Page 22 of Twisted Vows

Ari’s eyes never leave mine. There’s no softness in her gaze, no hint of submission. She’s holding her ground, making it clear that this ring doesn’t mean ownership.

She recites her vows next in a clear, steady voice. There’s an edge to the words falling from her lips. A warning. Or a declaration that she won’t be easily controlled.

Good for her. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

I watch her slide the heavy gold band onto my finger and notice that the crowd, once silent, begins to hum with energy.

I glance out at the sea of faces. Some are relieved, and some are suspicious. My grip on Ari’s hand tightens. This is our moment, and I won’t let anyone doubt the union.

The officiant’s voice rings out, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Ari’s hand is warm in mine, her pulse steady beneath my fingers. She might not want this, but she’s not backing down either.

The officiant’s voice fades into the background, the words“husband and wife”still hanging in the air. It’s done. The marriage is sealed and now comes the final gesture. The crowd waits for it, the tension palpable.

I step forward, closing the distance between us. The warmth of her body brushes against me, and my heart does something it’s never done. There’s the faintest hitch in her breath as I tilt her chin with a firm but gentle hand.

The kiss is meant to be nothing more than a statement—a mark. But the moment our lips meet, there’s a heat I only suspected was possible.

And for a second, I want more than the power this marriage brings.

Ari holds still, her lips unmoving at first, but then I feel the slightest shift. She kisses me back. Probably not because she wants to, but because she refuses to be the one to break first.

Something cracks open and when I pull back, the world snaps back into focus. The crowd erupts into polite applause, a ripple of approval sweeps through the guests. But I’m not listening to them. I’m watching her. Her chest rises and falls faster than before, and her lips are still parted, flushed from the kiss.

I slide her arm through mine. It’s a symbolic gesture that makes it clear to everyone watching—she’s mine now.

Ari shifts closer, and I notice she’s looking directly at the men. She’s not bothering with the demure Mafia princess act. No way. My wife is looking the monsters in the eye, so they know she won’t go down without a fight.

I lead her down the aisle, feeling her grip on my arm tighten. The sea breeze carries the scent of salt and flowers, but beneath it all, I feel the pulse of the power dynamics shifting.

This isn’t just a wedding. This is a declaration.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Every inch a queen.

Ari

Maxsim’s fingers curl around mine as we stride toward the library at the far end of the hall.

It’s done.

And it’s clear that more people want to see this union fail than succeed. Which means that if I want to see my next birthday, I should find a way to make this marriage work.

I follow my new husband into the room and watch the men who trail him everywhere wait outside the door. “If the guests mean to do it, they should just get it over with.”

“Don’t tempt the gods, Ari. Too many people would love to start a war and make this a red wedding.”

“Saying the quiet part out loud won’t change the inevitable.” I slide my hand out of his and step back. “The Bratva and Cosa Nostra will not begin playing well together just because we got married.”

“If they want to survive, they better learn to share the battlefield or face extinction.” He closes the space I created. “What scent are you wearing?”

“Cherry Smoke by Tom Ford.” I shift from one foot to the other. “I don’t wear it often because not everyone deserves it.”

“But I do?” he asks with a smile, straightening the rings on my finger. “Your one true love.”

“Already casting yourself as Prince Charming?” I smirk. “How did I miss your Disney Prince fetish?”

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