But I didn’t know my capabilities then. He was the one who taught me to fight, and now I’m forced to be here all over again. I’m not fighting this time around either, because he taught me that it’s my life to take and mine to make. He wouldn’t have let me believe that that if he knew I’d trade my life for his.

Daddy is dead, so Massimo will present me into marriage. Even through the white veil, he looks tired. Good. He should be up all night figuring out how to kill the man at the other side of this aisle.

We’re set apart from everyone else in the vestibule. He’ll bring me to the center in silence, and the domed ceiling echoes even the lightest whisper. This is our last chance to talk.

“You ready?” Massimo asks.

“Set him free.”

“It’s being done.”

“I want to see a video of Dario smiling and waving or I’ll kill Sergio in his sleep.”

“Good plan.” He gets behind me, as he’s supposed to.

“Massimo,” I hiss over my shoulder.

“Look.” From behind me, he takes my face and forces me to look forward. “I’ll keep my promise or you can kill me in my sleep.”

“I don’t need your permission.”

“My leg knows that. I never should have tried to find you. You want out? Go. Just go. I’m not looking for you next time. Once this shit is over, you and Lucari can both go your own fucking way. Now just walk. Do your part and I’ll do mine.”

He can’t walk forward until I do. That must be the point of it. The bride has to appear willing.

I take a deep breath. The way into the Dome has a twenty-foot arch. One step from the vestibule and I’ll be in the light of hundreds of candles, among a hundred of us—the same people who watched as I was forced into marriage the first time.

I step forward into the stone chamber.

Dario will be free.

Forward on bare feet. A bride’s connection to the earth should be uninterrupted by a sole or heel. Hands at my side. A bride does nothing in command or submission until her husband instructs. When I’m halfway to the center, I can see over the heads of my community.

Sergio’s fidgeting with his black bow tie. Father Martino stands behind a low table designed to hold the ceremonial knife vertical, blade pointing to the center of the dome.

When Sergio looks my way, it’s with a type of appreciation I can’t bear. I turn away under the veil. Though I’m sure Sergio lusts for nothing but power, there’s only one man I want to remember looking at me with desire.

“Hello, little wifeycake,” he whispers when I’m beside him. “You ready to get cut again?”