Chapter 481
Val’s face hardened. “I know for a fact that my husband didn’t do it p>
“Because you were with him p>
“Because I know him p>
Unfortunately, he believed her. Voss met her eyes. The woman was furious, frightened but stubborn.
Marco had chosen well.
“Which is why I need you to help me help him,” Voss said. “Maybe Marco isn’t the target,” he continued. “Maybe it was Luca, and Marco got caught in the process. Give me something that can help me prove your husband had nothing to do with this p>
“I already told you p>
“Whoever is planning this isn’t trying to kill Luca,” Voss cut in. “Not directly. He is using everyone around him as damage. Who will be next?” he asked quietly. “You? Your baby p>
Val looked tired suddenly. So young and yet determined to be stronger than she was ready to be. “I only have my word, Detective…But if I do hear anything or see anything, I will inform you p>
“Fair enough. I will make sure the men here are done as quickly as possible and be out of your hair p>
“Thank you,” Val said.
He gave her a small nod and started to turn away.
“Detective p>
He stopped immediately. “Yes p>
Val opened her mouth then closed it. Her throat tightened. “I she began, then stopped again.
Voss turned fully toward her.
“I uhm She looked briefly toward the officers. “Well p>
Voss waited. She could tell him. She could tell him things she knew, things that would keep them safe.
She could hand Voss one thread. But what would unravel first? Vee? Marco? Herself? Her sister’s tear-streaked face flashed through her mind.
I fucking deserve to be happy.
Val swallowed hard. Betray her sister or keep her safe and free. God, what a horrible choice. Her fingers curled into her palm. “Would you like a cup of coffee or tea p>
“Val,” he said gently, “if there is something you need to ask me or tell me, you do not have to be afraid p>
Afraid?
No.
She wasn’t afraid. Not one bit. She was angry, exhausted, hurt. But afraid?
No.
She was having an internal war, and Voss had no idea how many people could bleed from one wrong sentence. “No,” she said at last, forcing a small, empty smile. “That’s it. Coffee or tea p>
“I’m fine. Thank you p>
Then she turned back to check on Matteo who was in a little cot beside the sofa.
Luca was in the church waiting for his bride. The chapel was small, quiet, and tucked away from the noise of Vegas.
The priest sat on a chair near the altar, hands folded over his stomach, waiting for his moment to shine.
The rings Luca had prepared lay on a small cushion on a narrow table beside him. His heart was doing silly things, absolutely ridiculous things.
Waiting for Veronica? Waiting to make her his wife? It was undoing him.
He looked at the empty chairs. This wasn’t what he would have wanted for her.
Not really.
He would have wanted to marry her proudly in the presence of God, family, and friends. He would have wanted his mother, his father, Marco, Valentina, Matteo. He would have wanted the famiglia watching him give himself to the only woman who had ever owned him without needing chains.
But he had chosen to respect her wishes and, irritatingly, she did have a point. They did not have a great track record with big occasions. Something always found a way to go wrong and he really did not want to have to shoot anyone on his wedding day.
The doors to the church opened. Luca turned. For a moment, all he saw was light. The sun from outside poured in behind her, catching her silhouette so perfectly one would have thought an angel had just walked in. Which was amusing, because Veronica Scalese had the mouth of a sinner, the temper of a war goddess, and the stubbornness of a million oxen.
His lips twitched into a smile as she looked up at him.
His chaos.
His peace.
His Bambola.
His heart beat faster with every step she took toward him. The dress was a great fit. Nothing extravagant.
It was a Milla Nova Arcada dress. To Luca, it was white, elegant, dangerous to his sanity, and currently wrapped around the woman who had ruined him for every other living creature on earth.
But the dress itself was a masterpiece. A sculpted sweetheart neckline framed her beautifully. A floral detail sat at her hip. The skirt fell clean and graceful, but the high slit gave the whole thing just enough Veronica to make it feel less like a bridal gown and more like an invitation.
God, she was perfect. She wore the dress perfectly well.
Luca stepped forward when she reached him, extending his hand for the final step to the altar. Her fingers slipped into his.
This was it. No grand crowd. No famiglia watching. No noise. Just her hand in his. For once, the world had been kind enough to be quiet.
“You look incredible,” he whispered.
“Thank you. Great job on picking the dress p>
“Oh, I did no such thing p>
Her brows lifted.
“I went to a store, found someone with your figure, and told them I needed a wedding dress p>
“Gee she drawled, her smile turning dangerously sweet. “Thanks for the effort p>
“You’re welcome, darling,” Luca said, ignoring her tone. He lifted her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. He wanted to say a hundred things. Wanted to tell her that he had never deserved this much light. Wanted to promise that whatever darkness waited outside those chapel doors, he would stand between it and her until his last breath.
But the priest cleared his throat gently, rising from his chair.
“Shall we begin p>
“Of course,” Luca said.
The priest stepped to the altar, adjusting the little book in his hands. He smiled kindly at them, then began saying the necessary things that needed to be said.
(100 golden tickets p>