Page 37 of Luciano

Everything was exactly as I had imagined when I was sixteen and still believed in fairytales.

Rows of pretty black chairs were filled with people, about two hundred—some I recognized, many I didn’t. The pews were a sea of power and danger, a mix of the city’s elite and the underworld. The mayor sat in the front row, his polished smile at odds with the tension in his shoulders. He didn’t want to be there—or maybe he did and just felt like the sheep he was, amongst the wolves. Beside him, men in expensive suits with cold eyes and colder smiles—Vito’s associates, his soldiers, his empire. They were all here, a reminder that this wasn’t just a wedding; it was a statement.

And at the center of it all, Vito Genovese.

His expression was neutral, but I could see the arrogance beneath it. My hands curled into fists at my sides. One day, me and him were going to have a reckoning, and either I’d be dead, or he would.

There was no in-between.

I forced myself to look away.

Beyond the strangers, beyond the men who had built their empires on violence, I saw them.

My cousins.

Dre and Dewanda were there.

Their eyes volleyed between me and Luciano. I could see what the hell written all over their faces. They wanted to know when all of this happened.

“I invited them,” Luciano answered my unasked question.

This was the type of power he was talking about—where you could invite the family of the bride you were forcing to marry you and weren’t afraid of any backlash.

I nodded. A priest was less than a foot in front of us.

This was happening.

I was marrying Luciano.

At the altar, a man equally as handsome and tatted up as Luciano took a place beside him.

Luciano gripped my chin, bringing my attention to him.

His green eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

The priest spoke some words I didn’t hear.

Then, Luciano spoke.

“I have thought about this moment for years,” he admitted. “I have imagined the variables, the possibilities. I have tried to calculate what this would feel like. But there is no formula for this. No logical equation that can define what you are to me.”

His grip on my fingers tightened, just slightly.

“I’m not a gentle man. But I’ll kill for you. Die for you. That’s all I know how to do. I will not lie to you. I will not abandon you. I will not be anything other than what I am. And what I am… is yours.”

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I exhaled.

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering.

His vows were…

They weren’t romantic in the traditional sense. They weren’t poetic or flowery. But they felt like him and I felt them.

I hadn’t prepared anything to say.

I had expected to stand here, go through the motions, accept my fate.

But now, standing in front of him, something in me made me want to speak.

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