She Took My Wedding, So I Married the Don Chapter 10

Luca reached me before the ambulance did.

I’d never seen him run. He came down that embankment like an avalanche and dropped to his knees in the mud and

put his hands on my face, my arms, my ribs, his own hands shaking so badly he couldn’t hold still.

“I’m okay,” I kept saying. “Luca. I’m okay. I downshifted.”

“You downshifted,” he repeated, like it was the most insane sentence in the English language. Then he pulled me into

his chest and held me so hard I couldn’t breathe, and I felt his whole body shudder.

“I can’t,” he whispered into my hair. “I can’t do it again. I can’t.”

“You don’t have to. I’m right here.”

Bruised wrist. Two stitches above my eyebrow. That was all.

By evening, Rocco had security footage from the estate’s back road. A man in a hoodie near the garage at four a.m.

Face hidden. But when he turned, the camera caught his hand.

A tattoo. A black rose.

“Castellano,” Luca said. His voice was very quiet. That was worse than shouting.

“How did they know I’d take the Shelby?”

Nobody answered. Nobody had to.

I called Bianca.

She picked up on the first ring, sobbing. “Sloane-oh God, Sloane, are you okay? I heard-I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t

know-”

“Who did you tell?”

“He said he’d only scare you!” She was hysterical. “He said if I told him where you’d be, he’d leave me alone, he’d leave

the baby alone-”

“Who, Bianca?”

A long, broken silence.

“Marco,” she whispered.

And then it all came out.

She’d met Marco Castellano in her junior year of college. He was charming. Rich. Dangerous in the way that felt

exciting until it wasn’t. He liked to hurt her. When she tried to leave, he told her she’d leave when he said so.

When she got pregnant in December, he laughed and said the baby was hers to deal with.

So she’d come home for Christmas and found the softest landing she could.

My fiancé.

“I needed a father,” she sobbed. “Fast. Somebody safe. Somebody who’d marry me before Marco changed his mind. And Ethan was right there, and he was already weak, and-I’m sorry. Sloe, I’m so sorry. I’ve been jealous of you my

whole life. You were always so strong. And I was always so scared.”

My throat closed.

“The August note,” I said.

“Fake. I wrote it. I left it on your bed so you’d hate him enough not to fight for him.”

I sat down hard on the edge of the bed. Twenty-four years of my sister’s smiles rearranged themselves in my head.

“Then Marco found out you married Luca,” Bianca went on, barely breathing. “And suddenly he cared. Suddenly I was

useful. He’s been calling me every night. Asking about you. About Luca. Where you go. What you drive.”

Luca had come to stand beside me. His hand found the back of my neck. Steady.

“Bianca,” I said. “What does Marco want?”

“Saturday,” she whispered. “He made me put his whole family on the guest list. He told me what to wear. Where to

stand.” A sob ripped out of her. “Sloane, he’s not coming to my wedding to celebrate.”

Her voice dropped to nothing.

“He’s coming to kill your husband.”