Chapter 8 - The Seventh Bride
Mom had lied.
When we confronted her, she cried before I finished asking the question.
She knew Elena.
She knew Vittorio.
She knew Crown.
My childhood had been constructed from half-truths.
Thomas Carter had not simply been an accountant.
He had been an informant.
He discovered Crown while laundering money under orders, then secretly began building a case against it.
My mother helped him.
After Thomas died, Vittorio moved her and me away from the network.
Elena later discovered the same conspiracy.
When Margaret learned Elena intended to expose it, she threatened everyone Elena loved.
Elena staged her disappearance.
For seven years, she had been gathering evidence.
“Why not tell Lorenzo?” I asked.
“Because someone near Lorenzo was feeding Margaret information.”
That landed hard.
A traitor remained inside the Duca organization.
Elena appeared that evening.
Alive.
Thin.
Scarred.
But alive.
Lorenzo stood across the room from her.
Neither moved.
“I thought you were dead.”
“I needed you to.”
“You let me believe I failed you.”
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
His face tightened.
“I buried an empty coffin.”
“I know.”
“You watched?”
Tears appeared in Elena’s eyes.
“Yes.”
I left them alone.
Some conversations deserved no witnesses.
Later Lorenzo found me in the library.
“Do you still love her?” I asked.
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
I appreciated that answer more.
He sat opposite me.
“Elena and I were twenty-nine. Our families expected marriage. We cared for each other. But what happened afterward changed both of us.”
“And us?”
His eyes held mine.
“There is an us?”
My heart kicked.
“Don’t get cocky.”
He almost smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
“Amelia, if there is an us, I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“I will never ask you to become smaller so I can feel larger.”
The words hit somewhere deep.
Ethan had spent years reducing me.
Food.
Clothes.
Voice.
Friends.
Confidence.
Lorenzo—physically the largest man in every room—had never once needed me to shrink.
I stood.
Walked toward him.
He stood too.
“Are you waiting for permission again?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
I kissed him.
No fireworks.
No orchestral nonsense.
Just warmth.
His enormous hands remained carefully at my waist.
Mine rested against his chest.
When we separated, his forehead touched mine.
“You’re terrifying,” I whispered.
“So I’m told.”
“I meant emotionally.”
“That’s worse.”
Then the alarm sounded.
Marco entered.
“We found the traitor’s access point.”
“Who?” Lorenzo asked.
Marco hesitated.
“It originated from Rosa’s wing.”
We ran upstairs.
Rosa’s suite was empty.
Her walking stick lay on the floor.
Beside it was a phone.
A message glowed on the screen.
THANK YOU FOR BRINGING AMELIA HOME.
May you like
Then another message arrived.
THIS TIME, THE SEVENTH BRIDE DOESN’T GET TO LEAVE...
