The Bride Made Mine

Gabriel tightened his arms around my waist, keeping my feet dangling an inch off the carpet as he muttered, “Honestly, if the choice were mine, I’d ship you straight to a convent.”

Before I could kick his shins, the bedroom door swung wider and Dad stepped across the threshold, his gaze dropping from my suspended frame to the iron lock Gabriel had around my ribs. “I was under the impression the two of you would outgrow the brawling by now.”

Gabriel finally let go, dropping me back onto the rug where my heels wobbled before I caught my balance and tugged my twisted shirt back into place. “She threw the first punch.”

I whipped my head around to glare at my brother before appealing to my father. “Dad, he completely humiliated me right in front of Damon.”

Unbothered, Gabriel shrugged one shoulder and added in a flat, conversational tone, “All I did was let Damon know I’d tear his balls off if he didn't treat her right.”

My mouth parted as I stared at him in total shock. He had conveniently left that graphic detail out of his confession a minute ago.

Instead of scolding him, Dad let out a warm smile, reaching over to brush his knuckles gently against my cheek before clapping a firm hand onto Gabriel’s shoulder. “Well done.”

I looked between the two of them in sheer disbelief. “Both of you are completely impossible,” I muttered, rolling my eyes toward the ceiling even as a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

*********

Morning brought the chaos of the wedding preparations, and as I stood in the bridal suite, Gabriel stepped up to the open doorway wearing a tailored black suit paired with a crisp blue tie. “You clean up pretty well,” I remarked, though a sudden ache pressed against my ribs at the realization that I wouldn't be waking up under the same roof as him once I moved into Damon’s house.

“You look breathtaking,” Gabriel said quietly.

Propping his shoulder against the wooden frame, he slid both hands deep into his trouser pockets. “The house is going to feel weird without you around.”

Wanting to keep the mood from getting too heavy, I offered a teasing smile. “Bianca is going to keep your hands plenty full.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“You’re going to do just fine,” I insisted, swallowing past the sudden tightness in my throat. “Before long you’ll be walking down the aisle yourself, and the Syndicate will take up every spare second until then.”

Letting out a slow breath, Gabriel pulled his left hand from his pocket to check the face of the gold Rolex Dad had gifted him. “We have to head down now. The ceremony kicks off in forty-five minutes, and we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

I gave a brief nod, lingering for one more second in front of the full-length glass before stepping toward the door. A restless buzz of nerves hummed beneath my skin; within the hour, my entire life was going to shift on its axis.

We were heading to a grand church well past the city limits, though if anyone had asked for my preference, we would have been exchanging vows inside a restored country barn hemmed in by quiet woods rather than stone walls.

After one last check of my veil in the entryway mirror, I looped my fingers through the bend of Gabriel’s elbow and walked with him out of the suite toward the elevators. The moment we stepped out into the main hotel lobby, conversations quieted and dozens of heads swiveled in our direction, a wave of scrutiny I shamelessly drank in. Given the small fortune spent on the silk and lace pooled around my heels, the gown deserved an audience, especially at the largest gathering the Syndicate had hosted in years.

LORENZO'S POV

Beneath the leather seat, the low rumble of the idling engine vibrated through my frame, keeping pace with the steady, heated thrum of my blood.

“Are the men in position?” I asked, keeping my tone even despite the cold fire coiled in my chest.

In the passenger seat beside me, Vance ran a final check on his pistol before sliding the steel smoothly into the holster beneath his jacket. “As ready as I’m going to get. Still, hitting a Syndicate wedding? Even by your standards, this is pure lunacy.”

A slow grin curved my mouth. “Greatness and madness share the exact same coin, Vance. Take a look at history.”

Vance cut his eyes sideways, wholly unmoved by the philosophy. “Now you’re talking just like Cassian. The two of you run on the same twisted logic.”

Settling deeper into the upholstery, I let the humor bleed out of my smile. “Relax. Today hands you the exact prize you’ve been starving for—a clean line of sight on your old man so you can finally settle your score.”

A heavy breath left Vance’s chest, though he didn’t dispute the point. “What about your angle? What’s the real motive driving this madness?”

I canted my head slightly, offering him a blank, mild look.

“Save the act for someone else,” Vance pressed, his voice dropping lower. “All of this is because of her, right? Marco’s niece. Celeste.”

For a long beat I let the quiet stretch between us inside the cabin before a slow smile touched my lips. “You’ve got sharper eyes than people give you credit for.”

Tension pulled Vance’s features tight. “The girl has nothing to do with our blood feud, Lorenzo. She isn’t the one who crossed you. She’s nothing more than a bargaining chip in their game.”

“Their world bred her from day one,” I countered, every trace of warmth stripping from my voice. “They groomed her to play the flawless bride, a shiny badge of family allegiance. Today she steps straight into a pit of wolves, and she’s going to pay the toll for it, regardless of who picked the road for her.”

Shaking his head slowly, Vance muttered under his breath, “You’ve genuinely lost your mind.”

Reaching across the console, I clamped my fingers around his forearm, digging my thumb straight into the dark ink of the dagger wrapped around an open eye. “Blood binds us together, Vance. We go to war side by side, and we spill blood side by side. Keep that carved into your head.”

He held my stare without blinking. “I remember.”

Releasing his arm, I shifted my focus back through the windshield toward the grand entrance of the hotel just as Celeste’s relatives emerged onto the pavement, her mother and father flanking her behind stiff, practiced expressions of dominance and pride.

“Right now,” I murmured, the words barely rising above the hum of the motor, “she’s wrapped in white silk, acting out the part of the dutiful bride. By the time the sun goes down, she belongs to me.”