Page 63 of Of Vows and Betrayal

“She’s mine,” I say with conviction.

“And what makes her yours?”

I know how the Mafia considers virginity, and despite the antiquated ways, it will work in my favor. “I took her innocence.” The words hang in the air, a deliberate challenge, knowing full well how much weight they carry in our world.

He nods. “Still, what do I have to gain in this, huh? You have to admit it’s much more than a simple favor.”

“I’m not a fool to try and pull this one off alone; you will have to claim me as being under your protection.”

“True…”

“Then you’ll be owed favors, and we both know having Synco on your side is worth so much more than you’re ready to admit.”

“What do you want exactly?”

“Her, I just want her.”

He looks at me for a few seconds. “I’ll be owed favors,specific amount to be determined later.”

“I know.”

He nods. “Where are they getting married?”

“I don’t know.”

“And when is it happening?”

“I don’t know.”

He lets out a huff of irritation. “You’re not going to make it easy for me, are you?”

I shrug.

He picks up the phone. “Theodora, I need the date and place of a marriage—Catholic.” He rolls his eyes. “Carmine and Bergotti.” He sighs. “Yes, I’ll speak to Leo, and I need that now, Theodora, not in an hour… now.”

He puts his hand over the mouthpiece and speaks to me. “You’re lucky that Carmine is old-fashioned—he’ll want to do the religious ceremony first. Theodora works for the diocese. We’ll know in—” He stops talking. “Yes? Perfect. Thanks as always. I’ll have a case of Sassicaia sent to your house.” He hangs up, and I stop breathing.

“The Carmine Bergotti wedding will be held behind closed doors at the St. Lucia Chapel.”

I still can’t believe this is really happening. Hearing the confirmation feels like a betrayal, even if I have no right to feel that way.

“When?”

He looks at his watch and stands up. “Now. Come on, let’s go.”

I leap from my seat, a cold dread settling in my stomach. I’m already afraid it’s too late.

The irony isn’t lost on me. The vendetta that began on the steps of a church will find its climax within one.

Chapter 16

Ophelia

Ithink I’m in shock—a kind of weird shock that leaves you numb and lets you go through the motions like a robot because it’s the only way I can explain standing in the small preparation room in a ridiculously old-fashioned lace wedding dress that’s so tight around my middle, I can’t take a full breath.

The dress is a mockery of what this day should be—white lace and frills, the embodiment of innocence and joy, but on me, it feels like a shroud. My movements are stiff, mechanical, each step a forced action devoid of any real purpose or emotion. The mirror reflects a stranger, a porcelain doll dressed for a macabre display. My hair is pinned up in elaborate curls, my face painted with makeup that feels like a mask.

I glance over at my father, sitting grimly in the corner of the room. He looks like he’s attending a funeral rather than a wedding, and it’s quite fitting. His eyes are hollow, his face pale and drawn, as if the life has been sucked out of him. The room is heavy with silence, the kind that presses down on you, making ithard to breathe.

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