Page 62 of Third Degree

Tremors coursed through my hands as my father planted a kiss on my cheek before joining my mother. I went through the motions, following the steps laid out before me because the alternative was too daunting to fathom.

Then, with agonizing slowness, the man in the suit—the man I was destined to marry—finally pivoted to face me.

In an instant, recognition flooded through me. His features, sharp and distinguished, the interplay of salt and pepper in his hair, his towering and robust stature, and those piercing emerald-green eyes—it could only be him.

“Elio,” I whispered aloud, my words barely audible as the enormity of the situation struck me.

My eyes darted quickly next to Elio, and I realized the man next to him had also turned around. It was Alex, his youngest son. Now it made sense why Julian was here.

But… Elio?

“Rosa mia,” he murmured, moving closer to me. My gaze fixated on him, tunnel vision taking hold.

I struggled to process the overwhelming mix of emotions within me because, on the one hand, anger seared through my veins like a raging fire because he should have forewarned me that he was going to be the person I was supposed to marry.

How long had he known? Did he know at the wedding?

My breath started to become erratic as he moved toward me, and I shifted my eyes behind me. Why had I been kept in the dark for the last couple of months? No one said anything.

My lungs seized, grasping for air.

This had to be a sick joke. This was a fucking wildly sick joke that someone was playing on me.

I was about to become a runaway bride when I heard my father yelling from where he stood among the wedding guests, and my mother’s shrill cry broke through an otherwise deathly quiet ceremony space. Even the music had stopped.

“Why in the fuck is that lying sack of shit standing up there?” My father, in his navy-blue suit, pulled his Glock from his waistband and quickly pointed it at Elio. He now stood between Elio and me, so I was barricaded from going any closer.

“Papa!” I screamed.

Talk about hard to process; this was becoming far too much, but now it was sort of clicking. My father hadn’t known what was going to happen.

“You lying, double-crossing rats,” my father spat in Elio’s direction, and the officiant also drew his gun and pointed it at my father.

Well, at least this was exactly how I had always imagined a Mafia princess wedding would go. A dream wedding it was not, but an entertaining one it would be.

The officiant spoke up. “Nobody lied to you, Angelo.” He held his gun up as if he was trying to make peace.

“You did. You said thathewas going to marry her. He is the eligible bachelor.”

I looked over at who my dad was pointing to and saw Julian and Alex with their weapons pointed at my father.

Ah, this made much more sense. My father held a grudge like you wouldn’t believe, so there was no way he was going to ever let me marry Elio after what happened over a decade ago. He thought he was marrying me off to Alex Marchetti to cross some t’s and dot some i’s.

Thank fucking God he wasn’t because that would have been a story I had no desire to tell Chelsea either, and also… ew, because Alex was a dick.

“You didn’t know?” I calmly tried to put my hand on my dad’s shoulder, but he shot me a death stare.

He peered quickly at all the family among the wedding guests, and I looked to see what he was staring at. Most of the men on my side also had their weapons raised and pointed at Elio.

Fuck, I needed to defuse this situation. This wasn’t going to end well… for anyone.

“Hey, Papa.” I grabbed my dad’s shoulder again and tried to take another step forward, but the stupid dress was getting in the way.

“Do not come near me, Gianna,” he growled back at me, and the intensity in his tone made me want to step back away from him.

“Do. Not. Speak. To. My. Future. Wife”—Elio lifted another gun from his waistband and pointed it at my father’s forehead before glancing back at me—“like that ever again.”

“She isn’t yours,” my father quipped back, and I knew immediately once those words left his mouth that my father would regret it.

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