"Congratulations, dear!" A woman in her forties rushes over, beaming. "I'm Deirdre, and I'm in charge of getting you ready for your special day. This is going to be such a beautiful wedding!"
I want to tell her there's nothing beautiful about forced marriage, but I bite my tongue. A younger woman with dark hair and cold blue eyes steps forward, already wearing a powder blue bridesmaid dress.
"I'm Siobhan," she says with false sweetness. "Kieran's cousin. We're so excited to welcome you to the family."
A little girl with red curls bounces around the room, clutching a basket of flower petals. She can't be more than five, with gap-toothed grin and bright green eyes.
"And this is Ciara," Deirdre says fondly. "Our flower girl. She's been practicing all week."
"I get to make the aisle pretty for Skippy!" Ciara announces proudly.
They dress me like a doll, the undergarments coming on as I stand numbly in front of the ornate mirror. The fabric rustles with every movement, beautiful and suffocating all at once.
"Just one more bridesmaid to go," Deirdre says, pinning back sections of my hair. "She should be here any?—"
The door opens, and my heart stops.
Gianna walks in wearing an identical blue dress, her dark hair styled perfectly, looking for all the world like she belongs here. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I see her slight shake of the head—a warning not to react.
But I can't help the sharp intake of breath, the way my hands grip the arms of the chair.
"Sorry I'm late," Gianna says smoothly, moving to stand with Siobhan. "Finn needed my help with some last-minute arrangements."
Siobhan's eyes narrow slightly, studying my face. "Everything all right, Sofia? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Think fast. I force my expression into something like relief. "I just... I wasn't expecting anyone from home."
"Of course he'd want someone here," Siobhan says smugly. "Can't have the Don's sister-in-law getting married without proper Italian representation. Shows he's taking this arrangement seriously."
Gianna nods solemnly. "Don Vito wanted to ensure Sofia felt... supported during this transition."
The word 'supported' carries weight, and I catch the slight emphasis. She's telling me something. Vito knows. They're here. This isn't surrender—it's strategy.
"Well, that's settled then," Deirdre beams, oblivious to the undercurrents. "Now, let's get you in this beautiful dress, dear."
As they help me into the gown, I steal glances at Gianna in the mirror. She's playing her part perfectly, commenting on my hair, adjusting the flowers, acting like any other bridesmaid. But there's something in her eyes—a alertness that tells me she's constantly assessing, planning.
"You look stunning," Gianna says as Deirdre fastens the last button. Her fingers brush my shoulder as she adjusts the sleeve, and I feel her press something small into the fabric. "Absolutely radiant."
Ciara claps her hands together. "You're so pretty! Skippy's gonna be so happy!"
"Skippy?" I ask, despite myself.
"Skipper," Siobhan explains with an eye roll. "It's what the little ones call Kieran. Irish hierarchy is different from what you Italians are used to."
If only she knew how right she was. This child might be the only innocent thing in this entire twisted ceremony.
The door opens and Declan enters, looking uncomfortable in his formal tux. His eyes meet mine with what might be sympathy.
"Ready?" he asks gently.
"No."
He almost smiles at that. "Fair enough. But we're going anyway."
Declan offers his arm, and I have no choice but to take it. As we walk through the stone corridors of St. Patrick's Cathedral, I try to memorize every detail—the Gothic arches, the religious icons staring down at us, the way the candlelight flickers against the walls. If I'm going to die here, at least I'll know where.
The ceremony music begins, echoing through the vast space. Celtic hymns that would be beautiful under different circumstances but now sound like a funeral dirge.
