Page 166 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
“I am okay.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods. “I have you.”
“You do,” I tell him. “Always.”
Then we start walking.
The music is soft beneath the sound of shoes against stone. Erin goes first, scattering white petals from a basket she has been carrying like a revered object. She takes the job seriously for four steps, then throws an entire handful into the air and beams as they rain down around her.
Omar rubs a hand over his face.
Dolores starts crying in earnest.
Stefano does not look away from me.
By the time Heath brings me to him, my chest feels too full to breathe properly, and the distance between us seems to disappear.
Heath stops in front of Stefano and looks up.
For a second, Stefano’s expression hardens against whatever emotion rises too quickly in his throat. Then he places a hand on Heath’s shoulder.
“You did well,” Stefano says.
Heath’s chin lifts slightly. “I know.”
A small laugh moves through the room.
Then Heath steps beside Erin, and Stefano takes my hand, the shift from one to the other almost seamless.
His fingers close around mine.
Warm. Steady.
“You are beautiful,” he says under his breath.
My throat contracts as the officiant begins.
I hear the words. I answer the questions. When asked whether I have come here freely, I say yes, and the word feels different now than it would have a year ago.
Freely.
I am not blind to what Stefano has done. I have not forgotten Boston, Alice, or the way he once turned every room into a place where I had to fight for space.
I say yes because I know all of it.
Because he knows I know.
Because love without truth is only another kind of control.
When it is time for our vows, Stefano takes both my hands. The room seems to hold its breath with us.
“I spent most of my life believing love made people weak,” he says. His voice is low, but it carries through the room. “I believed needing someone gave them the right to hurt you. I believed protecting people meant deciding for them.”
He looks at me fully.
“I was wrong.”
