Chapter 32
Sofia
The bridal suite is a flurry of activity when they bring me in.
Blue and white flowers with sage accents are draped everywhere, trying to mask the Gothic interior of what's clearly an old church room.
A stunning wedding dress hangs against the wall—white bodice shifting to pale blue with flowing sleeves and delicate embroidery.
"Congratulations, dear!" A woman in her forties rushes over, beaming. "I'm Deirdre, and I'm in charge of getting you ready for your special day. This is going to be such a beautiful wedding!"
I want to tell her there's nothing beautiful about forced marriage, but I bite my tongue. A younger woman with dark hair and cold blue eyes steps forward, already wearing a powder blue bridesmaid dress.
"I'm Siobhan," she says with false sweetness. "Kieran's cousin. We're so excited to welcome you to the family."
A little girl with red curls bounces around the room, clutching a basket of flower petals. She can't be more than five, with gap-toothed grin and bright green eyes.
"And this is Ciara," Deirdre says fondly. "Our flower girl. She's been practicing all week."
"I get to make the aisle pretty for Skippy!" Ciara announces proudly.
They dress me like a doll, the undergarments coming on as I stand numbly in front of the ornate mirror. The fabric rustles with every movement, beautiful and suffocating all at once.
"Just one more bridesmaid to go," Deirdre says, pinning back sections of my hair. "She should be here any—"
The door opens, and my heart stops.
Gianna walks in wearing an identical blue dress, her dark hair styled perfectly, looking for all the world like she belongs here. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I see her slight shake of the head—a warning not to react.
But I can't help the sharp intake of breath, the way my hands grip the arms of the chair.
"Sorry I'm late," Gianna says smoothly, moving to stand with Siobhan. "Finn needed my help with some last-minute arrangements."
Siobhan's eyes narrow slightly, studying my face. "Everything all right, Sofia? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Think fast. I force my expression into something like relief. "I just... I wasn't expecting anyone from home."
"Of course he'd want someone here," Siobhan says smugly. "Can't have the Don's sister-in-law getting married without proper Italian representation. Shows he's taking this arrangement seriously."
Gianna nods solemnly. "Don Vito wanted to ensure Sofia felt... supported during this transition."
The word 'supported' carries weight, and I catch the slight emphasis. She's telling me something. Vito knows. They're here. This isn't surrender—it's strategy.
"Well, that's settled then," Deirdre beams, oblivious to the undercurrents. "Now, let's get you in this beautiful dress, dear."
As they help me into the gown, I steal glances at Gianna in the mirror. She's playing her part perfectly, commenting on my hair, adjusting the flowers, acting like any other bridesmaid. But there's something in her eyes—a alertness that tells me she's constantly assessing, planning.
"You look stunning," Gianna says as Deirdre fastens the last button. Her fingers brush my shoulder as she adjusts the sleeve, and I feel her press something small into the fabric. "Absolutely radiant."
Ciara claps her hands together. "You're so pretty! Skippy's gonna be so happy!"
"Skippy?" I ask, despite myself.
"Skipper," Siobhan explains with an eye roll. "It's what the little ones call Kieran. Irish hierarchy is different from what you Italians are used to."
If only she knew how right she was. This child might be the only innocent thing in this entire twisted ceremony.
The door opens and Declan enters, looking uncomfortable in his formal tux. His eyes meet mine with what might be sympathy.
"Ready?" he asks gently.
"No."
He almost smiles at that. "Fair enough. But we're going anyway."
Declan offers his arm, and I have no choice but to take it.
As we walk through the stone corridors of St. Patrick's Cathedral, I try to memorize every detail—the Gothic arches, the religious icons staring down at us, the way the candlelight flickers against the walls.
If I'm going to die here, at least I'll know where.
The ceremony music begins, echoing through the vast space. Celtic hymns that would be beautiful under different circumstances but now sound like a funeral dirge.
"It's not as scary as you think," Declan murmurs as we reach the entrance to the main sanctuary.
"That changes everything, thank you," I deadpan.
This time he does smile, and for a moment I see the man he might be if he weren't a Costello.
We pause at the threshold while Ciara skips down the aisle ahead of us, scattering rose petals with pure joy. Gianna follows, her blue dress matching the other bridesmaids, but I notice how her eyes scan the congregation. She's looking for something. Or someone.
One of Kieran's brothers—Finn, I think—watches Gianna's progress with obvious interest. When she reaches the altar and turns to face the entrance, their eyes meet across the church.
Something passes between them, electric and immediate.
Even in my terror, I notice how his expression softens when he looks at her.
Maybe not all of the Costello's are monsters. Only the one I'm marrying, apparently.
Then the wedding march begins, and Declan's grip tightens on my arm.
"This is it," he whispers.
We step into the sanctuary, and I see Kieran waiting at the altar in his perfectly tailored tux. His smile is predatory, victorious. Around us, the pews are filled with Irish guests, all watching my march toward damnation with polite interest.
Every step feels like walking through quicksand. The cathedral is enormous, but the aisle seems endless. Kieran's eyes never leave mine, and I can practically feel his satisfaction radiating across the space.
When we finally reach the altar, Declan places my hand in Kieran's with obvious reluctance. "Take care of her," he whispers, so low only we can hear.
Kieran's fingers close around mine like a trap. "Don't worry, brother. I will."
The priest begins the ceremony, his voice echoing in the vaulted space. I try to focus on his words, but they blur together into meaningless noise.
"Dearly beloved," the priest intones, "we are gathered here today..."
This isn't happening. This can't be happening. But Kieran's grip is real, the cold stone floor beneath my feet is real, the weight of the dress pulling at my shoulders is real.
The ceremony proceeds with agonizing slowness. Readings about love and commitment that feel like mockery in my current situation. Kieran responds to each part with perfect composure, playing the role of devoted groom while his fingers dig into my hand hard enough to bruise.
When the priest asks for the vows, Kieran speaks first.
"I, Kieran Costello, take you, Sofia Gallo, to be my wife. To have and to hold, to possess and to control, from this day forward."
The traditional words twisted into something dark and threatening. My vision starts to tunnel at the edges.
"Sofia?" the priest prompts.
Everyone waits. Kieran's grip tightens painfully, his nails biting into my skin. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
"Sofia," Kieran says quietly, his voice carrying a clear threat.
I force myself to look at him, to meet those cold gray eyes. "I—"
The explosion of gunfire cuts through the cathedral like thunder.
Chaos erupts instantly. Guests scream and dive for cover as armed men pour through the main entrance. Kieran's men draw weapons, turning the sanctuary into a battlefield in seconds.
And then I see him.
Dante storms through the massive wooden doors like an avenging angel, gun raised, his face splattered with blood that isn't his own. His blue eyes scan the chaos until they find mine, and the relief in his expression is so intense it takes my breath away.
He came for me.
But before I can react, Kieran's arm snakes around my waist and he's dragging me backward, away from the altar. His other hand tangles in my carefully pinned hair, sending pins scattering and waves of pain through my scalp.
"This way, princess," he snarls in my ear, hauling me toward a side door. "Time for our honeymoon."
I struggle against his grip, but the heavy dress tangles around my legs, making it impossible to break free. He drags me through a narrow corridor, away from the gunfire and shouting.
"Let me go!" I gasp, clawing at his hand in my hair.
"Not a chance." He kicks open a door and shoves me inside what looks like a small office. "We're going to finish this."
The door slams shut behind us, and I hear the click of a lock. We're alone.
Kieran advances on me, his composure finally cracking. "You ruined everything," he spits. "My perfect plan, my perfect wedding. But that's okay. We can still make this work."
I back away until I hit the wall, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Stay away from me."
"I'll fuck you here and now," he snarls, his voice turning savage. "Make sure no one else can have a claim to you. Once you're not a virgin anymore, no one will want damaged goods."
"I'll never be your wife."
"We'll see about that." He reaches for the front of my dress, and I slap his hands away. "I was going to wait until tonight, but you've forced my hand."
His hand closes around my throat, pinning me against the wall. The other starts tearing at the delicate fabric of my bodice. I struggle frantically, but he's too strong, too heavy.
"You can't take what I already chose to give to someone else," I gasp out, desperation making me cruel. "I'm not a virgin, Kieran. Dante had me first."
He freezes for a moment, his eyes going wide with rage. Then his grip on my throat tightens dangerously.
"You filthy whore," he spits, his face twisted with fury. His free hand disappears into his jacket, emerging with a switchblade that clicks open with a menacing sound. "You think that matters? You think that changes anything?"
The cold metal touches my cheek, and I freeze in terror.
"I'll still take what's left of you," he continues, his voice deadly quiet now. "But first, I think you need to be marked. So everyone knows exactly what you are."
The blade drags down my cheek in a deliberate line, sharp and burning. I scream as warm blood runs down my face, the pain white-hot and immediate.
"There," he breathes, admiring his handiwork. "Now you'll have a matching set with daddy's cigarette burns. This one's from me—so you never forget who owns you."
I can feel the blood dripping onto my dress, staining the white fabric red. The cut throbs with every heartbeat, and I know it's deep enough to scar.
"When I'm done with you, you'll know exactly who owns you," he continues, pressing the knife against my throat now. "And every time you look in the mirror, you'll see my mark."
This is it. This is how it ends. Not just violated, but mutilated by this monster who wants to brand me like cattle.
The door explodes inward.
Dante fills the doorway, his gun trained on Kieran with deadly precision. Blood streaks his face and shirt, but his hands are steady, his eyes blazing with controlled fury that turns absolutely murderous when he sees the blood on my face.
"Get your fucking hands off her."