Cold fury darkened his gaze and now that I had a moment to think on it, I comprehended just how badly I fucked up.

I know it wouldn’t mean a thing to him, but I had to say it. “I’m sorry,” I whispered with genuine fear in my eyes. My gaze swept over the children stopping at the oozing wound at his shoulder and I said the words again, desperate and quavering, “I’m sorry.”

His brows knotted, his jaw ticked and when he stood, he took no care in hauling me up harshly, setting me down on wobbling legs. I peered downward to find the floor warping and twisting as I fought to stay conscious. My betrotheds blood decorated my pristine white dress and it was fitting. My purity was tainted and my dress now reflected that.

Ettore turned towards the chaotic congregation and lifted his hand, demanding silence. It took a moment but the entire hall hushed instantly into an eerie quiet, save for the quiet whimpers of his children.

They held my uncle still. I wanted to tell them to let him go, but I knew I was in no position to make demands. Not now. Zio Como’s gaze met my own and the look of betrayal he wore absolutely crushed me. I wanted to go to him. As I yanked my arm, Ettore held firm and when he spoke, I paused, unable to believe what I was hearing.

My intended came across as devastatingly charming as he said, “Yes, well, now that my bride has gotten that out of her system, I think it’s time we stopped goofing off and got married.”

“What?” I croaked, only I wasn’t the only one asking that question out loud.

Surely, he wasn’t serious.

“Tor,” the person beside us who I assumed was best man uttered in disbelief.

Ettore simply waved him off. “Father Francis, if you will.”

The priest looked between us, hesitating, before he cleared his throat and explained, “My boy, I’m sorry, but we cannot proceed if an objection has been called. Those are sacred rules and I must abide by them.”

Ettore’s jaw tensed. He leveled the priest with a deadly stare and uttered coldly, “There was no objection.”

The priest glanced at me. “But…”

“My bride made a joke.” The priest glanced down to where his shoulder was oozing blood and Ettore amended, “A tasteless joke.” Then he turned that arctic stare on me. “Didn’t you, darling?”

The moment I opened my mouth to object, Ettore Scala leant in close and muttered, “A single nod from me and this church will be redecorated in the exact shade of your family’s innards. I will eviscerate every single one of them, paying particularly close attention to your sister and uncle. Think very hard about what your next words will be.”

There were men who bluffed and there were men who didn’t.