My hands won’t stop shaking as I stand before the priest, the weight of the ring heavy in my palm. Fifteen years ago, my father swore my sister to this man—Pietro Moretti, the most feared name in the south. But she’s gone now, far away, safe. And I’m here, wearing her wedding veil as a mockery, ready to break the pact by becoming its groom.

The ceremony is a blur of Latin phrases and cold stares. Then Pietro lifts my chin, his thumb brushing my lip. 'You think I didn’t know it was you?' he murmurs, voice like smoke. 'I’ve waited half my life for this.'

My breath catches. This wasn’t part of the plan. The guests watch, silent, expectant. The priest waits for my vow. But now I see the truth in Pietro’s eyes—he doesn’t want a bride. He wanted me.

And the worst part? My heart is starting to believe him.