Chapter 1

Five minutes before I say "I do," my fiancé's dead brother's widow staggers into the chapel with her dress half off, screaming that my "godfather" raped her.

"Luca, save me! Nico Sokolov forced himself on me!"

Chiara collapses at his feet, mascara running, one strap of her black dress hanging off her shoulder.

"He said I was a fake, that I stole the Marchetti name from your real bride, that he could do whatever he wanted to me — I want to die, Luca, I want to die — "

The pews go off like a powder keg. People are on their feet. Someone shouts *animal*. Someone else shouts my name like a curse, like I dragged a wolf into a church.

Luca strips off his jacket and wraps it around Chiara like she's made of glass. Then he looks at me. Cold. The way you look at a stain.

"Marchetti." He doesn't even use my first name. "Get that piece of shit out here. Now. He's getting on his knees in front of Chiara, and after that I want him cut. All three legs. Or this wedding's off."

My parents stand up like they're about to lynch me. My future father-in-law cracks his knuckles.

I almost laugh.

Because my "godfather" doesn't have three legs to cut.

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*Smack.*

My mother's palm lands so hard my ear rings.

"You think this is funny?" Her hand is shaking. Her nails almost go in my eye. "I should've left you in that group home. I knew you were trash the second I brought you back."

I taste blood on my lip. I keep my face flat.

"Chiara has class. You? You brought a family of rapists with you."

"Mom." My voice is calm. I want it calm. "Did anyone call the cops?"

"Did anyone get a rape kit done?"

"Or do we just take Chiara's word like it's the gospel?"

My father kicks over a vase of white lilies. "She wouldn't *lie* about something like this, you stupid bitch!"

He points at the back of the church like a general. "I want the muscle on Sokolov. Right now. In front of God and every family in New York. We cut him here. Tonight. For Chiara."

Chiara presses her face into Luca's chest. Her dress is in ribbons. There are dark red marks all up her neck.

"Don't — don't blame her, Daddy," she whispers, just loud enough for the front rows to hear. "Maybe Nico just couldn't help himself. I'm not a real Marchetti. I shouldn't have stolen her place — "

"Couldn't help himself?" Luca's whole face is red. He's stroking her hair like she's a sick dog. "He's a fucking animal. By the time I'm done, he won't be helping himself to anything ever again."

He turns to me. The man I was about to marry.

"Marchetti. You heard her. She's still defending him. Still trying to protect *you*."

"A girl raised by a rapist doesn't walk into a Romano house. I'm giving you three minutes. Get him here. If he runs, *you* go down for it. You'll do Chiara's time."

The whispering in the pews is acid.

"Real daughter, my ass."

"Letting her own family rape her sister-in-law. Disgusting."

"Luca's right. Put the dog down."

I pull out my phone. I look right at Chiara. She's still curled into Luca's chest. The smallest smile twitches at the corner of her mouth when she thinks no one's looking.

"Chiara." My voice carries. "You're sure it was my godfather who raped you."

"It was him." She looks up, eyes wet, blazing. "I'll see him in hell. I'll see him *dead.*"

"Good." I turn to Luca. "And you said you want him cut. All three legs."

"Every fucking one," he hisses.

"Good."

I dial. I hit speaker.

"Since you're all in such a rush to meet the devil — let's introduce you."

One ring.

Two.

The line picks up, and the roar of a heavy bike engine blasts through the speaker and ricochets off the stained glass.

I speak softly. Politely. Like I'm ordering room service.

"Godfather. Come down to the church."

"Somebody here says they want to take your dick off."

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