Page 132 of Mafia Obsession

“He did. Called me two days ago.”

I glance at the thing hanging on the back of my office door. “Is that my dress?”

“Ares picked it out for you.” She strides to the garment bag and slowly unzips it. “This is the sensitive part. Showing a bride the most important dress she’ll ever wear. One she didn’t pick out and hope that she loves it.”

“If your name is Quinlan, then you know who Ares is. And why this is happening.” I exhale. “I don’t really have much choice so I?—”

Anything else I was going to say dies in my throat when Shea removes the dress from its wrapping. I can’t say for sure I would have picked it out. But it’s luminous white silk without a bead or a pearl on the thing. Not one bit of sparkle.

Even on the hanger it’s…gorgeous. With its portrait neckline, a trim bodice, a drop waist, and inverted pleats down to a slim skirt, it’s so elegant.

“How do you know that will fit me?” I ask.

“Ares sent your measurements.” Shea looks at it with pride. “Lana finished it up this morning.”

I hide an eyeroll, wondering where the hell he gotmy measurements. I picture him with a tape measure, rolling me around in my sleep.

Then the name hits me. “Lana… Lana Ang?”

Shea fans out the skirt. “Ares saw it and said: Spare no expense.”

“Is it rude for me to ask how much he paid?”

“I suggest you ask him.”

My eyes wander to the small army of makeover artists staring at me. “Where am I getting married?”

“North of here. The Cloisters. I got married there.” She looks at her watch. “Guests should be arriving soon.”

“Guests?”

She starts to look anxious because I haven’t moved. “Ares handled the guest list.”

“Is my sister on that list?” I swallow.

Her frown tells me she’s not. It was a thoughtless question, though. Our wedding is a target. Kirill Volkov knows we have her. It’s too risky.

I close my laptop and give a soft smile to Shea Quinlan. “Let’s not keep the God of War waiting.”

Shea’s surprise wedding team performs a small miracle. In forty minutes, I’m…a bride. A beautiful one from what I can see in the stand-up mirror they rolled in. What an operation. Shea’s hairdresser left most of my hair loose, pinning back a portion of soft curls into a half-up style at the back of my head. A simple raw silk headband anchors a veil of layered tulle that cascades down my back, extending beyond the long train of my gown.

I should feel embarrassed to leave the office this way, but Atlas and Ambrose are gone. Presumably, they got an invite before me and are already atmywedding.

I’m moved like I’m royalty down the private elevator and into a white Rolls Royce. All the traffic from the block has been cut off. Ares’s new guards and their SUVs are here, and off we go.

At 3:45, the city should be snarled with traffic, but roads are miraculously open. We sail to the northern tip of Manhattan to the Cloisters, a section of the city I never knew about.

The Gothic-looking church has leftover snow in its carved stone walls. Once the guards’ SUVs are in position, the driver of the Rolls brings me right to the front of the church. I immediately notice there are no photographers. And I’m not sure how to feel about that.

A heavy, ornate church door opens, and I expect to see somewedding matron telling me I’m late.

It’s Ares…

In a tuxedo. Wow. This gorgeous man is about to pledge himself to me.

The driver gets out, but it’s Ares who opens the car door to help extract me and this massive dress from the Rolls.

“Am I by any chance marrying someone else? Aren’t younotsupposed to see me before the ceremony?” I ask, pushing the veil aside.