Page 56 of Sinful Bride

It’s Declan's voice. I take a deep breath, smooth down the front of my dress, and open the door. He's standing in the hallway, dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, though he still looks uncomfortable wearing it. His copper hair is styled back from his face, and he's clean-shaven. He looks good.

His eyes widen slightly when he sees me. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." My voice comes out cool and distant, and he notices. I can see it in the way his expression becomes more guarded.

"The car's waiting downstairs whenever you're ready."

"I'm ready now."

We ride the elevator down in silence. The air between us is thick with tension, but it's different from before, more uncertain. Like we're both trying to figure out where we stand with each other now.

The car is waiting at the curb, a sleek black town car with a driver who opens the door for us without a word. I slide into the back seat, and Declan follows, settling in beside me but keeping a careful distance between us. The driver pulls away from the curb, and we head toward the venue in silence.

I stare out the window, watching the city slide past. The buildings are lit up against the darkening sky, their windows glowing like stars. It's beautiful in a cold, distant way, like everything else in my life.

"Elena."

I turn to look at Declan. He's watching me with an expression I can't quite read. "I meant what I said this morning," he says quietly. "About being sorry, and it not happening again."

"I know." The words come out before I can think about whether I want to acknowledge his apology or not.

He looks surprised. "You do?"

"Yes." I turn back to the window. "I don't forgive you. But I believe you."

There's a long pause. "That's fair."

We lapse back into silence, but it's less tense now. After a few minutes, I find myself speaking again. "The man at your meeting yesterday. Dante Moretti."

Declan's posture becomes more alert. "What about him?"

"Where did he come from?"

"He approached me not long ago and said he wanted to work for me instead of the Capettis." Declan's voice is careful. "He said he believed in my way of doing things. That he was tired of the old methods."

"And you believed him?"

"I wanted to believe him." He turns to look at me. "Why? Do you know him?"

"I've seen him around." I choose my words carefully. "He's been with my family for years. Mid-level guy. Competent but not particularly ambitious."

"So why would he defect?"

"That's what I'm wondering." I turn to face him. "Something about this doesn't feel right, Declan. Even if he's sincere, even if he genuinely believes in your approach, poaching one of my father's men is going to escalate tensions, not de-escalate them."

His jaw tightens. "I need people around me who believe in my capabilities. Who respect me."

The implication hangs in the air between us. Unlike you.

"I understand this world better than you do," I say, keeping my voice level. "I was born into it. I've been navigating it my entire life. And I'm telling you that something about Dante Moretti doesn't add up."

"You're a Capetti." His voice goes cold. "Why would I trust your judgment about one of your family's men?"

The words hit like a slap. "I'm your wife."

"Are you?" He turns to look at me, and there's something hard in his eyes that makes my stomach drop. "Because last I checked, we never consummated the marriage. Which means you're still at least somewhat a Capetti."

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. I stare at him, trying to process what he just said and the implication behind it.