Chapter 2

Damien doesn't buy it. He scoffs and shakes his head, like I'm a child throwing a fit.

"Knock it off, Aria. This isn't the time to fight for attention."

"Let me handle Cordelia first. Maybe if I sweeten her up, she'll let you walk behind her as a bridesmaid tomorrow."

Cordelia pouts against his chest, tugging at his shirt, sulking.

He doesn't look back. He climbs the stairs with her in his arms, and a few minutes later the sounds start. The kind of sounds I'm supposed to pretend I can't hear through the floor.

Marco opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

"Miss Moretti." His voice is low, careful. "The seat of the Donna in this house... the Don has never once considered giving it to anyone else. You should know that."

I glance at the box of condoms in his hand. Then tip my chin toward the ceiling.

"Take them up."

Around midnight, my phone goes off. Bianca. Her voice nearly punctures my eardrum.

"Aria! What the hell is going on over there?!"

"Damien just told everyone the wedding is off?! Are you kidding me? You've been bleeding for this thing for a year! Do you remember how many nights you didn't sleep? Do you remember Sicily? Do you remember Milan?! And he just cancels it like he's canceling brunch?!"

I rub my ear and sit up. Sleep is gone.

I open my mouth to tell her the wedding's still on.

She doesn't let me get a syllable out.

"Wait. Hold on. Hold on. That son of a bitch just sent me a new invitation. Same date, same venue, new bride. Some bitch named Cordelia Vance. And he wants me to show up and clap for her?!"

"Who in God's name is Cordelia Vance?! I've never even heard of this girl!"

I lower my eyes.

This is who Damien has always been. When he loves you, he gives you the moon. When he stops, he comes for the moon back, and the sky, and the air you breathe with it.

A pair of headlights flashes across the wall. The room sinks back into darkness.

"Bianca. Listen." I keep my voice soft. "Don't worry about any of it. Just show up tomorrow. The wedding is still on."

"He's swapping out the bride. So tomorrow, I'm swapping out the groom."

The line goes dead quiet. She figures it out fast.

Then she explodes.

"That motherless snake. Swap him. Swap him hard. I want him on his knees by Sunday."

"Three years, Aria. Three years he's been screwing some side piece while he had you flying around the world picking out flowers and silk samples. Three years he's been telling you to wait for the date, the venue, the dress. And now he wants you to sit in the back row and watch?"

Her voice breaks.

"Don't you dare cry. I'll cry. I'm waking Marco's brother right now. We're burning this man's life to the ground for you. Hold on, baby. Hold on."

I laugh, soft and exhausted.

I want to tell her not to bother. The men lining up to take Damien's place tomorrow each outrank him in blood, in territory, in body count. There's nothing left of his life worth burning.

I don't get the chance.

There's a knock at my door.

It's Marco. He doesn't have to speak. The look on his face says it all before his mouth opens. He hesitates, like the words physically hurt him.

"Miss Moretti... the Don is asking for you. In the master bedroom."

I know what this is. If I refuse, Damien will take it out on Marco.

I tell Bianca to put her maid of honor dress on tomorrow and meet me at the venue. Then I head upstairs.

The master bedroom door is half open.

The room is a wreck. Sheets twisted on the floor. The smell of sex hangs in the air, thick enough to choke on.

Damien just got out of the shower. His hair is still dripping, water running down a neck covered in fresh bite marks and bruises, sliding into the open collar of his robe.

I dig my nails into my palm and shove the pain in my chest down somewhere I can't feel it.

He sees me and waves lazily at the floor. At the bridesmaid dress crumpled there, stained, ruined.

"Aria. I know you put a lot into this wedding. So here. Put this on tomorrow and stand behind Cordelia as her bridesmaid. Think of it as the year of your life paying off. At least you'll be in the photos."

Cordelia smiles like a snake under those sheets. She leans in and whispers against his ear, loud enough for me to catch every word.

"Damien, baby. Aria's the one who made the Moretti ring, isn't she? The one with all the family stones. I want it. Put it on me tomorrow."

My face doesn't move.

That ring isn't jewelry. It's a Moretti family signet. Four generations of Donnas have worn it. The inside band carries an engraving only the blood heir knows how to read. Whoever wears it carries the keys to my family's ledger.

Damien knows exactly what that ring is. He has to know.

But he just raises an eyebrow and lets out a slow, lazy breath.

"Aria. It's a ring. The girl wants it. Don't be stingy."

"You and I don't even have a new date yet, sweetheart. You've got all the time in the world. Forge yourself a new one."

He says it the way you'd offer someone the last fry on your plate.

And just like that, the pain in my chest dies. Every bit of it. Gone.

I can't feel a single thing.

I look him dead in the eye and say it one more time, soft and slow.

"I told you, Damien. Tomorrow's wedding is still happening."