Chapter Eighteen
“Life’s brightest moments are almost always followed by darkness, but I always believe the darkness manifests so when the light comes again—we let it shine on our face and appreciate it more.” —King Campisi
Ivan
It was protocol.
The men standing next to me represent each of the Five Families: Abandonato, Campisi, Nicolasi, Alfero, Petrov and Sinacore. All that was left was to officially restore the De Lange Family by way of re-signing our treaty, which would make us six, the first time it had ever been done after the Petrov’s mixed bloodlines joined the ranks and proved they could hold their own as Russian-Italian. They took a spot that wasn’t theirs to take, one that, on this day, I would finally take back. I would do what was demanded of me by way of sacrifice—and not just Bella’s or mine, but his.
The church was deathly silent as were the groomsmen next to me, my best man had drawn the short straw—King. I half expected him to just say the hell with it and shove a knife into my back, but instead he looked calm—too calm.
“You high?” I had to finally ask when one of the Sinacore Family elders, whose name escaped me, was ushered into the front row, all I knew was she was from Italy and liked to feed the world and I had no qualms about that, though at this point I imagined she would rather poison me since Bella had always been one of her favorites.
King cursed under his breath. “I wish. No, I’m just a bit stressed out, can’t seem to imagine why though.”
“Strange,” Maksim said behind him. “For what reason would any of us be stressed at a wedding and treat it like a funeral?”
“Curious.” Dante grumbled after him. “So very curious.”
Ash cursed. “If it wouldn’t send the entire empire into absolute chaos, I would slit his throat right now.”
King chuckled. “I think that was the tame part of the confession.”
“I practiced a better one, but it was too detailed.” Ash glared at me.
I grinned back at him. “Thank you?”
He took a step forward; Dante shoved him back. “Behave.”
“My. God,” Maksim grumbled. “Could he walk any slower?”
“He’s ninety.” King hissed. “Show some respect.”
“Kill me. Straight-up, kill me if I ever walk that slowly, even at sixty.” Valerian shook his head. “Seriously.”
“I’ll do it,” Ash said cheerfully.
“Good man.” Dante nodded. “Good man.”
“And I’m the crazy one,” I said under my breath.
They clearly all heard though because every single one of them glared in my direction as if to say, yes, you are and no, we won’t ever forgive you.
I didn’t show it.
But I felt the loss.
At one point, they’d been mentors—friends.
Now I was the enemy they had to support while plotting my death. I was nothing to them.
I had no parents.
I had no friends.
I didn’t even really have my favorite enemy anymore. Couldn’t they see or understand, at the very least, how desperate I must have been to say yes to this calling?
Did they ever even really know me to begin with, if they just assume I’d lost my mind this way?
The answer was a resounding no, like a gong going off in my head. I truly was alone in the world and would die the same way.
Nobody would care about my funeral the way they did Juniors.
Nobody would grieve. They’d celebrate, and I’d allow it because in the end you have to sacrifice the few to save the many, if that makes me a monster then monster I’ll be.
I’ll drink the poison and smile while doing it.
A promise is a promise, after all.
The wedding march began.
I imagined this moment so differently.
I imagined seeing my bride at the end of the aisle, and I stupidly dreamed about it often, it wasn’t even about finding true love; it was about finding a family.
Having a family.
Replacing what I’d lost.
Belonging to something that was mine, and that was my choice.
Bella was right. I would never tell her that, but she was right. This was no wedding, this was a funeral.
Hers and mine.
The loss of her dreams of finding a forever.
The loss of mine of finding a family.
It was only loss, no gain.
Every step she took toward me would be stained in both of our blood, every fake smile we gave each other would be our penance. One day, I hoped she’d at least see why, that she’d at least understand that I was sacrificing the last parts of my soul that I had held on to.
Hope died for both of us that night, it was buried right along with our hearts.
The doors opened.
Nixon was in an all-black tuxedo, blue eyes steely, as he stared straight at me.
And Bella.
Was wearing red.
She was a walking sacrifice. In some cultures, it meant good luck, prosperity, happiness, but in the mafia, it meant something else completely.
Atonement.
By wearing red, she was telling everyone around her that she was part of my sin and part of my atonement, accepting me completely into her family and offering herself up as my equal.
Equally guilty of murder.
Equally guilty of taking over the Family.
Equal.
To.
Me.
My bride wore red.
How very brave.