Page 94 of Devil’s Reign

When our eyes meet, the corner of his mouth lifts in a soft smile that makes my chest ache. To think I could have lost this.

His hand finds mine the moment I step up beside him, warm and steady, grounding. And just like that, everything else melts away—the background noise, the guests, the nerves, even the sadness from missing Luciano—until it’s just us. Just this.

The officiator begins, and Vanya’s lips curve a little more.

There’s no reception—because, in Vanya’s own words: I’d rather spend that time with you, getting lost in you, than pose in a room with some fuckers who couldn’t give a shit about us or our marriage.

I didn’t argue. So, immediately after the ceremony, we get pictures taken with the family. I didn’t expect it, but Vanya’s family is the sweetest—especially his mom and his sister, Mira, who I’m beyond grateful didn’t get kidnapped like those bastards planned.

When it comes time to say goodbye, Mamma pulls me into her arms and doesn’t let go for a long moment.

“I’ll keep you updated with pictures and texts,” I promise, and she nods into my shoulder before pulling back.

“Have fun and don’t worry about me. I’ll be well protected at Korona.” She pats my hand and steps back.

We’d officially moved into the hotel a week after the warehouse incident. Me into Vanya’s suite, into his bedroom, and Mamma into the suite she was already in. It’s been fun and sweet to explore the different floors together. She especially loved the café on the fifth floor. I nudged her about opening that pastry shop she always wanted back in Pietrarossa, but she just waved me off and said she couldn’t possibly. The way she said it, though, told me the conversation wasn’t over.

Our honeymoon is only for a week because the bastard behind the kidnappings is still out there, and with elections right around the corner, tensions are high. I even suggested skipping the trip altogether, but Vanya wouldn’t hear of it. We deserve this, he said fiercely, so we’re going.

One last wave, then we’re slipping into the back of his car, still in our wedding clothes. My dress billows out in every direction and takes up approximately two-thirds of the available space, but somehow Vanya still finds a way to crowd in close.

“Alone at last,” he whispers in my ear.

My eyes flick to the driver’s seat, where Luka is very pointedly ignoring us, then to the two cars behind us filled with his men. “Not fully alone,” I remind him, and he groans, burying his face in my neck, his arms banding tight around my waist.

The drive to the airport is quick—quicker than I expected. Then I realize it’s not the airport at all but a small private airstrip. Our cars roll to a stop right in front of a huge private jet waiting for us.

“Wow,” I breathe as the car engine cuts.

One of Vanya’s men opens his door, and he steps out and then offers me his hand. I take it and let him help me navigate the door without stepping on the dress, which requires coordination from both of us and a brief negotiation with the fabric. As soon as my feet touch the ground and the car door slams shut behind me, something whistles through the air and lands at my feet.

Vanya and his men form a protective shield around me, weapons raised. But I’m already crouching down, already reaching for the small paper plane on the ground, my heart panging before I’ve even unfolded it. Because I know what it is. I knew the moment it landed.

Luciano.

Sicily flashes in my mind. Him folding paper, flicking them at me with that stupid grin. He stopped doing stuff like that when we came to the US, though. Like something in him… dimmed. Like he aged years in a matter of weeks.

My eyes sting as I recognize his familiar scrawl.

I’m fine. Stop looking. I’ll show myself when I’m ready.

P.S: You really had to marry that jerk, Soredda?

A broken laugh slips out of me as tears spill over. He’s alive. Without thinking, I shove past the protective wall of men.

“Lower your weapons,” I snap, already scanning the empty clearing. “Luciano!” I yell, turning in every direction. Nothing moves. If he was there before, he’s already gone.

My grip tightens around the note, my chest aching in a way that’s almost too much to hold. I’m vaguely aware of Vanya’s arms sliding around my shoulders as he steers me towards the jet. I glance back one last time—just in case—before letting him guide me inside.

The interior is massive and so beautiful, but I can’t bring myself to appreciate it.

Not when my mind is still out there.

Vanya seems to understand, because he takes me straight to the bedroom at the back, closes the door, and sits with me.

“Talk to me.” I hand him the note without saying anything. He reads it quickly, jaw tightening, and starts to get up. “I’ll have my men scour the area⁠—”

“No.” I catch his arm. “Leave it. I’m just… I’m glad he’s fine.” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. “If he doesn’t want to be found, he must have a reason. Call off the search on him.”