Page 29 of Blood and Redemption

I’ll let them discover the similarities themselves.

Camellia’s hands grasp my arms, her grip warm and anchoring. “Thank you for coming,” she says, and there’s something fragile in her voice—like hope held too tightly might shatter it. “I hope you’ll be the one to introduce me to her.”

It’s almost jarring, this shift.

I remember her in fragments—shoulders hunched under the weight of our name, eyes shadowed with the same bitterness that twisted our mother’s face into something unrecognizable. Back then, the resemblance had been unbearable.

But now?

Now she stands tall, her smile unguarded, her joy so present it rewrites her entirely. This isn’t the ghost of our mother’s rage. This is just Camellia.

Something thick lodges in my throat. All I can do is nod.

This isn’t how I expected to see her, but now that I have, there’s no other way I want her to be.

13

Aurora

I’m nervous, but not for the reasons most people would expect.

Sure, I’ve already had a bunch of glances thrown my way, but I think for the most part, they’re looking at Ren. We’re two people who weren’t invited, and by the bounce of my brother’s knee, I can’t help but wonder if some of these people aren’t very fond of him.

Truthfully, I’m not worried about them. I’m worried about Rocco. I wish I could have joined him and helped him get through this challenging moment. Instead, I got stuck with Ren—another nervous wreck.

“I told him it was a bad idea to bring you,” he mutters, reading my thoughts with ease. “Even when I want to kill Rocco, I don’t have the strength to let him go somewhere that might lead to his death.”

Turning my attention toward the altar created with an arch made up of pretty flowers, I see the groom chatting up theofficiant. He’s been plucking at his wrist cuffs for a while now. He seems nervous despite the smirk on his face.

Would Rocco be the same if he were the one waiting for me? I try to imagine it, a big wedding and all.

I don’t think we’d have this many people here to celebrate, but that’s okay. I think I’d want something smaller, quieter. There are only so many people I’d want to see me in a wedding dress.

I feel like a freaking kid, dreaming about the future while getting all worked up. It makes my cheeks warm and my heart flutter in my chest.

“About time,” Ren grumbles under his breath.

Rocco returns with Eliza. While she goes to steal her husband away, he slides in next to me. Without much thought, his palm finds my thigh. One squeeze is all it takes for him to show that he’s alright.

My fingers drift across his knuckles, lingering over the scars and calluses before giving an answering press. “How did it go?”

“They’re good.” His voice is rougher than usual, throat working around the words. “Both of them. I think… they’re in good hands.” His brows knit together, that quiet protectiveness surfacing. “Camellia looked strong. She’ll be out soon—wants to meet you.”

“She’s not as terrifying as Eliza, I hope?” I tease, nudging his shoulder.

The chuckle that rumbles through him is warm as whiskey. “Opposite. You’ll adore her.”

Then his hand shifts, fingers threading through mine with a certainty that steals my breath. His thumb sweeps across my pulse point once—a promise, an anchor—and just like that, the waiting doesn’t feel so endless.

It’s hardly another ten minutes before the groom is straightening himself up and the flow of piano music swarms us.

Rocco’s grip tightens around mine as the bride appears—his sister—and for the first time since I’ve known him, the mafia don’s armor cracks.

A thousand emotions flood his eyes—pride, grief, wonder, all swirling together as she steps into view.

She’s breathtaking.

Sunlight glows in the chestnut ropes of her braided hair. The white silk runner parts beneath her feet like clouds before an angel, but her gaze never wavers, locked onto her groom with a devotion so fierce, it steals the air from my lungs.

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