The altar is too long and the church too white. Too religious. I feel like an atheist whose skin is burning with every step that I take to the end. I let Mik take my hand as we exchange vows, and I purposely ignore all of the leather that is standing in the back room.

We say I do.

He walks me back down the aisle, and Papa smiles at me with pride. Too much pride…

My steps are slow as I brush past the group at the back, who chose to stand, not sit. My eyes collide with Wicked and seconds pass.

Sliding into the back seat, I slam the door closed as Mik sits beside me, opening his phone. An emptiness throbs in my gut as I think over everything that has lead me to this point. Marrying someone I would rather push under a bus.

The car stops and he takes my hand, leading me out of the back seat. The more time goes on, the faster the wheels spin in my head. What war with the Irish? They’ve been quiet since. Why did I need to do this? The La Rosa family name is enough for people to fear. We didn’t need to join alliances with the damn Bratva. I understand why as far as money, power, greed, but as an army? What if the Bratva decide to fucking kill me instead, or better yet, abuse me the entire time of my marriage? I don’t have anything to hold my safety. Nothing but trust in Papa.

Which I have.

The conference room at our hotel is dressed up in floral arrangements that release redolence that makes my nose pinch. I hate it, but I also don’t care.

Papa’s hand rests on my lower back as he leans into my ear. “You happy, principessa?”

I smile against him, patting his withered hand. “Sure.” I feel his energy before I see him. Like a flame raging more ardently as seconds pass by.

He brushes past me as he heads out of the emergency exit. Maybe something is wrong. Betty and Wolf are at the clubhouse. Before I can stop myself, I excuse myself from the conversation and Papa glares at me as I make my way through the same door Wicked went. I hadn’t even set foot out the door when he pulls me out.

“What is it?” I ask, searching his eyes. “Is something wrong?” He slams the door closed behind me, the muscles in his arms rippling.

“Wicked!” I shift around and push the locked door. “You did that on purpose. Why? Why do you fucking do this and make it harder on both of us?”

Our bodies brush against each other when his hand falls from the door. “You’re making this worse than it needs to be.”