This was real.
This was happening.
I was about to become the wife of the Devil of Shadows, bound to him in a way that no ceremony or vow could ever truly capture.
The priest stood tall with gray hair and an aging face lined with life experience and a sense of duty. His expression was serious, and his eyes seemed to carry a weight beyond his years.
I glanced down at the priest’s hands and my eyes widened in shock.
In one hand he held a worn Bible. Its pages were dog-eared and stained with use.
But in the other hand, he gripped a large knife with a chilling ease. The blade was old and ornate, its hilt adorned with a precious stone.
Why does he have that?
As my gaze locked onto the knife, my heart hammered against my ribcage.
A lump began to form in my throat, cutting off any words I might have spoken. My palms were clammy within the lace gloves that felt more like shackles than adornments.
So many questions spun in my head.
Why did he have a freaking knife at the altar?
And what did he intend to do with it?
My heart raced with fear and confusion.
Gianni must have noticed my unease because he gently grabbed my hand and squeezed it tenderly, pulling me back into the present.
I gazed at Gianni—the man that would soon be my new husband.
What would it feel like to be touched by him?
To be claimed by a man whose hands had not just delivered unspeakable pain to Vito, but promised me pleasure by those same hands?
I’ll know soon enough.
I swallowed.
The priest cleared his throat.
When he finally began, his words were familiar, the traditional vows of love and loyalty, but there was something else woven into them—something darker.
“Gianni Fortunato,” the priest said, “do you take this woman, Erica Isabella Giordano, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To protect her with your life, to shield her from all harm, and to bind her to you with the blood of your enemies?”
I blinked.
With the blood of what now?
Gianni’s voice was low and firm. “I do, and I will spill every last drop.”
Umm. . .I am not a devout Christan, but I know this is not in the Bible.
“And you, Erica,” the priest turned his gaze to me, “do you take this man, Gianni Amadeo Fortunato, to be your lawfully wedded husband? To stand by his side, to honor him, and to accept the blood that will be spilled in your name?”
Oh my God. Can we not spill anymore blood in my name?
Stunned, I stood there with my mouth open.
