Page 21 of His to Destroy

This is survival.

A merging of names. A protective contract dressed in ivory and steel. One that would secure my son’s protection, and a leg up the ladder for Gaspare.

Luca is escorted by one of Gaspare’s man to a seat, one that is positioned in such a way that it will always be my view at all times as I take my vows. As if to remind me of the reason I’m doing this so I don’t bolt off at the last minute.

When I reach him, he extends his hand. I place mine into his, cool and clammy. He squeezes gently. My fingers twitch.

Not until his thumb brushes my knuckle do I feel something shift.

The officiant begins.

He doesn’t ask if we love each other.

He doesn’t speak of joy or romance.

He speaks of honor. Loyalty. Alliance. Legacy.

Everything this marriage is meant to symbolize.

“Do you, Gaspare Colosimo, take this woman—”

“I do.”

His voice is steady. Strong. Quick. Eager.

Like he’s been waiting to say it.

“Do you, Almeria Spadafora, take this man—”

I look at him.

The man who once accused me of betrayal.

The man who left me to suffer alone in the dark.

And the man who returned—protective, persistent, and quietly broken.

“I do.”

It sounds like surrender.

And yet it feels like something more dangerous than that.

The kiss is expected.

Gaspare steps forward slowly, reverently. His fingers lift my veil with care. For a heartbeat, the air between us pulses with static.

His lips brush mine.

Soft and respectful.

But when he pulls back, his eyes are burning.

The reception is a battlefield dressed in crystal and champagne.

The ballroom is magnificent. Silver linens, towering cakes, waiters gliding like ghosts. Everyone claps. Everyone drinks. Everyone pretends this is a love story.

Gaspare never leaves my side. He’s composed, charming when needed, stoic when not. But he watches me constantly, like I might slip away if he looks elsewhere for too long.

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