The cathedral is a masterpiece of dark opulence that feels more like a gothic nightmare than a wedding venue.
Black roses and blood-red dahlias drip from every surface and two hundred guests from every major crime family pack the pews. Here to witness the union that will either bring peace to the underworld or paint the streets red.
I stand at the entrance in twenty pounds of silk and lace that feels like armor made of clouds. The bodice is so tight I can barely breathe, each breath a conscious effort.
Father's arm is tight on mine, a shackle disguised as support. "Smile," he hisses through his teeth. "You look like you're attending your own funeral."
Aren't I?
The veil is so thick I can barely see through it—layers upon layers of white tulle that blur the world into watercolor shadows. A deliberate choice by Patricia to hide the tears I've been fighting since dawn.
Since I woke up realizing this was real, this was happening.
This was the day I'd be sold to a beast.
I know nothing about Cassian Greyhaven except the nightmares. The whispered stories. The warnings.
Killed his father at twenty-one with his bare hands. Controls the eastern ports with brutal efficiency. Has left a trail of bodies from here to Miami, each one a message written in blood and bullets.
They say he collects beautiful women like art, discarding them when he gets bored.
The organ begins what feels like a death march. Bach's "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" has never sounded more like a dirge.
Each step feels like walking toward my execution. The guests turn to watch, their faces blurring through tulle and tears into a gallery of witnesses to my sale. The man at the altar is just a dark silhouette through my veil—tall, broad-shouldered, waiting like a spider at the center of his web.
We reach the altar. Father kisses my cheek, his lips cold, his whisper colder: "Don't embarrass us."
Then he hands me over like a business transaction, my palm placed in a stranger's hand. It’s warm. Large enough to dwarf mine, calloused in interesting places, but the grip is surprisingly careful, almost reverent.
It's the gentleness that terrifies me most.
The priest begins, his words washing over me like water over a drowning woman. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."
I'm not listening. I'm calculating.
How many steps to the door? Could I outrun security in this dress? Would death be preferable to whatever awaits me in Cassian Greyhaven's bed, in his house, in his life?
My free hand trembles against the bouquet when the priest finally prompts, "The veil.”
This is it. The moment I see the monster I’ll call my husband.
I hold my breath and close my eyes beneath the veil. Strong hands reach for the fabric, surprisingly gentle as they grasp the delicate tulle.
He lifts the veil slowly, almost reverently, pushing back the layers with the same careful precision someone might use to unwrap a priceless gift they've been waiting years to open.
Cool air hits my face. I smell his cologne—something dark and familiar.
Impossible.
My eyes fly open and the world stops spinning. Time freezes while my heart forgets how to beat.
Ian stands before me in a black Armani suit that makes him look like sin personified. That same crooked smile plays on his lips, those icy-blue eyes so bright with dark amusement.
"Hello again, little princess." His voice is low enough only I can hear, velvet over gravel. "Surprise."
My knees buckle and black spots dance at the edges of my vision. But he catches me smoothly, his arm sliding around my waist, making it look like an embrace to the crowd.
His hand burns through the silk, steady and sure.
"You…" The words die in my throat. Nothing makes sense. Reality has fractured. "You're—"
"The terrible Cassian Greyhaven?" His thumb strokes my waist, the touch achingly gentle for someone with his reputation. "Guilty as charged. Though in my defense, I did say we'd be seeing each other again."
"You lied to me…" My voice is barely a whisper.
"I told you my name was Ian. It is. Short from Cassian." His smile turns boyish, almost apologetic. "You seemed scared enough without adding my reputation to the mix."
The priest continues, oblivious to my world reshaping itself. "Do you, Cassian, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife..."
"I do." He answers immediately without looking away from my face. "Absolutely."
Then he leans closer, his breath warm against my ear, his voice dropping to that intimate register that makes my stomach flip.
"Don't look so terrified. Despite what they say, I'm not actually a monster. Well," he amends with that wicked smile, "not the kind that hurts innocent people. I save my cruelty for those who deserve it."
The priest turns to me now, his question hanging in the incense-heavy air. "Do you, Esther, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband..."
I'm barely hearing him.
My mind is racing, trying to reconcile Ian with the monster before me.
"I told you," Cassian murmurs while the priest continues, his thumb still stroking my waist in circles that make thinking difficult, "if I claimed you, I'd never let you go."
"The other stories—"
"I don't hurt women, Esther. I destroy men who hurt women. There's a significant difference. Ask me about the last man who raised his hand to someone I cared about. Actually, don't—you won't sleep for a week."
His hand tightens on my waist, possessive and unyielding.
"I'm going to court you properly. Starting with making that shit ex-fiancé of yours regret every life choice that led to hurting you." His smile turns sharp enough to cut. "After all, what's the point of being terrifying if I can't terrorize the people who deserve it?"
"Miss Castellano?" The priest prompts gently. "Do you take this man as your husband?"
The entire cathedral holds its breath. The silence is deafening.
Cassian's hand tightens imperceptibly on mine—not threatening, but promising.
"Say yes, little princess." His voice is rough, hungry. "Let me show you what it means to be loved by a beast who'd burn the world for you. Let me prove I'm the villain you need, not the hero you thought you wanted."
The black rose on my nightstand. The comfort in the garden when I had nothing. The way he looked at me like I was precious instead of a commodity to be traded.
He's a killer. A monster. The shadow parents use to frighten their children into obedience.
And he's the only person who ever held me while I cried without wanting something in return.
"I do…" I whisper into the charged silence.
Cassian's smile turns wicked and triumphant. "Good girl."
The priest pronounces us husband and wife, his voice echoing through the Gothic arches. "You may now kiss the bride."
Cassian's hand slides into my hair, fingers tangling in the careful curls, tilting my head back with authority that makes my breath catch. His eyes burn into mine with an intensity that makes the rest of the world disappear.
"Finally," he breathes against my lips.
And it's nothing like the careful, chaste kiss a groom gives his bride in front of God and family. It's the same desperate hunger from that night in the pool house, but now amplified by the legal right to claim me.
His tongue claims my mouth like he's claiming territory, his teeth catching my bottom lip in a way that makes me gasp.
I forget we have an audience. Forget the cathedral full of criminals and killers. Forget everything but the dangerous man claiming me in front of God and the entire underworld.