expectations. Not by any sort of alliance. We’re bound by heart and soul, and we will crush any who seek to destroy us.
“You may--”
I don’t let Father Ratini finish. Instead, I pull her into my arms and claim her with a crushing kiss. Her startled squeal is honey on my tongue, and I bend her back, supporting her completely as I make her mine for all to see.
She grips my biceps, her body going languid in my arms as she trusts me to hold her. Our kiss deepens to assuredly inappropriate levels until I pull her back to her feet and tear myself from her.
“Soon, cara mia,” I whisper in her ear. “I will taste all of you.”
She shivers as we turn to face the room.
“May I present to you Mr. and Mrs.--”
“You whore!” Lorenzo stands and points at my bride. “You marry Antonio, and his corpse isn’t even cold, and now you marry this bastard!”
All the air leaves the room as Lorenzo starts cursing Sophia in Italian, every vicious word from his lips like a poison that causes her to fold in on herself, her shoulders curling, her head dropping.
“A puttana just like your mother! I’m glad I killed her.” He steps toward her, his hands out. “I strangled her with these hands, as all whores like you deserve, and you’re next, you fucking slut of a daugh--”
The gunshot cuts him off, the hole in his forehead oozing blood as he falls backwards onto his mistress. The guests rise, some of them running toward the door. But Dante stands in front of it, gun in hand.
No one is leaving. Not until they hear me.
“Sophia Davinci is mine.” I raise my voice and holster my still-smoking pistol. “No one will take my wife. No one will insult my wife.” I point at Lorenzo’s body. “This is what will happen to anyone who seeks to hurt me, my family, or my queen.” I take Sophia’s trembling hand in mine as Lorenzo’s mistress starts to scream, blood streaking her dress. “This wedding is adjourned.” I motion for Dante to open the door so the guests can leave.
Most of them hurry out, though a couple of the other family heads don’t rush. They’ve seen this sort of violence and know that Lorenzo was out of line. Even so, they cast me sidelong glances. I grin back at them. Marco stays, his eyes on Lorenzo. The kid might be trouble. Only time will tell. But he has my protection, and I won’t break my word to Sophia.
Once the room is clear, I scoop my bride into my arms and carry her up the stairs. If she wants to mourn her mother, we will. If she wants to talk about our future and what Lorenzo’s death will mean, we will. But only after I’ve claimed her in every way that matters.
