Smiling at her, I say, “Day of the dead, here we come.”
Chapter Eleven
Raphael
Standing under the arch at the back of the Chavez estate, the autumn air is crisp and carries the faint smell of smoke from the torches lining the pathway. My suit is tight, the jacket heavy on my shoulders, but I barely notice. My attention is elsewhere—on the arch, the decorations, the little touches I’m sure Hector Chavez insisted on. Pumpkins carved with grins too wide, cobwebs stretching between posts, black and orange ribbons fluttering in the wind. I can’t help thinking it’s a bit morbid having a Halloween-themed wedding arch. Maybe it’s fitting, given Sophia doesn’t want this and I’ve killed more people for my family and power than I care to think about. Or maybe it’s a warning. Touched by death, all the time. Maybe this is the life I’m going into will be worse.
Gabriel is beside me, acting as my best man. His presence is solid, familiar and steady. I glance at him. He’s trying not to look nervous, but the twitch in his jaw tells me he is. I reach over and tap his shoulder. He nods, tightening his fists at his sides, in a silent acknowledgment. He’s worried, we all are but so far, everything has been quiet.
The crowd is seated, a scattering of familiar faces and strangers alike, all waiting, all watching. The absence of the Russians is still heavy in my chest. My men, Antonio’s men,everyone has combed the property. The only anomaly was the Chavez family’s dead security detail at the back gate—but even they were replaced quickly. Their bodies are gone, but the memory lingers. Was this a test? A way to see if we could breach the Chavez estate without being caught? If so, they failed. Every perimeter, every blind spot, every patrol accounted for. We are prepared.
I swallow, my throat tight, but I don’t let it show. I won’t. Not now. Not here.
A ripple of movement catches my attention. Maria appears at the end of the aisle, her heels clicking softly against the stone, her frame in the shadows of the torches. The wedding music starts, a slow, haunting melody that sets the pace of the day. My heart kicks in rhythm with it.
As she gets closer, she raises her face. The painted mask of Day of the Dead colors her skin in stark whites and blacks, reds and golds. It’s beautiful. Morbid, like the arch. Like this wedding, like this life. But still… beautiful.
Then my eyes find her—Sophia. Her father walking beside her, his hand firm on her elbow, his face unreadable, but I can see the anger as he escorts his only daughter who is not dressed to his liking, I’m sure. A collective gasp goes through the crowd, but I don’t hear it. I see her. And she looks like the day we met. Painted, defiant. Bold. Eyes holding mine.
I smile, a spark of hope igniting in my chest. I want her. Not just a wife who obeys, who submits, who follows. No. I want a partner. Someone who will fight, who will argue, who will challenge me every step of the way. And she will. I feel it, in the tilt of her chin, in the fire in her eyes and her painted face.
She reaches the arch, her father stepping back, leaving her standing there like a queen of some dark kingdom. She is mine, and yet, she’s unclaimed. Untouchable. Perfect in every imperfection.
The priest clears his throat. “We are gathered here today—” He pauses, glances at me, at Gabriel, then at Sophia. Standard wedding fare, but it falls flat against the tension in the air, against the pulse in my veins.
“Do you, Raphael, take Sophia to be your lawfully wedded wife?” His question hangs heavy in the night air.
“Yes,” I say, voice low but firm. My eyes never leave hers.
“And do you, Sophia, take Raphael to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Her voice comes steady, despite the crowd, despite everything. “Yes.”
A breeze picks up, carrying with it the smell of damp leaves, smoke, and candles. The torches flicker, shadows dancing across Sophia’s face. Her painted mask makes her look untouchable. Fierce. Dangerous. I want that. I want all of it.
The priest holds out the small, black velvet box with the rings. “These rings,” he says, voice carrying across the quiet estate, “are a symbol of your eternal love. As you exchange them, let everyone here witness the bond you are creating, a circle unbroken, unending, and true.”
My eyes drop to the rings, then back to her. She takes the box in her hands, her fingers brushing mine, and I feel the tremor before I see it. Her hand shakes as she lifts my ring, eyes wide beneath the painted mask.
I reach for her hand, steadying her. “Hey,” I murmur softly. “Take your time. You’ve got this.”
She swallows, breath hitching, and I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers clutch the ring. I slide my hand under hers, guiding her gently, until the ring slips perfectly onto my finger. Her grip lingers on mine, hesitant, and I offer a small, reassuring smile.
“See?” I whisper, voice low, almost private in the midst of all the eyes. “Perfect.”
Her eyes meet mine, unmasked and defiant, and I nod, a spark of pride and something warmer, deeper, igniting in my chest. She smiles beneath the paint, and I can’t help the small grin tugging at my lips.
Now it’s my turn. I take the ring from the box, holding it between thumb and forefinger. Her hand rises, slightly trembling, as I slide the band onto her finger. She catches her breath as I ease it over her knuckle, adjusting it until it fits snugly, perfectly. I press her hand gently in mine, letting her feel the reassurance in my grip.
“There,” I murmur. “You’re mine and I’m yours.”
Her fingers curl slightly around mine, warm and strong despite the situation. I pull her hand to my chest, holding it there for a moment, and I know, without a doubt, that this is not just a promise of a day, a night, or a lifetime. This is a promise of fire, of partnership, of love unyielding.
“By the power vested in me,” the priest continues, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Taking her hand in mine fully, I lift it slightly, feeling the weight of the moment. She leans into me, confident now, strong, and I know this isn’t about submission. This is about partnership. About fire, about trust, about two people choosing each other fiercely, against the world.
Taking a deep breath, I lower my forehead to hers, feeling the tension release just a fraction. A spark of laughter threatens to break free, and I fight it down, wanting to stay composed. But inside, I’m alive.
