Cassio
Standing at the makeshift altar in our family’s garden, my mind whirls with worries for my bride. Ana has remained strong for most of the day, keeping her head held high and hiding the anguish in her eyes. But less than twenty minutes ago, she confided in me that she was barely hanging on. She was so vulnerable in that moment, and all I wanted to do was scoop her up and shield her from any more possible harm.
The woman has been through enough in the past two days to last a lifetime. Grief is a vicious beast, especially when you’re young and have no family to help you shoulder the burden. I hope my words of encouragement were enough to keep her steady until the end of our wedding—for both of our sakes. I very much doubt she wants a crowd to see her cry, and I certainly don’t want rumors of a forced union to spread.
We’ve been set up for success, at least. My father had an entire team of workers turn the garden into a scenic wedding venue fit for Vogue, and the amount of guards surrounding the property could rival most high-security prisons in the country. We’ll have no outside interference, and the pictures that will come out of this evening will be whispered about for years to come. I can hear the gossiping society murmurs already.
Did you see the secret Moretti wedding?
I was almost invited, you know?
It was so beautiful! A shame they didn’t invite more people…
Positive chatter will help keep heavy suspicion from clouding this arrangement, but it means nothing more than that. Anyone who knows me and Ana well enough to be concerned is already clued in. The rest of the mafia world will have a glimpse, but they’ll never truly see.
Shaking out of my over-analyzing state, I try to focus on the present.
The stone arch behind me is wrapped with flowers and vines in various shades of blue that permeate the air with a delicate scent. Since the afternoon sun has descended from its peak height, there’s a faint chill in the air. A light breeze dances around the wedding space, touching every guest like a friendly greeting.
Most of the white chairs facing me are filled with family. My brothers, a few of their friends, high ranking Outfit members and their spouses, along with a few extra editions. Gerard is seated on Ana’s side of the aisle, flanked by Dustin and Colton. Armani chooses to sit with his friend as well.
Apollo, on the other hand, is located to my left, standing in as my best man. If I wasn’t going to surprise the family with the blood ceremony, I might have asked Leon to be by my side. Hell, had this been a planned out event, I might have a few more of my brothers up here as well. But for what I need, Apollo is my best option.
He’s also the most fearsome brother I have, and if there are any spies watching us somehow, I want them to remember that Ana isn’t just marrying Cassio Moretti. She’s marrying Apollo Moretti’s brother.
“Look alive,” he mutters under his breath. “Your girl is coming.”
My posture straightens immediately at his warning. My eyes follow the length of the simple aisle—a narrow strip of mowed grass covered with a creamy white cloth.
Instead of the traditional bridal chorus signaling the arrival of the bride, a rendition of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata begins to softly play. Only seconds after the music begins, Ana appears.
I have to school my expression to keep my eyes from flaring open wide. Her dress is molded to her frame like it was custom-made for her, and though there is not a hint of sparkle to the material, she is glowing.
Jade walks arm and arm with her, guiding her down the path to me like a father normally would—yet I barely glance at my sister. My eyes are firmly set on my bride. I shouldn’t find her to be such a fascinating sight. After all, I saw her not long ago, but she didn’t look like this.
Ana’s eyes meet mine, and her chest rises with an intake of air. A silent message passes between us, an offering of mutual courage. We’re in this together, and she has me to lean on.
In a matter of leisurely seconds, the two women stop walking. Jade presses a light kiss to Ana’s cheek and takes her hand to pass it to me. My future wife’s eyes don’t leave mine the entire time, and she wraps her fingers around my hand tight. I use our connection to help her make her last step, giving her a small supportive smile.
As we face one another, the priest settles behind us.
“Dearly beloved,” he begins, voice clear and practiced. “We are gathered here today under the eyes of God, to join together this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. Marriage is a sacred covenant, which should be entered into reverently. You are here to bear witness to this loving union.”
He looks to Ana and me. “Please, join hands, so we may begin.”
“I’m sorry, Father Benedict,” I tell him, attempting to sound genuine. “I’m afraid that my brother will be stepping in now.”
You could hear a pin drop following my statement. Even the wind seems to halt, bated breaths being held all around us.
“Of course,” he replies. Despite the wide-eyed look of shock on his face, he’d never deny a Moretti’s word. Without another word, he steps away, disappearing into the crowd.
I can feel the gazes of every Moretti in the room, but I do not return them. I’m sure I’ll be fielding their reactions later, but I won’t entertain their collective surprise until my bond is fully forged. My eldest brother slips into the priest’s place, no prompting needed to get him there. He knows there is only one reason I would send Father Benedict away before reciting vows.
“The blade,” I request, holding out a hand.
Apollo lifts a brow as if to ask me if I’m sure, but he doesn’t refuse me. Slipping his hand into his jacket’s inner pocket, he carefully extracts the ceremonial knife. As our family’s heir, he’s required to carry it during any and all Moretti weddings—just in case.
Holding the silver blade by its textured hilt, he keeps the tip pointed toward the ground. Without missing a beat, he opens his mouth to recite his lines.
“This knife has been held by generations of men. It has bathed in the blood of a select few, but all of whom share the same blood. The cutting edge has only ever broken Moretti skin, and it will be melted down into scrap before that changes. Do you recognize its purpose?”
“I do.”
“Does your bride?”
“She does.”
The handle is pressed into my open palm, and Father Benedict silently passes Apollo a bowl of blessed water.
Bringing my eyes back to Ana, I’m relieved to see she doesn’t appear scared. There is the faintest hint of shining in them, but she won’t cry.
“Do you intend to be mine?”
My question prompts a rehearsed smile to paint her lips.
“Only yours,” she agrees, the quiet words hitting me straight in the chest. “Will you belong to me?”
“And only you,” I pledge.
With our preliminary promises finished, the most important part of the ceremony must begin. The sacrifices.
I go first, softly scoring my finger with the tip of the silver blade. Handing the knife off to Ana, I dip my thumb into the bowl of holy water, purifying my blood before reaching toward her. Carefully tracing a downward cross into her pale skin, I watch, mesmerized as the bright red liquid stains between her breasts.
For the first time in years, my heart starts to pick up in an excited beat. Something like desire stirs in my stomach, and I blink, flicking my gaze to Ana’s face. Her honey brown eyes stare back at me and the feeling only grows. She’s beautiful, that much has always been obvious.
I’ve never been blind to how Ana looks. She has glowing ivory skin, silky hair, pink and puffy lips, and a million other features that can’t be ignored. And her body… I’ve seen more of it than I should admit. She’s swum in our pool with Jade a few times, and even seeing her in a bikini didn’t do this to me before.
In fact, no woman has garnered a reaction like this from me, not since Isobel. I haven’t had the urge to even search for the sensation, and now it’s hitting me all on its own. I’m marrying this woman, vowing my life to hers, and I can’t believe how relieved I am that Apollo isn’t standing in my place.
A surge of fierce possessiveness slams through me. It’s my blood on her skin, marking her right over her heart. It’s the ring I chose on her finger, and it’s my responsibility to keep her safe and happy. From now, until my last breath.
Ana pricks her thumb next, and despite the wound being small, I have to force myself not to tend to it. Dipping her cut into the holy water, she breathes out heavily before reaching toward my throat. Her hand is steady as she traces the same downward facing cross right over my Adam’s Apple.
Before she can retract her hand, I catch her by her fingers. Ana lets out a tiny gasp, and I hold her eyes while taking my pocket square from my jacket. Without a word, I wrap her slowly bleeding thumb in the fabric, tying a knot over the cut.
Her throat bobs in a swallow, and I reluctantly let her go. I’d insist on having Doc check her out right this second if it wouldn’t make me look insane to both my bride and my entire family.
“Father?” I ask, flicking my eyes to the man.
Dante Moretti stands from his seat in the first row, already pulling the scrap of blue ribbon from his pocket. He’s held onto the very same silky strip for three weddings before, and never once has he needed to use it. Still, he doesn’t show a hint of objection or uncertainty.
He faces Apollo, his back to the crowd and looks between my bride and me with something akin to pride. I hadn’t worried that he would be upset with my decision to bond Ana in this way, but I hadn’t expected such obvious approval either.
“Blue is the color of loyalty and trust,” Dad says thickly. “This material represents an invisible tie that will connect you for all of time.”
Taking Ana’s wrist first, he ties a small loop around it, leaving plenty of slack behind. He ties the same knot around my wrist next. Within seconds, we’re fastened together, each of us having our own bracelet of ribbon with a cord tethering them.
Dad returns to his seat, letting our guests witness the joining.
“Your rings,” Apollo prompts, pulling them from his pocket.
An unembellished, thick silver band for me, and a slim diamond-speckled halo for my bride. He offers us each the correct ring to hold, and awaits our next move. Ana takes a collecting breath and peers up at me.
Offering her an encouraging nod, I watch her lips part, preparing to say the vows I taught her only a short time ago.
“With my blood, I bind my life to your name,” she starts, her hands shaking but her voice steady. “I shed who I once was, sacrificing my past for our future. With this ribbon, we are tied. Even as it is cut, our bond remains sealed. Now, and in every moment on, I am yours.”
With her final word, she glides my wedding band into place.
I squeeze her untied hand, a small gesture that she’s done perfectly.
“With my blood, I dedicate my life to you.” I pick up where she’s left off, taking my turn. “I shed who I once was, sacrificing my past for our future. All my strength, I share with you. With this ribbon, we are tied. Even as it is cut, our bond remains sealed. Now, and in every moment on, I am yours.”
I slip her wedding band on, watching as it joins her engagement ring.
Taking the ceremonial knife once again, I guide it to the ribbon connecting us. With one quick slash, it severs, leaving only the individual pieces hanging from our wrists.
“You may kiss the bride.”
I’m already leaning down before Apollo’s cue is finished. Ana’s lips part, her breath softly mingling with mine. My ribbon-adorned hand cups the side of her face, and one small press forward seals our fate.
Our lips meet in a chaste but soft kiss, molding together naturally. Loud cheers arise from our audience, and I realize that without the sound of clapping, I may not have been so quick to pull back.
The flush on my wife’s face says the same may be true for her.
What have we gotten ourselves into?
