Chapter 1 - The Bride Who Wasn’t Supposed to Be There
The porcelain vase crashed across the marble floor as Sofia Marconi gasped, “I’m sorry!”
Luca Bellandi stepped through the broken pieces and noticed a folded ivory card beneath one blue-and-white shard.
There was one handwritten number on the back.
Luca stopped looking at Sofia.
This was no longer a ruined wedding.
For one suspended second, nobody in the ballroom moved.
Crystal chandelier light glittered across hundreds of porcelain fragments scattered over the polished marble. The orchestra had stopped in the middle of a violin note. Elegant guests stared from beneath marble arches, champagne glasses forgotten in their hands.
Sofia stood beside the wreckage in an ivory wedding gown that had never been made for her.
Or rather, it had never been intended for her.
The embroidered bodice hugged her full figure tightly. The sleeves fit, but only because two seamstresses had spent the last ninety minutes working with trembling hands, opening seams, adding hidden panels, and praying nobody would ask why the bride had apparently changed body types three hours before the ceremony.
Sofia’s dark brown hair had been twisted into an elegant loose updo. A few curls framed her face.
She looked beautiful.
She did not feel beautiful.
She felt like a woman who had accidentally wandered into someone else’s execution.
Across from her stood Luca Bellandi.
Six feet seven inches of controlled danger.
His black tuxedo fit his broad shoulders with mathematical precision. His slicked-back black hair revealed a stern, sharply cut face. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw. A silver watch flashed beneath his cuff as he slowly extended one hand toward Sofia.
“Don’t apologize,” he said quietly. “Come here.”
The guests seemed to inhale together.
Sofia stared at his hand.
Everybody in New York’s Italian business circles knew the Bellandi name.
Some called Luca a hotel investor.
Some called him a logistics executive.
Nobody with survival instincts called him what he was rumored to be when microphones were nearby.
But Sofia knew.
Her late father had once said there were three kinds of powerful men.
The ones who wanted everyone to know they were dangerous.
The ones who paid other people to be dangerous for them.
And men like Luca Bellandi, who could quiet a room simply by looking toward the door.
Sofia swallowed.
“I broke your vase.”
His gaze remained steady.
“I noticed.”
“I can pay for it.”
A strange expression flickered in his eyes.
Not amusement exactly.
Something close.
“That vase was older than your grandmother.”
Sofia’s face drained.
“Oh.”
“And considerably more expensive than my first house.”
Several guests looked horrified.
Sofia closed her eyes.
“Then I definitely cannot pay for it.”
For the first time all evening, Luca’s mouth almost moved into a smile.
Almost.
“Good,” he said. “Now we’ve established that.”
He kept his hand extended.
Sofia placed hers in it.
His fingers closed carefully around hers.
Not possessively.
Not roughly.
Steadily.
He guided her over the broken porcelain.
Then his attention dropped.
The ivory card lay half-hidden beneath one decorated fragment.
Luca released Sofia.
He crouched, lifted the fragment, and picked up the card.
Aldo Rinaldi moved immediately.
The gray-haired man had delivered the original disaster three hours earlier with four words.
The bride isn’t coming.
Now he came to Luca’s side without needing to be called.
“What is it?”
Luca turned the card over.
Aldo’s expression changed.
Sofia noticed.
So did Luca.
“What does it mean?” Sofia asked.
Neither man answered.
That frightened her more than if they had.
Luca slipped the card into his inner jacket pocket.
He looked toward Aldo.
“Where did that vase come from?”
“The west gallery.”
“Who moved it?”
Aldo hesitated.
“The florist’s crew.”
“Find out which one.”
Aldo nodded and disappeared into the guests.
Sofia watched him go.
“Should I leave?”
Luca turned toward her.
“You were brought here against your better judgment, dressed in another woman’s wedding gown, and marched into a ballroom full of people who expected someone else.”
“That’s a very diplomatic description.”
“You prefer the undiplomatic one?”
“My aunt threatened to disown me.”
Luca studied her.
Sofia lifted her chin.
“Apparently our families had an agreement. When Isabella disappeared, my aunt decided the agreement mattered more than which Marconi woman fulfilled it.”
Luca knew that part.
He just hadn’t known Sofia would be the replacement until the doors opened.
Isabella Marconi had been the intended bride.
Beautiful.
Thin.
Educated in Switzerland.
Photographed at charity galas.
Approved by both families.
And terrified of Luca.
She had avoided being alone with him during their brief engagement. Their conversations had been painfully formal. Every time he entered a room, Isabella’s shoulders stiffened.
Luca had never touched her beyond a handshake.
Yet three hours before their wedding, she had disappeared.
Sofia had been at the mansion because she was supposed to help coordinate flowers.
She was Isabella’s cousin.
The cousin everyone remembered only when something needed fixing.
Sofia arranged tables.
Sofia comforted nervous relatives.
Sofia carried emergency sewing kits.
Sofia quietly handled problems.
That afternoon, the Marconi family had decided Sofia could handle one more.
Marriage.
“Did anyone ask whether you wanted this?” Luca asked.
Sofia let out a short breath.
“Do you really need me to answer?”
“No.”
His eyes moved briefly across the room.
“Did they threaten you?”
“My aunt reminded me my mother’s medical bills are being paid through a family trust she controls.”
Luca’s expression hardened.
Sofia wished she had not told him.
“My mother doesn’t know I’m here,” she added quickly. “She thinks I’m attending Isabella’s wedding.”
“And Isabella?”
“No idea.”
“You were close?”
Sofia hesitated.
“Once.”
“What changed?”
“Life.”
“That usually means someone did something.”
Sofia almost smiled despite herself.
“You ask a lot of questions for a groom whose bride changed ninety minutes before the ceremony.”
“And you answer more than I expected.”
“That’s nervousness.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You’ve twisted your engagement ring finger six times.”
Sofia looked down.
Her fingers immediately stopped moving.
“There isn’t even a ring on it.”
“There will be if this ceremony continues.”
The words brought reality crashing back.
Sofia looked toward the altar.
White roses.
Candles.
An officiant pretending not to stare.
Rows of people waiting.
“This ceremony,” she repeated.
Luca watched her face.
“You can say no.”
Sofia blinked.
“What?”
“You can walk out.”
Her throat tightened.
“My aunt—”
“Your aunt is not marrying me.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand leverage very well.”
Sofia stared at him.
He lowered his voice.
“If you leave this room, no one will touch your mother’s medical care.”
“How can you promise that?”
“Because beginning tomorrow, I will pay every bill directly.”
Her mouth opened.
She closed it again.
“You don’t know us.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because no marriage agreement should require a hostage.”
The words changed something inside her.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But the first crack appeared in the wall of terror she had built around his name.
Before Sofia could answer, Aldo returned.
His face was grim.
“Luca.”
“What?”
“The florist who moved the vase wasn’t one of ours.”
Luca’s gaze sharpened.
“Name?”
“Fake employment record.”
“Camera?”
“West service corridor camera went down at four twelve.”
Sofia looked between them.
“What does 317 mean?”
Aldo looked at Luca.
Luca took out the card again.
“Could be a room number. Date. Locker. Account designation.”
Sofia stared at the handwriting.
Something bothered her.
“Give it to me.”
Luca did not.
“Please.”
He finally held it closer.
Sofia leaned in.
Her pulse jumped.
“I’ve seen that handwriting.”
Luca’s eyes locked onto hers.
“Whose?”
Sofia looked toward the ballroom doors as if Isabella might suddenly appear.
“My cousin’s.”
A murmur moved through nearby guests.
Luca handed the card to Sofia this time.
She studied the numbers.
“Isabella makes her sevens like this. The little hook.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
Aldo asked, “Why hide it inside a vase?”
“I don’t know.”
Luca’s voice became colder.
“Then perhaps she didn’t leave voluntarily.”
Sofia’s heart kicked.
“No. Isabella wanted out of the marriage.”
“She told you?”
“Not directly.”
“What did she say?”
Sofia remembered their final conversation.
Isabella had stood in Sofia’s apartment two nights earlier, still wearing a designer coat even though the radiator made the room too warm.
She had been restless.
Distracted.
She kept checking Sofia’s windows.
At the time, Sofia thought she was frightened of marrying Luca.
Now the memory felt different.
“She asked me whether people could disappear if they had enough money.”
Luca went still.
Sofia continued.
“She asked whether I thought a new passport could really give someone a new life.”
Aldo swore under his breath.
“And?” Luca asked.
“I told her running away from a wedding wasn’t worth becoming a fugitive.”
“What did she say?”
Sofia swallowed.
“She said, ‘You still think this is about the wedding.’”
The ballroom suddenly felt colder.
Luca looked toward Aldo.
“Lock the exterior gates.”
Sofia stiffened.
“You told me I could leave.”
“You can.”
“That sounds contradictory.”
“The gates will open for you.”
“And everyone else?”
“Not until I know whether the person who planted this card is still inside.”
Aldo left again.
Guests began whispering.
One of Sofia’s aunts started toward them, outrage already forming on her face.
Luca looked at a security man.
“Keep Mrs. Marconi away from Sofia.”
The guard moved instantly.
Sofia stared.
“You can’t order my family around.”
“I just did.”
“That wasn’t admiration.”
“I know.”
“You seem very comfortable being impossible.”
“I’ve practiced.”
Despite everything, a small laugh escaped her.
It surprised both of them.
Luca looked at her for half a second longer than necessary.
Then the orchestra leader approached uncertainly.
“Mr. Bellandi, should we… continue?”
Silence spread.
Sofia looked at Luca.
Luca looked at Sofia.
The entire room seemed to expect him to decide.
Instead, he said, “Ask the bride.”
Every eye turned toward her.
Sofia’s pulse roared.
She had spent most of her life being the woman people overlooked.
The heavier cousin.
The practical cousin.
The unmarried cousin.
The woman relatives seated near the kitchen entrance because she would “understand.”
Isabella had been praised for walking into rooms.
Sofia had been praised for cleaning up after everyone left them.
Now hundreds of people waited for her answer.
She looked at Luca.
“Why do you need to marry a Marconi tonight?”
His expression changed slightly.
“That is a complicated answer.”
“Give me the simple one.”
“Our families’ agreement prevents a war.”
Her stomach tightened.
“A literal war?”
“People will die.”
Sofia glanced at the room.
Men in tuxedos.
Women holding champagne.
Flowers everywhere.
Weapons hidden beneath jackets.
“So if I walk away…”
“Your mother remains protected.”
“And everyone else?”
Luca didn’t answer quickly enough.
That was the answer.
Sofia closed her eyes.
When she opened them, her voice was steady.
“One condition.”
Luca raised an eyebrow.
“You negotiate fast.”
“I’m a substitute bride. Apparently adaptability is part of the job.”
“What condition?”
“This marriage is real in public only until we find Isabella and learn what she was trying to tell us.”
Luca considered her.
“And privately?”
“You don’t own me.”
His expression hardened, but not with anger.
“You were never merchandise.”
Sofia searched his face.
“Then say it.”
“You belong to yourself.”
Something inside her trembled.
She nodded.
“Then let’s prevent your war.”
Twenty minutes later, Sofia Marconi became Sofia Bellandi.
Luca slid the ring onto her finger.
His enormous hand was surprisingly gentle.
When the officiant announced them married, polite applause rolled through the ballroom.
Sofia looked at the people smiling around them.
She wondered how many wanted the marriage to survive.
And how many wanted one of them dead before morning.
During the reception, Luca stayed near her.
He did not touch her unless necessary.
He introduced her as his wife without hesitation.
He stopped a drunken uncle from making a joke about her size with nothing more than a look.
The uncle left the ballroom ten minutes later.
Sofia noticed.
“You didn’t kill him, did you?”
Luca took a sip of water.
“No.”
“Why did he leave?”
“I suggested another location might improve his evening.”
“What location?”
“New Jersey.”
She stared.
“That’s not a location. That’s an exile.”
“Temporary.”
Sofia fought another smile.
Then Aldo appeared beside them.
He whispered something into Luca’s ear.
Luca’s entire demeanor changed.
“What happened?” Sofia asked.
Aldo looked reluctant.
Luca did not hide it.
“We know what 317 is.”
Sofia’s breath caught.
“What?”
“Train station locker.”
“Which station?”
“Grand Central.”
“Did you open it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Luca looked toward the ballroom entrance.
“Because somebody already did.”
A security guard hurried inside holding a black leather bag.
He handed it to Aldo.
Aldo unzipped it.
Inside sat a burner phone.
Nothing else.
The screen suddenly lit.
One incoming message.
Luca picked it up.
Sofia moved closer.
Three words appeared.
BRING THE BRIDE.
Then another message arrived.
NOT ISABELLA.
Sofia stopped breathing.
May you like
A final line appeared beneath it.
THE ONE BESIDE YOU.
