I turn to see Kieran Costello himself emerging from a black sedan.
"I still can't decide whether you're as pretty as your sister. But, you'll make a fine wife nonetheless."
"I'm not marrying anyone," I spit.
"Oh, but you are, Sofia." He approaches slowly, like a predator sizing up prey. "My demands were sent to your brother-in-law hours ago. My intel tells me the Commission is voting on it tonight."
The way he says my name makes my skin crawl. Like he's tasting it, savoring the ownership implied in those syllables.
"Vito will never?—"
"Vito will do exactly what I expect him to do," Kieran cuts me off with a laugh like breaking glass. "I've backed him into a corner. There's no way they won't approve it. You Italians are all the same—more interested in your precious pasta than your pride."
His words hit hard. They're voting on my future right now. Actually sitting around a table deciding whether to trade me away like I'm a piece of property.
"I can see you're processing this," Kieran continues, circling me slowly. "Good. Reality is setting in. Now, let's get you settled. Tomorrow's going to be a very big day."
"Tomorrow?"
"Our wedding, of course." His smile widens. "I know it's short notice, but we can't risk any more... interruptions. Can we, princess?"
I recoil at the nickname. When Dante calls me princess, it started as mockery but became something tender, protective. From Kieran, it's pure humiliation.
They lead me inside the church, past rows of empty pews and up a narrow stone staircase. The building feels ancient, cold, like the weight of centuries is pressing down on the vaulted ceiling. Religious icons stare down at me from alcoves, their painted eyes seeming to judge my situation.
"This is St. Patrick’s,” Kieran says, noticing my upward glance. "Been in my family for three generations. Seems fitting that it should host my wedding, don't you think?"
I don't answer. Can't answer. My throat feels like it's closing.
They lock me in a small room off the main sanctuary—probably a vestry or storage area. It's sparse but clean, with a single bed, a washbasin, and a small window too high and narrow to climb through. The door is solid oak with iron hardware that looks like it could withstand a battering ram.
I'm examining the lock when it opens again. A younger man enters, carrying a tray of food. He has Kieran's general coloring but softer features, brown eyes instead of gray. There's something almost apologetic in his expression.
"Thought you might be hungry," he says, setting the tray on the small table. "I'm Declan. Kieran's younger brother."
"The one who's going to help me escape?"
He almost smiles at that. "Afraid not. But I brought you real food instead of the gruel Kieran wanted to give you."
I look at the tray—roast beef sandwich, apple slices, a bottle of water. It's more consideration than I expected from any Costello.
"Why?"
Declan shrugs. "Maybe because I have a sister. Maybe because what we're doing to you isn't right, even if it is necessary."
"Necessary for what?"
His expression darkens. "You know about Liam?"
I nod. Rina had made a deal to marry Liam if he agreed to kill our father. Only, Vito got to him first and took Rina as his wife. A fact that didn't sit well with Liam, which he made public at their wedding. Vito put a bullet in his shoulder, and since then, all we know is that he was still alive when he ran out of the cathedral.
"Liam was an idiot," Declan says bluntly. "Made promises he couldn't keep, deals that weren't his to make. Got himself shot and nearly started a war in the process. Brought shame on the family name."
"So you're marrying me off to clean up his mess?"
"Kieran is." There's a distinction there, subtle but important. "The whole world knows a Gallo was promised to the Costellos. If we don't follow through, we look weak. Can't afford that in our line of work."
"And what do you think about it?"
