Page 21 of Silent Vows

“That’s enough.” His voice is still razor-sharp, and my whole body reacts to his presence before I even turn to look at him.

He fills the doorway in his wedding tuxedo, and for a moment I forget how to breathe. The custom Tom Ford fits him like sin, emphasizing broad shoulders and narrow hips. His darkhair is styled just so, the silver at his temples catching the light. But it’s his face that undoes me—those steel-blue eyes intense as they lock onto mine, his jaw shadowed with just enough stubble to remind me how it felt against my neck last night.

He looks dangerous and devastating and entirely too attractive for my peace of mind.

“Leave us. Now.”

“But it’s tradition for the groom to not—” my mother starts to say but Matteo’s sharp glare stops her in her tracks.

“I said leave us.Now.”

The room clears instantly at his command, leaving me alone with my soon-to-be husband. I rise from the vanity, acutely conscious of being in only a silk robe with my hair half done. His eyes trace over me, and I feel each look like a physical touch.

“What was she talking about?” I demand, proud that my voice doesn’t shake despite my racing heart. “What don’t I know about Sophia?”

Matteo’s jaw clenches as he looks at me. His eyes catch on the pendant around my neck, softening slightly. “Not now, Isabella.”

“Yes, now. Before I walk down that aisle, I need the truth.” I step closer, drawn to him despite my anger, despite my fear. His cologne wraps around me—that familiar mix of spice and danger that makes my head spin.

He moves closer too, reaching out to touch the pendant where it rests against my collarbone. The brush of his fingers against my skin sends electricity shooting through me. “The truth is complicated.”

“Then uncomplicate it.” Why does he always talk in riddles? Why does he have to be so infuriatingly controlled when I feel like I’m falling apart?

His hand slides up to cup my cheek, and despite everything—all the secrets, all the lies, all the danger—I lean into histouch. My body is a traitor, craving his contact even as my mind screams for answers.

“The truth is, I’ll tell you everything tonight. After you’re my wife. After you’re safe.”

“Safe from what?” My heart thuds against my ribs, though whether from his proximity, his touch, or the warning in his words, I’m not sure.

“From making a decision that will get you killed.” His voice roughens as his thumb traces my cheekbone. This close, I can see the flecks of gray in his eyes, count every dark eyelash. “The Calabrese family has people inside the church. If you don’t go through with this wedding…”

The threat hangs in the air between us. I close my eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand on my cheek, the weight of the pendant at my throat. Everything in me wants to lean forward those few inches, to taste his mouth again, to lose myself in the dark pleasure I know he can provide.

Instead, I force myself to focus. “Fine,” I whisper. “Tonight then. But I want all of it, Matteo. Every dark truth, every secret. Or this marriage won’t last until morning.”

His thumb traces my bottom lip, and my breath catches at the intimate gesture. I want him to kiss me so badly it hurts. Want to forget about secrets and lies and just lose myself in the heat that always flares between us.

“Wear your hair down,” he murmurs, his voice like gravel. “You look beautiful with it down.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me alone with my reflection and the haunting certainty that I’m about to marry a man I’m not sure I can trust—but one I’m increasingly sure I want anyway. The worst part? I’m not sure which scares me more—the secrets he’s keeping or how much I want him despite them.

In less than four hours, I’ll walk down that aisle alone. No father to give me away, no dreams of true love to sustainme. Just political alliances, death threats, and this maddening attraction to a man who deals in secrets and shadows.

Some wedding day.

10

MATTEO

The cathedral falls silent as the doors open. St. Patrick’s soars above us, all Gothic arches and stained glass, the same space where we said goodbye to Giovanni just yesterday. The scent of funeral lilies still lingers beneath today’s roses, a reminder that’s almost too pointed to bear. My best friend should be here, standing beside me as I marry his daughter. Instead, his ghost haunts every shadow, every whispered prayer.

Yesterday, this church held his casket. Today, it will witness his daughter becoming my wife. The irony isn’t lost on me, nor on the hundreds of calculating eyes watching from the pews.

Every major family in New York fills the ancient wooden seats, the women dripping in jewels, the men in custom suits that barely conceal their weapons. The Russo family takes up the first three rows on the bride’s side, their red roses marking their territory. The Calabreses sit opposite, white lilies their signature. Behind them, the Marconis with their yellow orchids, the Vitellis with white gardenias. A garden of allegiances and threats, all perfectly arranged.

I catch Johnny Calabrese’s smirk from the third row, and it takes everything in me not to order his death right here in God’s house. He looks exactly as he did last night, when he showed up at my gates with his threats thinly veiled as congratulations.

“I just wanted to offer my best wishes,” he’d said, that snake’s smile in place. “After all, we both know how…fragile brides can be in our world.”

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