Our families had decided. I’d had little choice. I wondered for a moment what choice he’d had, but I wouldn’t consider that. It didn’t matter. Salvatore Benedetti would one day rule the Benedetti family. He would be boss. He would become what I vowed to destroy five years ago.

I masked any emotion as I turned my gaze up to his. I’d learned to hide my feelings well over the last few years.

My heart stopped for a single moment. Everything seemed to still, as if waiting. Something fluttered inside my belly as cobalt-blue eyes met mine.

Not steely but soft.

I remembered how I’d thought that five years ago too. How, for just the briefest moment on that terrible day, I’d thought there was hope. That he’d stop what was happening. But I’d been wrong. Any perceived softness, it only deceived. It hid behind it a coldhearted monster, ready to take.

And what happened in that magical garden a year ago, when before I’d seen who he was, I’d placed my hand inside his. Danced with him.

No. I couldn’t think about that night now or ever again. I would need to remember that. To not to allow myself the luxury of being fooled.

Salvatore blinked and stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter the pew. His father and brother stood watching me, his father’s expression screaming victory. He gave me a cruel grin and held out his hand to the space beside him. I moved, my legs somehow carrying me even as I trembled inside.

I would turn my fear to hate. I would make it burn hot.

Because I would need it to survive what lay in store for me. I’d been sixteen when I’d been made to sign that contract. I knew well the true terror of what it meant was only about to begin.

I took my place beside his father. Salvatore resumed his seat to my right. I had the feeling he took as much care not to touch me as I did not to touch either him or his father. I didn’t turn to look at my sister when she was ushered into a pew across the aisle. I paid no attention to the Benedetti soldiers lining the perimeter of the church just as I hadn’t paid any to the army the Benedetti’s had assembled outside. Instead, I watched Father Samson. He’d been old when I’d been confirmed. Now he looked ancient.

He blessed my father, even though he had taken his own life. He prayed for his soul. After all this time, I didn’t think I cared anymore. But that kindness, it gave me some small comfort.

No one cried. How strange that no one would cry at a funeral. That fact impressed itself upon me, and it felt wrong.