I sucked in a sharp breath. “Lucio, how…?”
He nodded toward the door at his back. “She and Tommaso were talking about it in the hallway.” He tucked the rings into his pocket and patted them. “Come on. Let’s have the last laugh. I’m sure Carina will gawk like a stunned mullet once she sees me at the altar instead of you.”
Hope flared, tentative. “Are you sure? You haven’t met this woman. Not only haven’t you seen her, you’ll be stuck in this marriage for life as Nicolo De Luca’s in-law.”
Lucio shrugged. “So? You married Gemma without knowing her. This could work.”
“That’s different.” I extended my hands. “Besides… Gemma and I were a disaster for weeks before things turned around. You’ll hate this.”
“Hate it more than watching you slowly die inside? Please. You’ve been there for me my entire life. You’re the only family I’ve ever known. Let me do this for you.”
I searched his gaze for any sign of reluctance, but found only fierce determination. “There’s a side exit down the corridor.” Over my dead body would I let my brother sacrifice himself for my sake. “We could disappear, but we must leave now.”
He shook his head. “Think, Enzo. If we humiliate the De Lucas at the altar, the peace treaty goes up in flames. Do you want to rehash this war?”
“We could be halfway to Australia by morning,” I argued, my voice dropping to a desperate whisper, refusing to give up hope.
He gripped my shoulders, his eyes locking with mine. “It’s too late. The guests are waiting. They’re expecting a groom. Let it be me.” He clapped me on the back. “Besides,” he added, a playful wink returning to his eyes, “I’m not sticking around in Sicily. I have my life in Lombardy. Don’t fret,fratello… I won’t become one of them.”
I stared at the floor. “By now Carina would have made clear I’m the groom. De Luca might still be expecting me.”
Lucio patted my shoulder. “Leave it to me. I have an idea.”
I trusted his playful wink and followed him out the door, a sliver of hope battling the familiar dread that things were moving too smoothly. When did anything ever go right for me and Gemma without a hefty price?
We strolled through the corridor and into the main church. The scent of incense, usually comforting, now felt heavy, almost suffocating. Carina perched in the front row beside Tommaso and a few others. Her lip stiffened when we flanked our positions beside the same priest who married Gemma and me. Déjà vu. Except this time, it felt like a twisted parody.
Lucio whispered to the priest—perhaps to update him so he’d announce the correct name during the ceremony—who all of a sudden sweated profusely, beads forming on his forehead like tiny, glistening sins.
No different than at my wedding. I bet he’d retire from active ministry after this, scarred by the Calafiore family drama. A small, bitter smile tugged at my lips. Was this really happening? Was I actually getting out of this? My shoulder blades prickled,a warning sign my body always offered when danger lurked. I drew a shallow breath, trying to ignore it.
Lucio straightened his shoulders, radiating confidence. I stood, tense as a pole beside him, my best man duties feeling surreal. Every muscle in my body remained coiled, waiting. Waiting for the bomb to drop. Waiting for the other shoe to fall.
My brother’s prediction held true. Our mother represented a stunned mullet, her face a mask of disbelief. I wanted to laugh, but the laughter caught in my throat, choked by anticipation.
Members of the De Lucas entered and took their seats, each one carrying a gun strapped to their side. The glint of metal beneath expensive suits was a stark reminder of what was at stake.
Symphonic music filled the church, a soaring melody that felt strangely discordant given the circumstances. The guests ascended from their seats, their faces a mix of curiosity and guarded expectation. The front doors opened, and Nicolo De Luca, taking his deceased uncle’s place, stepped in to walk his cousin down the aisle. My heart hammered against my ribs.
Please, just let this be real. Please, let me be free.
“It’s her.” My brother whispered. His face brightened as if he’d won the jackpot. Relief flooded his features, a stark contrast to the knot in my stomach that refused to loosen. Was Lucio truly happy, or was this a performance to ebb my guilt?
“Who?” Where had he seen this girl?
“The girl from the festival,” he whispered, not taking his gaze off the bride.
His voice held a genuine lightness I hadn’t heard in years. And here I expected he’d dread marrying a complete stranger. “Heart-eyes emoji?”
He gripped my shoulder with one hand and gave a slow but sure nod. “One hundred percent.”
Part of me envied his easy acceptance, his ability to embrace the unknown. But that wasn’t me. I was forever tethered to the past, to the memory of Gemma, to the fear of losing everything again.
The young woman marched halfway up the aisle now. Her gown shimmered under the dim light filtering from the stained glass window. Indeed, the same woman Lucio ran off to chat with during the festival. The girl risked a glimpse of her groom. Her down-turned expression evaporated, replaced with a genuine smile. At least they both favored each other.
A flicker of warmth sparked within me, a hope that maybe, just maybe, this could work out for Lucio.
Nicolo’s curiosity veered from me to Lucio.
