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Chapter One

Eleonora

I sit across from Sienna, the limousine gliding through Manhattan, as we head to the cathedral. Full escort trailing us, two SUVs front and back.

Camilla is already working the fastenings on Sienna’s gown, her fingers quick and practiced as she loosens the delicate buttons running down her back. The car sways slightly beneath us, the steady hum of the engine filling the tight space while fabric rustles and beads clink softly against one another.

Sienna’s hands are shaking as she grips the edge of the seat, her breathing uneven. It breaks my heart to see my little sister like this.

“Are you still sure?” Her voice comes out small, barely above the low rumble of the road beneath us.

I don’t hesitate. I nod once.

She swallows hard, her legs bouncing beneath the layers of tulle as Camilla carefully lifts the heavy skirt up and over her hips.

I reach across and cover Sienna’s hands with mine, stilling them. My thumbs brush over her knuckles, grounding her.

“Breathe, Si,” I murmur. “It’s going to go exactly the way we organized.”

She lets out a shaky exhale and nods.

We’ve planned this for weeks and it’s finally happening. Domenico is waiting, somewhere beyond the hedges at the cathedral, ready to take her out of this life the second she reaches him.

It’s risky, I know, but I won’t let her end up like the rest of us, chained to some man who sees her only as an acquisition. We’re all headed for that cage eventually. At least one of us gets out.

Rosalia and Daniela, our other sisters are already at the church with father. As long as the bride arrives veiled, no one will notice anything. Well at least until it’s time to kiss the bride.

Andrea Gallo won’t be happy when the veil comes up and it’s my face staring back at him instead of Sienna’s. He’s not the type to shrug off a bait-and-switch, even if the contract technically holds. One Caruso daughter is as good as another on paper. But men like him don’t care about fine print when their pride is involved.

He’ll see it as disrespect. I’ve heard the stories about how possessive he is, how much he’s ruled by pride. I can already picture the look on his face, the things he’d do to me for this.

Sienna steps out of her dress carefully, goosebumps rising on her arms in the cool air of the car. I step in. The silk is still warm from her body. Camilla yanks the bodice tight around me, hooks snap into place, zipper glides up. We’re almost the same height, same shape, and the dress fits like it was always meant for me.

Next come the jewels. Rings slide off Sienna’s fingers onto mine. Bracelets clasp around my wrists. The Caruso heirloom necklace, emerald and old gold, settles against my collarbone, a symbol our father loves more than his daughters.

Camilla adjusts each piece with meticulous care until there’s nothing left to distinguish me from the bride I’m replacing.

Sienna and I have always looked alike. With only a year between us, we have same height, similar body, the same dark hair and bone structure. Enough resemblance that, under a veil, no one will see the difference they aren’t looking for.

I lower the veil myself. Lace falls over my face, softening the world into pale shadows.

Sienna’s eyes are glassy. She reaches up, touches my cheek through the veil like she’s memorizing me. “I don’t know how to thank you for this, El.”

“You don’t have to.” My voice stays steady. “Just go. Be happy. That’s the only payment I want. Live for us.”

Since Mama died, it’s always been us against the world. With Rosalia married off to Luciano, that leaves me. I look out for the younger ones. I absorb what I can so they don’t have to.

Papa never hid how much he resents the hand he was dealt. Five daughters. No sons. He says it out loud sometimes, “I built an empire, and I have to leave it to are girls who’ll spread their legs for the next man with a better offer.”

The truth is he sees us as nothing but bargaining chips.

The convoy rolls to a final, smooth stop. My breath catches. Through the veil, the cathedral comes into view. Guests are already gathered outside, a polished crowd in tailored suits and couture dresses.

At the base of the steps, Papa waits, hands clasped behind his back, mouth drawn into a thin line. He’s meant to walk Sienna down the aisle. I can feel his irritation from here. He hates waiting. We took longer than we should have back at the house, running through the plan one last time.

If he were not in public, he’d have lashed out. But there are witnesses, and appearances matter.

The door opens. Cool air rushes in, carrying the faint scent of roses which makes me nauseous. Security, two of our men in black, flank the exit. I step out first, Camilla right beside me. I keep my head lowered, eyes fixed on the stone path. The heavy silk of the gown drags slightly with each step.

Behind us, Sienna follows. She’s wrapped in a dark silk scarf Camilla pressed into her hands before the door opened, the fabric draped neatly over her head and around her neck.

Her hair is tucked beneath it, only a few loose strands visible at the edges. With her head bowed, her face stays mostly hidden. She pretends to fuss with the train of my dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles.

Papa’s gaze sweeps over us. I feel it like heat on my skin, even through the lace. He steps forward, ready to offer his arm to the bride.

Camilla moves before he can reach me. “Sienna’s train caught on the step back there,” she says quickly.

He opens his mouth, probably to snap, so Camilla quickly adds, “It’s a small tear, but you know how these photographers are. One good shot of a ripped hem and it’s all over the society pages. We’ll fix it in thirty seconds.”

“Eleonora, make sure you take off that hideous scarf before coming into the church,” he snaps, pointing at Sienna who tries her best to sound like me as she continues to fuss with my dress. “Yes, papa.”

She’s good, because he doesn’t even notice the difference. Camila hooks her hand firmly around my arm, and steers me away from him. “It won’t take long. I promise.”

We slip left.

Sienna and I peel away from the main path, turning into the narrow side garden corridor. Roses line the walls, thorns catching at the chiffon as I move faster than the dress allows.

Gravel crunches softly beneath my shoes as the noise of the crowd fades behind us. The corridor is narrow, hedges rising high on either side, blocking sightlines from the cathedral steps.

“I will stay back and keep watch,” Camilla says, briefly hugging Sienna. She whispers something in her ear before letting her go.

At the end of the path, a matte-black sedan waits. Domenico stands beside it, leaning against the driver’s side. His eyes lock on Sienna the second she appears, and something raw flickers across his face. Relief.

Sienna reaches for me, hands gripping my arms as she pulls me into a quick, fierce embrace, face buried against my shoulder. Her voice breaks on the words. “Thank you. God, Eleonora, thank you.”

I wrap my arms around her. “Go,” I whisper against her hair. “Before the next security sweep.”

She nods, tears soaking into the lace. Then she pulls away, straightens her spine, and steps toward him.

Domenico doesn’t hesitate. He takes her hand and threads his fingers through hers. He gives me a nod.

He’s one of Papa’s soldiers. Sienna met him a year ago at one of Papa’s events, when he was assigned to security. She’s been in love with him ever since. And Papa has no idea they’ve been sneaking around right under his nose. I’m happy they finally get to be together.

Within seconds, they’re gone. I watch until they’re completely out of sight.

A small, fierce happiness blooms in my chest. She’s free. Sienna’s finally getting the thing none of us were ever supposed to have: a happily ever after.

In our world, happily ever after is a myth we’re raised to stop believing in early. Marriages aren’t about love, they’re about leverage. Men take mistresses openly, parade them without shame, while their wives learn to look the other way. If you’re lucky, that’s all you endure. If you’re not… well, some men don’t stop at cheating. Some talk with their fists.

But Domenico? He looks at Sienna like she hung the moon and the stars just for him. He worships her. And she loves him back, the kind of love that makes you stupid and brave at the same time.

They have what the rest of us will never touch. The fact that she’s going to have it, gives me the courage to turn back toward the cathedral instead of running after her. If one of us gets a chance at a life chosen freely, then this is worth it. Worth whatever comes next.

I have no idea where they’re headed. It’s better that way. If Papa decides to hunt them down, none of us can give him answers. Not even under pressure.

I let out a slow breath that fogs the lace in front of my mouth. One sister safe. One life spared the cage. I turn back toward the chapel path. The roses snag at my skirt again as I move.

I lift the veil slightly, just enough to readjust it.

Before I can take another step, a deep baritone slices through the quiet behind, startling me. “Usually, brides don’t sneak around on their wedding day.”

Ice floods my spine. I stop mid-stride.

I lower the veil slowly and turn. He stands a few paces away, as if he’s grown out of the garden itself. Where the hell did he come from? The garden was empty a second ago. I’m sure of it. My gaze flicks to the rose bushes behind him. How long has this man been standing there?

Did he see Sienna leave? The thought crashes through me so fast my chest goes tight. My eyes dart toward the side gate where she disappeared with Domenico. They are gone now. But what if he saw?

A cold wave of panic creeps up my spine. If he knows, if he tells Papa—

The entire plan collapses.

Papa will drag Sienna back before she even reaches the city limits. Domenico won’t make it out alive. Papa will make sure of that.

No.

That can’t happen.

Not before the ceremony begins. Not before Andrea and I stand at the altar and the deal is sealed. Once the vows are said, the alliance stands. Papa can rage all he wants, but the contract will already be done.

The man is several feet away, but close enough that I can smell the faint cedar of his cologne cutting through the roses. He doesn’t look like one of Papa’s guards. He’s tall. Broad enough that the suit looks like it was cut around him instead of worn. Crisp white shirt open at the throat, no tie.

My pulse stutters. It makes no sense. This man is a stranger. A threat, and yet my body reacts before my mind can catch up. Something tightens low in my stomach, spreading slowly through my chest like heat I can’t control. My breath turns shallow, my skin suddenly too aware, too sensitive to his presence.

There’s something in the way he holds himself, like the air bends around him instead of the other way around. A man used to being obeyed. Not the kind who takes orders. Is he a guest? Maybe someone from the Gallo side.

My pulse starts to pound in my ears. I glance toward the cathedral steps, but the hedges block most of the view. I can hear voices drifting through the air, guests talking, someone laughing, the faint echo of music from inside. If I scream, they might hear me.

I open my mouth to say something, then I see the gun. Low in his right hand, barrel pointed at the gravel. He holds it casually, the way someone carries a phone or a cigarette. Black steel catching the last of the afternoon light filtering through the leaves. My breath snags in my throat.

“Whatever’s spinning in that pretty head of yours,” he says, voice baritone-deep and unhurried, the low timbre rolling through the quiet garden, “don’t.”

The words aren’t loud. He doesn’t even raise the gun. But something in his voice settles deep in my bones, and every instinct in me goes still.

He tilts his head, studying me through the veil the way a predator sizes up something interesting that wandered into his territory. Dark hair swept back, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes the color of storm clouds over the harbor. Extremely handsome. The kind of handsome that should come with a warning label.

Whatever he is, he’s not here to admire the bride.

Chapter Two

Eleonora

He approaches calmly, steps measured, like the garden path belongs to him and I’m the intruder. As he closes the distance, I catch the ink peeking from his collar and curling around the cuffs of his sleeves.

He’s tall enough that I have to tilt my head back slightly to meet those flat whisky brown eyes, broad enough that the air feels like it’s shrinking around us. Danger rolls off him in waves.

My heart slams against my ribs so hard I’m sure he can see it fluttering under the silk bodice. Sweat prickles at the base of my spine despite the cool air.

My eyes dart, left toward the main path, right toward the gate Domenico used, back to the roses that suddenly look like they could snag me and hold me here forever.

The dress is heavy, restrictive; the train would tangle around my ankles before I made it ten feet. He’d drop me with one shot before I even cleared the hedge.

He must read every frantic calculation on my face because his voice drops, low and quiet, almost intimate.

“If you make any move, your sister will be dead before security even gets to her.”

My breath catches. I whip my head toward the path.

Through the hedges I see Camilla standing near the path, speaking politely to one of the guests. Just behind her stands another man in a dark suit. Close enough that if he reached out, he could grab her before she even had time to turn. The man looks straight at me. Then he gives a small nod.

I turn back to the man. “Who are you?” The words come out steadier than I feel. “What do you want?”

He tilts his head again, the barest curve touching his mouth. Not a smile. Something darker.

“Inquisitive, aren’t we?” His tone is almost amused, but there’s no warmth in it. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

I look back at Camilla, still talking, and the scream builds in my chest to let her know of the impending danger. I open my mouth to let it out. But he’s on me in an instant.

One hand clamps over my mouth, hard, muffling the sound before it can escape. His palm tastes faintly of gunmetal and cedar. His other arm snakes around my waist, pinning me back against the solid wall of his chest. He’s warm, too warm, and so close the whiff of his cologne invades my senses, and I can feel the steady thud of his heartbeat against my spine, slow and unhurried while mine races like it’s trying to break free.

His lips brush the shell of my ear. “That would be a stupid thing to do.”

His voice is low and vibrates through my skin, sinking straight into my bloodstream. For one stupid, traitorous second, heat coils low in my belly. His breath fans hot against my neck, his grip firm but not bruising, and something inside me flickers, confuses danger with something darker, something that makes my thighs clench before I can stop it.

I snap myself back.

He’s going to kidnap you. Or worse.

The reminder brings me back to my senses.

I thrash, trying to twist free. His hold tightens just enough to remind me he’s not letting go.

“Stop,” he snaps. “Be a good girl,” he murmurs, lips still grazing my ear, “and I won’t have to signal my man over there to put a bullet in your sister’s head.” He pauses, lets the words sink in. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

The fight drains out of me like someone pulled a plug. My eyes lock on Camilla again. She’s still engrossed in conversation, head tilted, smiling, completely unaware that a killer is standing at her back.

From here, we can see her clearly through a gap in the foliage, but the angle and the roses hide us from her view. One wrong move and that laugh ends in a gunshot.

“So which is it going to be?” His voice stays low, reasonable, like we’re negotiating dinner plans. “Either way, you’re leaving here with me.”

I nod. Slowly.

He feels the change in me, the way my body goes still, and his grip eases fractionally. Not enough to let go.

“Wise decision,” he murmurs, voice low and satisfied. His hand closes around my upper arm, firm, and he starts steering me away from the garden corridor.

We move toward the service exit tucked behind the cathedral, gravel crunching under our steps. A black SUV idles there, engine purring like it’s been waiting for this exact moment.

I let my steps slow, just a little, enough to pull against his grip and throw off his pace. He adjusts without looking back, tugging me forward.

I twist my wrist, trying to slip free. His fingers shift, cutting off every angle before it goes anywhere.

I lean in and snap my teeth at his hand, catching skin. He doesn’t flinch, looks at me instead, eyes unreadable. His grip changes, now rougher, and he keeps walking. I’m forced to move with him

Where the hell are Papa’s men? The security detail that’s supposed to be everywhere. Useless when it matters most.

“You’re making a big mistake,” I say. “My father will come after you. He’ll find you. And when he does, he’ll kill you slow.”

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, like I just told a mildly funny joke. “You really believe your father’s some kind of superhero, don’t you?”

He’s not. Massimo Caruso is ruthless. He’s never been a hero to any of us. But the alliance with Matteo Gallo is everything. Letting the bride disappear means letting that deal bleed out. He’ll burn this city down before he lets that happen.

“My father will have his men on you the second he realizes I’m gone,” I tell him. “Let’s see who’s laughing then.”

He doesn’t break stride. “I’ll be waiting when Daddy dearest decides to show.”

We reach the SUV. The back door opens before we get there. He maneuvers me in first, then slides in beside me. The driver pulls away smoothly.

My kidnapper reaches into his jacket, pulls out a zip tie. Before I can react, he’s looping it around my wrists, pulling it snug but not cutting circulation. His eyes lock on mine.

“Do I have to tape your mouth, or are you going to behave?”

I press my lips together hard, swallowing the surge of fury that wants to spill out in a scream. I have no idea who he is or what he wants from me. But one thing is clear, if I’m getting out of this alive, it starts with playing smart.

He raises a thick brow, waiting.

I nod.

“Good.”

The windows are heavily tinted, I twist to look back as we pull away from the cathedral grounds. Guests still mill on the steps, waiting for the bride who’s never coming.

“You should be thanking me,” he says, voice casual, like we’re sharing small talk. “Andrea’s a loser. You’d have hated being married to him.”

I turn my head slowly, meeting his gaze head-on through the veil that’s still obscuring my face.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re a real upgrade,” I say, voice dripping acid. “Kidnapping brides in the middle of their wedding, very chivalrous. Do you practice that line in front of the mirror, or does it just come naturally when you’re ruining someone’s plan?”

His lips twitch. Not quite a smile, but close. One corner of his mouth lifts. “At least I didn’t need an arranged marriage to secure my power.”

“Oh, I’m sure you secured it the old-fashioned way,” I reply sweetly.

His eyes darken. “Careful.”

“I’m just saying, if you’re kidnapping brides for attention, you might want to—”

He cuts me off, leaning in just enough that his presence fills the space between us.

“Keep talking,” he says quietly, “and I’ll tape that pretty mouth shut.”

I shut it.

The driver glances in the rearview mirror and they exchange a look. The car accelerates, weaving into traffic. I study him now that we’re moving, really study him. The way he sits, back straight but relaxed, one arm draped across the seat, screams control.

The extraction was too clean. This isn’t some desperate rogue move. This is organized, calculated.

As I study his face, the pieces click. I’ve seen him before, not up close, but across crowded ballrooms and at charity galas where Massimo paraded us like trophies.

He’s Nico Lombardi. Port Syndicate Don. The man who controls the docks my father needs to keep his weapons flowing east. One of the few rivals who can actually hurt the Gallo alliance before it’s even sealed.

“If you’re taking me because you think I can give you dirt on my father, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” I say, keeping my voice even despite the fear zipping through me,

Nico doesn’t even turn his head just a slow exhale through his nose, like I’m a fly buzzing too close.

“Really?”

“He doesn’t tell any of us anything.”

He quirks a brow. “So you’re useless?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you said.”

I lean back against the seat, the zip ties biting into my wrists as I shift. “If you’re expecting trade secrets, you picked the wrong Caruso.”

A small exhale leaves him. Almost a sigh, the first real crack in that iron composure. “What part of be quiet isn’t getting through that pretty head?”

“I understand it perfectly,” I shoot back, inspecting my fingers like they are suddenly interesting. “I’m choosing not to participate.”

His jaw tightens slightly.

“I know who you are,” I add.

He arches a brow.

“Nico Lombardi.”

A pause.

“Then you also know I don’t need your help to get what I want from your father.” The way he says it, sends a ripple of unease through me.

“And if you don’t shut that mouth,” he continues, voice dropping a fraction, “I’m going to be forced to knock you out.”

I hold his gaze. “You need me alive.”

A flicker of something passes through his eyes. Interest? Amusement?

He leans in until his face is inches from mine. His voice drops, velvet over steel.

“I can always go for another one of your sisters after I kill you. Camilla looked easy enough to grab. Or maybe the little one, Daniela. Eleonora perhaps. Plenty of Caruso daughters to choose from.”

A cold shiver slides down my spine before I can stop it. My skin prickles, my breath catching. He’s not bluffing. Men like him never do.

I open my mouth to speak but I’m cut off as a shot cracks through the air like the sky splitting open.

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