The wedding took place at nine seventeen that night.
Sophia knew the exact time because the antique clock in the estate chapel struck nine while the priest was still speaking, and then struck once more just as Luca slid the ring onto her finger.
There were no flowers except white roses from the garden.
No guests except Elena, Marco, the priest, and a handful of Moretti men positioned near every door.
Sophia wore a simple ivory dress Elena found in a wardrobe upstairs.
It belonged to their mother.
That revelation nearly made Sophia refuse it.
Elena insisted.
“She would have liked you.”
“You’ve known me four hours.”
“That’s three hours longer than she needed to dislike most people.”
Sophia decided to accept that as a blessing.
Luca wore the same black suit.
He looked like a man attending either a wedding or an execution.
Possibly both.
When the priest asked whether he accepted Sophia as his wife, Luca said yes without hesitation.
When it was Sophia’s turn, she felt every person in the chapel hold their breath.
Especially Luca.
“I do.”
His eyes closed for half a second.
Only she noticed.
When the priest declared them husband and wife, Luca did not immediately kiss her.
He leaned closer.
“May I?”
The question surprised her enough that she almost laughed.
“You’re asking now?”
“Yes.”
“After I flew five thousand miles and married you?”
His mouth moved.
“Is that a yes?”
Sophia lifted onto her toes.
It still wasn’t enough.
Luca bent.
Their kiss was brief.
Careful.
Nothing like the dramatic kiss the situation seemed to demand.
But when Sophia stepped back, she felt something warm and dangerous flutter beneath her ribs.
Elena was crying.
Marco pretended not to notice.
Then a gunshot shattered one of the chapel windows.
Luca moved before Sophia understood what had happened.
One massive arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her against him as glass sprayed across the stone floor.
Marco drew a weapon.
The guards surged toward the windows.
Luca forced Sophia down behind the altar.
“Stay here.”
“What was that?”
“A warning.”
“That sounded like a bullet!”
“It was.”
“That’s not a warning. That’s shooting!”
His hands went to her shoulders.
“Sophia.”
She stopped.
His face was close to hers.
Controlled.
Terrifyingly calm.
“Stay with Elena.”
Then he was gone.
Sophia watched him cross the chapel while men shouted in Italian.
Outside, car engines roared.
She felt someone grab her arm.
Elena.
“Come.”
They moved through a side passage.
Sophia’s wedding shoes slipped against the stone.
Naturally.
Even during an armed attack, gravity remained committed to humiliating her.
Elena dragged her through a narrow door into a windowless room.
“What is this?”
“Safe room.”
“Your family has a safe room in the chapel?”
“My family has safe rooms everywhere.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It isn’t supposed to be.”
The door locked behind them.
For the next thirteen minutes, they heard nothing.
Sophia paced.
Elena sat in an upholstered chair like this happened every Tuesday.
“How are you calm?”
“I grew up here.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“Yes, it does.”
Sophia stopped pacing.
“Does Luca get shot at often?”
“Less than when he was younger.”
“That’s somehow worse.”
Elena’s mouth tightened.
Sophia studied her.
“You said your mother would have liked me.”
“She would.”
“What happened to her?”
Elena looked down.
“She was killed.”
Sophia’s anger vanished.
“I’m sorry.”
“It was twelve years ago.”
“Rinaldi?”
“No. Someone before him.”
Sophia sank into the chair opposite her.
“And your father?”
“Dead too.”
“How?”
“Heart attack.”
“That sounds suspiciously normal.”
“It disappointed many people.”
Sophia snorted before she could stop herself.
Elena smiled faintly.
“My brother was twenty-four when he took over the family.”
Sophia tried to imagine Luca twelve years younger.
“He had to raise you?”
“I was sixteen.”
“That explains your personality.”
“My personality is excellent.”
“Your personality threatened me with a secret ten minutes after meeting me.”
“I was helping.”
A buzzer sounded.
Elena stood.
The door opened.
Luca entered.
No blood.
Sophia’s knees almost weakened from relief.
He saw it.
His expression softened.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m not the one who was outside.”
“I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“One shooter. He escaped.”
“Rinaldi?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“No insignia. No vehicle registration.”
Sophia stared.
“You sound disappointed your shooter didn’t provide identification.”
Elena walked past him.
“Welcome to the family.”
She left them alone.
Luca glanced at the ring on Sophia’s finger.
“The priest says the ceremony was technically completed before the shot.”
“Good.”
“You’re relieved?”
“I would hate to go through that twice.”
He almost smiled.
Then his face became serious.
“You should leave in the morning.”
Sophia’s temper rose instantly.
“We’ve been married nineteen minutes.”
“Twenty-three.”
“You counted?”
“No.”
“You absolutely counted.”
His silence confirmed it.
Sophia crossed her arms.
“You think I should leave after somebody shoots at our wedding?”
“Yes.”
“That seems like rewarding bad behavior.”
“Sophia.”
“No.”
“This is not stubbornness you can afford.”
“And you think sending me back to Boston makes me safe?”
“I can arrange protection.”
“From the man who already knew I was coming here?”
Luca’s eyes sharpened.
Sophia stepped closer.
“If Rinaldi cares whether I marry you, then I’m already involved.”
“That doesn’t mean you stay.”
“It means I don’t let you send me somewhere without explaining what’s happening.”
Luca turned away.
She caught his sleeve.
“Talk to me.”
He looked at her hand.
Then at her.
Sophia let go.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“For grabbing you?”
“For touching me.”
The way he said it made her chest ache unexpectedly.
Like touch was another thing he had learned not to expect.
Sophia softened.
“Who is Vittorio Rinaldi?”
Luca walked to a cabinet and poured water, not whiskey, which surprised her.
“Our families worked together once.”
“Doing what?”
“Things I would rather you never need to understand.”
“That’s vague.”
“It’s intentionally vague.”
“Are you a criminal?”
He looked straight at her.
“Yes.”
The honesty silenced her.
“You’re not going to pretend otherwise?”
“No.”
“Have you killed people?”
Luca’s face went still.
“That’s not a question I want to answer tonight.”
“That means yes.”
“It means there are things in my past you may decide you cannot live with.”
Sophia swallowed.
This wasn’t fantasy.
Not really.
He was not simply a misunderstood wealthy man in a suit.
He existed in a violent world.
He had done violent things.
She needed to remember that.
But Luca continued.
“I have spent the last four years moving our legitimate businesses away from everything my father built. Hotels. Shipping. Vineyards. Construction. Rinaldi doesn’t want that.”
“Why?”
“Because legitimate businesses don’t need men like him.”
“So he wants you trapped in the old world.”
“Yes.”
“And my father?”
Luca’s hand tightened around the glass.
“Rinaldi approached him because your father had access to one of our American logistics companies.”
Sophia stared.
“My father told me he was consulting for an import firm.”
“He was.”
“Yours?”
“Yes.”
Her stomach dropped.
“And he sold Rinaldi information?”
“We believe so.”
“About what?”
“Shipments. Accounts. Names.”
“Did anyone die?”
Luca was silent.
“Oh God.”
“We don’t know whether Daniel understood how the information would be used.”
“My father.”
Sophia stood very still.
“My father gave information to someone trying to hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“And then offered you his daughter to erase his debt.”
Luca’s face hardened.
“I told you. The debt is canceled whether you stay or not.”
“But why accept?”
He looked tired suddenly.
Not physically.
Somewhere deeper.
“Because I thought keeping you here might keep you alive.”
She stared at him.
“What?”
“Rinaldi had already asked questions about you.”
Her blood chilled.
“When?”
“Two weeks before your father contacted me.”
Sophia felt the floor shift beneath her.
“You knew I was in danger.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I sent security to Boston.”
“You had people watching me?”
“Protecting you.”
“Without telling me!”
“If Rinaldi believed you knew, you would have become more useful to him.”
“And marrying you makes me less useful?”
“No.”
Luca’s expression darkened.
“It makes you mine in the eyes of men like him.”
Sophia stiffened.
He immediately corrected himself.
“Under my protection.”
“Better.”
“I’m aware.”
Sophia turned toward the broken chapel window visible through the open corridor.
“So now he’s angry.”
“Yes.”
“Because I married you.”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful.”
“I told you to leave.”
“And I married you anyway.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
Sophia whirled.
“You keep saying things like that.”
“Because they’re true.”
“No. Because you’re scared.”
Luca’s eyes hardened.
“I’m not scared.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Of Rinaldi?”
“Of me.”
That stopped him.
Sophia pointed toward him.
“You keep waiting for me to regret marrying you. You keep offering me exits. You keep deciding I’m going to leave before I actually leave.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’ve known me less than a day.”
“Exactly. And somehow I already know you do this.”
“You know nothing about me.”
“Then tell me.”
The words hung between them.
Luca looked at her for a long moment.
Then he walked toward the balcony doors.
Sophia followed.
“You want to know why the other women left?”
She said nothing.
“Two said I frightened them. One told her father she could never share a bed with someone who looked like he could break her in half. Another said being seen beside me made her feel ridiculous.”
Sophia’s heart tightened.
“The fifth?”
“She cried.”
“What?”
“The moment she saw me.”
“Because you’re tall?”
“Because of everything.”
His size.
His scars.
His reputation.
His silence.
Sophia understood.
“And the sixth?”
“She had already heard the stories.”
“So she never came.”
“No.”
Luca stared over the dark lake.
“People think size means strength.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Sometimes.”
He looked down at his hands.
“But when I was fourteen, I was already taller than most grown men. People moved away from me. Teachers assumed I started fights. Girls laughed. My father loved it.”
“Loved what?”
“That people were afraid.”
His expression turned cold.
“He told me fear was a gift.”
Sophia moved beside him.
“And you?”
“I learned it was useful.”
“But you didn’t like it.”
“That stopped mattering.”
“No,” she said quietly. “You convinced yourself it stopped mattering.”
Luca looked at her.
She was close enough to see a pale scar near his jaw.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m a man.”
Her throat tightened.
“What else would you be?”
He gave a humorless smile.
“You’d be surprised.”
Sophia reached for his hand.
This time she did it deliberately.
Luca looked down as her much smaller fingers wrapped around his.
He didn’t move.
“You’re my husband,” she said.
“For less than an hour.”
“Still counts.”
His thumb shifted over her knuckles.
Then Marco burst into the corridor.
“Luca.”
The warmth vanished instantly.
“What?”
“We found something in the shooter’s abandoned car.”
Marco held out an envelope.
Luca opened it.
Inside was another photograph.
Sophia recognized the bakery.
But this picture was new.
It showed her father leaving through the back door.
A man stood beside him.
Vittorio Rinaldi.
On the back, one sentence had been written.
Ask your bride what her father promised me before he promised her to you.
Sophia looked at Luca.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I believe you.”
The immediate answer stunned her.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
Marco looked less convinced.
Luca noticed.
“Say it.”
Marco hesitated.
“Daniel Bennett may not have been acting alone.”
Sophia’s face went hot.
“You think I helped him?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You thought it.”
“Sophia,” Luca said.
She turned on him.
“Do you think I knew?”
“No.”
No hesitation.
No calculation.
Just no.
Something inside her settled.
Then Luca’s phone rang.
He answered in Italian.
His expression changed after three seconds.
“What happened?” Marco asked.
Luca lowered the phone.
“The Boston bakery.”
Sophia’s heart stopped.
“What about it?”
Luca looked directly at her.
“It’s on fire.”