She Took My Wedding, So I Married the Don Chapter 11

Every instinct Luca had told him to lock me in the estate and burn the Castellanos to the ground.

I didn’t let him.

“If we don’t show, Marco knows Bianca talked,” I said. “And then she’s the one who disappears. She’s carrying a baby,

Luca. She’s still my sister.”

He looked at me for a long time.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack,” he said finally.

“Only a small one.”

So on Saturday, at seven p.m., I walked into the Lakeview Grand Ballroom-the venue I’d chosen, booked, and paid for

-in a backless red silk dress, my grandmother’s pearls, and my husband’s arm.

The room went silent.

Two hundred and twelve guests. I knew because I’d addressed every invitation by hand.

Mom’s champagne glass stopped halfway to her mouth. Dad went gray. Ethan, at the head table, looked like he wanted

to slide under it.

And Bianca, in my dress-ivory lace, the sweetheart neckline I’d cried over in the fitting room-met my eyes across the

room. Terrified. Grateful.

On the far side, a whole table of men in dark suits went still.

At its center sat Marco Castellano. White suit. Black rose in his lapel. He lifted his glass to me and smiled.

Luca’s hand tightened on my waist. Not a flicker crossed his face.

Rocco and twelve Moretti men were already in the room-disguised as waiters, as guests, as the band’s new drummer.

We sat at the table in the back, near the kitchen doors. The table Mom had seated “single cousins and the help” at, back when this was my wedding.

The speeches started.

Dad stood and mumbled something about family. Ethan’s best man made a joke about “second chances” and nobody

laughed.

Then I stood up.

Mom made a strangled sound. I walked to the front and took the microphone out of the best man’s hand. He let me.

“Hi,” I said. “Most of you know me. I’m Sloane. I’m the original bride.”

A ripple through the room. Phones came out.

“I paid for this room. The flowers. The band. Your salmon.” I smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Nervous laughter.

“Three weeks ago, my parents gave my wedding to my sister. My dress. My bedroom-for the nursery. They asked me not to come because people might count the months.” I looked straight at my mother. “So I’ll save you the math. Yes.

He cheated. In my bed. On Christmas.”

Mom’s face went scarlet. Gasps. Ethan’s mother put her hand over her mouth.

“But here’s what I learned,” I went on, and my voice shook only a little. “Family isn’t who shares your blood. It’s who carries you over broken glass.” I looked at Luca. “So, to the bride and groom. I hope you’re as happy as I am.”

I raised my glass.

Slow applause. One person. A single pair of hands.

Marco Castellano rose to his feet, still clapping, his smile wide and white.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Truly. My turn.”

He crossed the dance floor. Nobody stopped him. He took the microphone from me gently, like a gentleman.

“Since we’re telling truths tonight,” he said to the room, “let’s tell the biggest one.”

He turned to the head table.

“That baby isn’t his.”

He pointed at Ethan.

“It’s mine.”

Chaos. Ethan stood up so fast his chair crashed backward. Mom shrieked. Bianca went white as the lace.

And before anyone could move, Marco was behind her, one arm around her throat.

A pistol pressed against her ribs.

“Moretti,” he called pleasantly across the room. “You and me. Outside. Alone.”

He smiled at me.

“Or the bride bleeds all over your wife’s pretty dress.”