Page 216 of SINS & Riley
Because for once, there’s no trap. No fight. No beast to outrun.
Why would I outrun him?
He’s loved me the way no one else ever could—taking every scar, every flaw, and lifting them so high they burn like stars against the darkest night.
I’m done running.
Now, I’m flying—out of the darkness, into the light.
Straight into the arms of the only man I will ever love.
76
DANTE
The world falls still. Sunset spills gold over Enzo and Kennedy’s estate as Father Marc begins. “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise.”
Just over the hill, I catch sight of the half-built eye-sore. A monstrosity that’s blissfully quiet for once. Four weeks of relentless hammering silenced, but only for today.
Because in ten months, when the dust finally clears, Riley and Kennedy will be living their forever-afters side by side.
Both women insisted that the yards connect, so they do, with rose-lined paths threading all along the way. There are orchards and gardens, and a pool. There’s even a spot carved into the hillside for Dominic and his brood.
Pom gave me back my father. So what my wife wants, she gets. She has visions of toddlers tearing barefoot across the grass, laughter spilling wild, Boris lumbering after them like a grizzly-sized teddy bear.
Yeah, there’s a reason she has that vision. All she has to do is look around.
Misha struts down the aisle like he owns it, Truffles trotting at his side in a matching tux. Then comes Princess Katya—gown, fairy wings, the whole nine yards. She scatters rose petals with one hand and brandishes a sword with the other.
Pom takes the aisle, and I’m wrecked. I’ve been undone by this woman so many times, but in Ricardo’s Aphrodite slip dress? Fuck. I’m a prayer from falling to my knees.
This woman owns my heart, and it’s like we’ve always been destined. And I’m hanging on by control and sheer testosterone not to openly bawl when her hand finds mine.
Of course, she’s chosen an exquisite Shah Jahan’s Kard Dagger to cut it off with tonight.
The girl of my dreams, and she likes knives. If that’s not fate, I don’t know what is.
“Dearly beloved,” Father Marc begins, voice carrying into the hush. “We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
Her hand squeezes mine.
“If there is anyone here who objects, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Even with all my reassurances, Riley still flicks a glance at Seamus. Third row. Arms crossed. It doesn’t help that he’s stone-faced, like he’s posing for a mugshot.
“His daughter still hasn’t married a D’Angelo. Why would you invite him?” she’s asked three times a day, every day, for a week. Like the dutiful wife-to-be, when all else fails, use repetition.
For a heartbeat she waits. We all wait.
Any day now, Seamus.
Finally, his smile cracks wider, and he gives a single nod.
And just like that, my Pom exhales and relaxes.
Father Marc clears his throat, ready to move on, then stills again. The world halts at the tiniest sound. An interruption that ripples a hush through the entire crowd.
From the bundle in my arms, a soft little fuss rises and my heart fills with more joy I’ve never known.
