Page 16 of Savage Vows
He’s too pleased with himself.
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to distract me or provoke me,” I say.
“Yes,” he replies.
I close the TV. Serrano’s arrest is yesterday’s mess now. The kind that doesn’t go away, just drifts beneath the surface until it claws back up at the worst possible time.
But Liam doesn’t care. He never has.
“You got everything?” he asks. “Suit, vows, that cold emotional wall you wear to every family event?”
I stand, stretch once, and roll my sleeves down. “I’m not doing vows.”
Liam pretends to gasp. “No heartfelt declarations? No promises to cherish and honor?”
“She’s not here to be cherished.”
He goes quiet for a second. That’s rare.
Then he nods slowly. “Right.”
I walk past him toward the bathroom. “We leave in an hour. Try not to be late.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he calls after me. “I wouldn’t miss this disaster for the world.”
The door swings shut behind Liam and the room falls silent again, thick with the kind of tension you can’t shake off with a shower or a drink. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, the hard set of my jaw, the dark stubble I didn’t bother to shave this morning. The suit hangs on the hook behind me, expensive fabric, the color chosen by someone else.
There’s a heaviness in my chest that I refuse to call nerves. Nerves are for people who have something to lose. All I have is obligation—old grudges, fresh debts, the weight of my father’s shadow long after I stopped believing I owed him anything.
I’m supposed to be grateful. That’s the word they used when they called last night—You should be grateful, Dante. She’s more than you deserve.Maybe that’s true. Maybe it isn’t. In the end, none of that matters. This isn’t about her. Not really. It’s about the deal, the name, the family, the future that’s been mapped out for us since before she even knew my name.
I turn on the faucet and splash cold water over my face, let it sting, then stare at the drops on my skin until they disappear. There’s nothing sentimental in me for what’s about to happen. No room for regret or hope or the kind of tenderness people write songs about. I button my shirt, knot the tie, drag the jacket on over my shoulders, and check the lines in the mirror.
I look like a groom. Maybe even a husband. But inside, there’s nothing warm. Only the resolve to see it through.
A phone buzzes in the other room. I let it ring.
Today, everything changes for Julianne. For her family. For mine.
For me, it’s just another day of doing what needs to be done.
I slip on the cuff links, the last detail, silver and heavy with the old family crest. One more tradition for the crowd. I move without thinking, the same way I did when I used to pack for missions. Mechanical. Efficient. No hesitation. Just forward.
When I walk out, Liam’s already downstairs, sitting on the armrest of the couch, scrolling through his phone.
He glances up. “You look like a man headed to a funeral.”
“Yours, if you keep talking.”
He smirks. “That’s the spirit.”
I pick up the watch on the table and fasten it without looking at him. “Car’s waiting?”
“Driver’s outside. Cathedral’s locked down tight. Press haven’t sniffed it yet, but they will.”
“They can try,” I say.
The cathedral rises out of the morning mist, ancient stone flanked by black iron gates and towering windows that catch the weak sun. Stained glass throws color across the steps, but inside, the light is pale, thin as ice.
