She Took My Wedding, So I Married the Don Chapter 12

Nobody breathed.

Every Moretti man in the room had a hand under a jacket. Every Castellano did too. Two hundred guests frozen

between them like a held note.

Luca rose slowly from our table.

“Let her go, Marco.”

“Come outside and I will.”

“Luca, don’t,” I whispered.

He didn’t look at me. That scared me more than the gun.

“You blew up the wrong car seven years ago,” Marco said. “Let’s fix that tonight.”

Luca started walking. Calm. Unhurried. Toward the doors.

I knew that walk. It was the walk of a man who’d decided he didn’t mind dying if it meant someone else didn’t.

No.

My eyes went to Bianca.

My sister. Pinned against Marco’s chest. Shaking. But her right hand had drifted to the wedding cake beside her-to the silver cake knife with the ivory ribbon. The one I’d picked.

She was looking at me.

Waiting. The way she used to wait at the top of the stairs when we were kids, before we snuck down to steal cookies. Now?

I thought about every boyfriend she’d stolen. Every recital Mom missed for her. Every cruel smile.

Then I thought about the girl who’d been terrified for two years and told no one.

I nodded once.

Bianca drove the cake knife straight down into the back of Marco’s hand.

He screamed. The gun jerked-

-and went off.

The sound was enormous. Glass exploded somewhere. People screamed and dove under tables.

Bianca dropped to the floor. Marco lunged for the gun with his bleeding hand-

-and Luca hit him like a freight train.

I’d never seen anything like it. Two hundred and forty pounds of pure rage. Marco went down hard. The gun skidded across the dance floor and Rocco stomped on it. Within seconds, Moretti men had every Castellano on their knees, hands on their heads.

It was over.

I ran to Bianca first. “Are you hurt? The baby?”

“I’m okay.” She was sobbing, clutching her stomach. “We’re okay. Sloe, we’re okay.”

I turned to find Luca.

He was standing over Marco. Swaying.

“Luca?”

He looked down at his own white shirt like he didn’t recognize it.

A red stain was spreading beneath his ribs. Fast. Too fast.

“Oh,” he said, almost mildly. “That’s inconvenient.”

His knees buckled.

1 caught him. I don’t know how-he was twice my size-but I caught him and we went down together onto the polished floor I’d paid for, and his blood was soaking into my red dress until you couldn’t tell where the silk ended.

“Somebody call an ambulance!” I was screaming. “Rocco!”

I pressed both hands to the wound. Hot. Pulsing. Grandpa never taught me how to fix this.

Luca lifted one bloody hand to my cheek.

“Told you, cara,” he whispered, and he almost smiled. “Everyone I love…”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare say it like that.”

“…ends up…”

His eyes slid shut.

His hand fell from my face.