Someone hugs me. I think it's Gianna. Her arms wrap around my waist and she whispers something I can't quite hear. Then Claudio is there, his hand on my shoulder, his expression tight with worry.
Papa hangs back. He won't meet my eyes.
Good.
I don't want to look at him either.
"Pietro."
Bruno's voice cuts through the noise. I turn.
He's already near the side door. The man who stood beside him during the ceremony—tall, dark-haired, built like a soldier—waits with one hand on the door handle.
"I need to get back to the compound." Bruno's tone is flat. Businesslike.
That's it.
He doesn't want to be here.
Neither do I.
This whole thing is ridiculous. A farce dressed up in white silk and church candles. We're strangers bound by paper and debt, and he can't even stand to be in the same room with me for more than twenty minutes.
Bruno wheels through the door. The heavy oak closes behind him with a sound like a coffin lid.
I'm alone.
Surrounded by people, but alone.
Vittoria appears at my side again. "Don't take it personally. Bruno is..." She pauses. Searches for the right word. "Adjusting."
Adjusting.
Is that what we're calling it?
I force a smile. "Of course."
Vittoria studies me for a moment. "Come on," she says. "Let me introduce you to everyone properly. The car can wait."
She takes my arm and guides me toward the cluster of Sartoris. I go because I don't know what else to do.
My husband just left me at the altar.
And somehow, I'm supposed to pretend that's normal.
Bruno
The side door closes behind me.
Stone walls. Dim lighting. The smell of old incense and candle wax.
I wheel down the narrow corridor toward the back exit. My hands grip the wheels hard enough to make my knuckles ache.
Footsteps behind me. Heavy. Measured.
Valentino.
"That wasn't necessary."