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The ceremony is much bigger than I would ever have imagined for myself, given where my family is in the hierarchy of this city. But Declan is the head of the Irish mob, and Cormac is his right hand. We're going to be married at Holy Name Cathedral, in front of hundreds of eyes.

I think the nerves are going to kill me on the ride over. Katya is silent. My father looks pale and grim. My brother won't look me in the eye, and my mother is nervous and fidgety. Everything about this feels wrong.

But then, the doors open, and I see Cormac standing at the end of the aisle as the music swells. My breath catches in my throat.

He's wearing a dark grey suit, perfectly tailored, his broad shoulders filling out the jacket, his hands clasped in front of him. His hair is styled, his jaw freshly shaved, and when he sees me, his entire face is transformed with a look that I can't describe as anything but pure, unguarded love.

He loves me. I can see it all over his face. And I'm going to destroy him.

The ceremony itself is a blur. I hear the priest's words, but they don't register. I feel Cormac's hands holding mine, his grip warm and steady, and I force myself to look into his eyes as I repeat the vows.

"I, Oksana, take you, Cormac, to be my lawfully 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 us part."

I feel sick to my stomach with every word. It only gets worse when Cormac says his vows steadily and earnestly, his fingers around mine, his eyes locked on my face as he repeats the words. "I, Cormac, take you, Oksana, to be my lawfully wedded wife. 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 us part."

He means every word. I wish I did.

When the priest pronounces us husband and wife, Cormac cups my face in his hands and kisses me, slow and deep, his arm around my waist pulling me into him. I let myself kiss him back, pouring everything I can't say into that kiss. I love you. I'm sorry. I wish this was real.

The reception is just as large and elegant, held in a ballroom in one of the city's luxury hotels. Everyone drinks and enjoys the elaborate food, while I nibble at it and try not to have to run off to throw up. Cormac and I cut the cake. We have our first dance together. And through it all, he looks elated, a man wholly in love who's been handed a gift he never expected to have.

The thought of how I'm going to crush him feels as if it's going to crush me before I even get that far.

He thinks this is the beginning of our life together. He doesn't know it's the beginning of the end of everything, for him.

—

Our honeymoon suite is gorgeous, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Chicago skyline, a king-sized bed with crisp white linens, and a marble bathroom with a soaking tub big enough for two. Cormac carries me over the threshold, sweeping me into his arms the moment he opens the door, and despite everything, I can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. My arms wrap around his neck, and I press my face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne as that small moment of merriment immediately dims and vanishes in the wake of the reality of what's happened.

I'm married. We're married. I'm his wife.

He kisses me the moment he sets me down, his mouth soft and eager. "Mrs. Murphy," he murmurs against my lips, and I can hear the smile in his voice. He pulls me closer, groaning, and I can feel that he's already hard, pressing against my thigh through the silk of my dress.

We kiss for a long time, standing in the middle of the suite, his hands roaming over my body. He's taking his time, I can tell, but I can also tell how much he wants me. He walks me back toward the bed, his fingers running over the buttons of my gown, and my heart starts to race.

I can't let him touch me tonight. Not like this. I can't do it. This is supposed to be our wedding night, and all the lies of the day feel like they're crushing me. I can't get into that bed with him and pretend everything is fine. I'll cry, or be sick… I can't do it. Everyone has their limit, and I can feel that I've just hit mine. For tonight, at least.

"Cormac," I say softly, pulling back. "I—I don't feel well."

He frowns, his hands immediately moving to cup my face, his eyes searching mine with concern. "What's wrong? Are you okay? Is it the baby?"

"I think so," I lie, pressing a hand to my stomach. "I just—I feel nauseous. And tired. It's been a long day."

"Of course." He kisses my forehead, his touch gentle. "You should rest. Let me help you out of this dress."

He turns me, his hands going from eager to businesslike as he undoes them in a neat row. He doesn't linger on my spine or caress my hips or shoulders as he helps me out of it. He's careful not to touch me in any way that might make me think he expects something despite how I feel.

My eyes burn. He's a good man. I don't care what he does for the mafia, what crimes he's committed that have the FBI on his tail. He's good, and I'm going to ruin him.

It just makes me feel, more than ever, that I can't go to bed with him tonight. I can't pretend, not this.

He hands me one of the hotel robes, and I wrap it around myself, grateful to be covered. I see him glance toward me, briefly, as I put it on, catching a glimpse of me in the satin bralette and thong panties I wore beneath my dress, in delicate white bridal lace and satin for tonight. I see his jaw twitch, see him try to surreptitiously adjust his erection as he looks away.

"Do you want me to run you a bath?" he asks, his voice soft with concern.

"No, I just—I think I need to lie down."

"Okay." He guides me to the bed, pulling back the covers and helping me slide beneath them. He tucks the blankets around me, then sits on the edge of the mattress, his hand resting on my hip. "Do you need anything? Water? Crackers?"