"I don't intend to hurt her."
"Intent doesn't matter." His green eyes — the same shade as his sister's, colder — hold mine without blinking. "Results do."
The words settle. He's right, and we both know it. Intentions are the currency of men who haven't learned that the world doesn't care what you meant to do. It cares what happened.
"You have my word."
"Your word is a start. Your actions will be the measure." He takes a drink. Sets it down. "She's the best of us, Konstantinos. The smartest, the bravest, the one who could have left this life and chose to stay because she won't abandon her family. If you waste that—" He doesn't finish. He doesn't need to.
He walks away. I watch him rejoin his brothers — Declan saying something that makes Finn shake his head, Ronan still drawing, all four of them forming a wall of Irish muscle and loyalty that I've just been warned not to breach.
I respect Cormac O'Brien. I hope I never have to test which of us is faster.
Lex appears. The transition from celebration to business takes less than a second — his face shifts, the ease draining into something harder.
"Update?"
"Six men. Two vehicles. They parked across from St. Demetrios at fourteen hundred and left at fifteen thirty. Plates traced to a rental company in Revere — shell corporation, Bratva-linked. We got photos." He pauses. "Three of the six have been identified. Viktor's inner circle. His personal security, not foot soldiers."
"He sent his best men to watch my wedding."
"He sent his best men to let you KNOW he was watching your wedding. There's a difference." Lex glances across the room. "One more thing. Alexandros Drakos made a call during the ceremony. Stepped out for four minutes. Returned before the crowns."
"And?"
"Probably nothing. I flagged it because of the timing."
Elena's father.Making a phone call during the wedding ceremony where his daughter was supposed to be the bride. There are a dozen innocent explanations. I file it the way I file everything — quietly, completely, in the part of my brain that never stops. But I don't act on it. It's Alexandros. It's Elena's family. It's my wedding day.
"Tomorrow," I say. "We deal with it tomorrow.”
"Tomorrow." Lex nods. Then, quieter: "Your wife is impressive."
I follow his gaze. Siobhan has moved from Gianna to a cluster of Greek cousins, and she's holding her own — listening more than talking, learning the hierarchy, absorbing the map of alliances and rivalries that takes most people years to navigate. She catches my eye again and something passes between us that isn't strategy.
"I know," I say.
The first dance.
The band shifts to something slow and Greek and the floor clears with the particular efficiency of people who know a bride and groom are expected to perform. Siobhan crosses to me, and the crowd parts for her like water. She's still in the ivory silk. The candlelight turns her auburn hair to copper and catches the line of her collarbone and I have to remind myself to breathe.
I take her hand. Pull her closer than necessary. She lets me.
"You're good at this," I say.
"At what?"
"Pretending you don't hate me."
"Who says I'm pretending?" Her hand settles on my shoulder. Light. Deliberate.
My palm spreads across her lower back. I can feel the warmth of her skin through the silk. The fabric is thin enough that I can trace the line of her spine with my thumb if I move it half an inch. I don't. But I think about it.
"Your pulse," I say. "It jumped when I touched you at the altar."
"That was adrenaline."
"Was it?"