ella

and delicate lace, but as it clung to my skin, it felt like a beautiful, heavy shroud. The bridal suite w

y against the thick carpet. She reached out, her fingers wrapping tightly around my fre

, hovered near the door, her eyes red-rimmed as she adjusted my veil in silence.

the cathedral, my father

ht's ruined negotiations. Richard Griffin didn't offer a hug or an apology.

tment, and the title to your pink Bentley," he said, his voice hollow

on of my childhood shattered. I wasn't a beloved daughter walking down the aisle; I was

ur hands locked together in a death grip. Outside the tinted windows, the streets of Chicago had been entirely cleared. We were flanked by

l display of dominance meant to warn the Kramer family and th

cast fractured, bloody light across the cold marble floor. I walked down the

tar stood

me face. He didn't even bother to pretend he wanted to be here. Beside him stood the Don. Damien Moretti

ed mockingly in my mind: Whoever marries him is truly cursed. I looke

avy. I exchanged rings with Leo, the cold m

ered. The words

law and God, I wa

iately turned away from me, walking toward his smirking friends without a backward glance. A few feet away, Damien stepped fo

and toward the waiting cars that would take us to the Moretti E