The Wrong Bride,The Right wife

marry the most feared man in Chicago, my

ges beneath their left armpits Dante Valerius's personal perimeter. Seraphina had used the narrow service elevator behind the flower prep pantry, leav

idn't look like a proud father of the bride. He looked like a man standing on a trapdoor with the noose alread

nd necklace, smearing liquid foundation across her collarbones. "Her phone is in the toilet! H

ing screen, holding a tray of steaming ch

Seraphina's second dress, pinning her diamond hairpieces, and running downstairs to fetch the vint

ble daughter. The buffer. The shock absorber for S

ple in that cathedral. The mayor. The state supreme court justices. Half the syndicates from Detroit to New York. If he walks up to that altar and ther

ars cutting black mascara tracks down her powder

s corded like blue snakes against his temples. "He knows who breath

rate knock stru

. Methodica

silent. Helena choked back

ncrete. He wiped the sweat from his upper lip, turned toward th

tes, Mr. Thorne. Mr. Valerius does not tolerate delays. I

The man who had cleared the chur

oice cracking on the syllable. "She's j

wn the stone corridor-

my father's head snapped t

oom drop ten degrees. The silve

ord coming out befo

yes dark with predatory calculation. He didn't see his youngest

hite gown hanging from the mahogany wardrobe-the spare ceremony gown, tailored with a hig

pragmatism I had despised my entire life. "The veil. The lace blusher is tr

tor bit into my shoulder blades. "Are you insane? That's Dante Valerius! He isn't a bu

ter, pressing hard enough into the bone to guarantee purple bruises by midnight. "You walk down that aisle. You stand

s grip, but Arthur had the frantic, despera

th sour with stale scotch and panic, "I won't wait for Dante Valerius to pull the trigger. Do you kno

my throat. "Arthur

nto the curb before sunset. You think you're so righteous? You think you're above this family? You exist because

the cedar hanger with frantic, clawing motions. Silk hissed aga

me toward the mirror. "Or so help me

ss, her hands trembling with feverish adrenaline. In their eyes, I wasn't Eloise. I had never b

n. Helena shoved me into the heavy silk. The boning of the corse

i

s a guilloti

gs, constricting my diaphragm until every heartbeat pounded in my ears like a war drum. She

ame th

orld blurred into a white, suffocating fog. I could barely see the out

ing until my teeth clicked. "Head down. Walk slow. Do not speak. If you flinch, if

clock in the cor

tion traveled up through the stone floorboards, straight throu

ridal

the bridal suite were th

hands folded across the front of his jacket, his dark eyes sweeping t

n the shredded lace on the carpet. He simply stepped t

erius," Marcus said.