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I look at her.

"Breathe."

"I'm trying."

She gives me a small smile.

“Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?”

She looks at me as though I’ve asked the most ridiculous question imaginable.

“What are you talking about? Of course we will. I’ll come visit you in Chicago. I’ll sneak out of Rome if I have to.”

A warm smile spreads across my face. I don’t doubt her for a second.

I close my eyes and try to take a slow, steady breath, inhaling deeply before exhaling. Then I do it again.

It doesn't help. Every mile we travel brings me closer to the church. Closer to Roman. Closer to becoming his wife. The knot in my stomach only grows tighter.

Nearly forty minutes later, the convoy slows. I open my eyes. The cathedral comes into view.

It's one of the largest in Rome, its towering stone façade reaching toward the sky with breathtaking grandeur.

Today, however, it looks even more magnificent. The entire exterior has been transformed for the wedding, with cascading arrangements of white roses, ivory peonies, and lush greenery framing the grand entrance.

Long swaths of white fabric drape elegantly between the stone columns.

I remember Papa insisting on paying for the wedding. Roman refused and insisted on covering every expense himself. Judging by the decor, this must have cost a small fortune.

Outside, photographers remain behind the barricades while guests continue filtering through the massive cathedral doors. Luxury cars line the street as far as I can see.

I inhale deeply. One more attempt to steady myself.

The chauffeur opens my door, and I step out carefully, mindful of my dress.

Papa is already waiting. He walks over and takes my arm. His gaze sweeps over me, a disapproving frown settling on his face before he leans in closer.

"Smile. Look alive."

I ignore him. He lets out a quiet sigh but says nothing more. If we were home, I’m sure he would’ve backhanded me for disobeying him.

The cathedral doors slowly begin to open, and the first notes of Here Comes the Bride echo through the enormous space.

Every muscle in my body tightens as Papa guides me forward.

The moment we step inside, everyone is on their feet. Hundreds of faces turn toward us.

The cathedral is filled to capacity. Rows upon rows of guests stretch before me.

I don't know half of these people. They're politicians, businessmen, capos, crime bosses. Powerful figures from the Italian Mafia and the Bratva.

I feel their eyes following every step I take. Some smile politely. Others simply observe.

I notice how some of the women are staring at me with expressions I can't quite place. Some seem curious. Others… with unmistakable jealousy, as though they can’t believe I’m the woman Roman chose to marry.

Has Roman been with any of them? Does one of these women know what it feels like to be held by him? To be kissed by him? To share his bed?

The thought shouldn't bother me. Men in our world rarely belong to one woman. Mistresses are expected. I've known that my entire life.