“It became my business when she hit the floor with bruises under a wedding dress.”
Leonardo’s mother, Evelyn Harrington, stood from the front row.
She was a cold, elegant woman in a silver gown, diamonds at her throat, and cruelty polished into every line of her face.
“Mr. Salvatore,” she said smoothly, “Valeria has always been delicate. Emotional. She has had episodes before.”
Your mother made a broken sound.
“No,” she whispered.
Evelyn turned to her with a look sharp enough to cut.
“Caroline, please. This is embarrassing enough.”
Something inside you tried to rise.
You wanted to speak.
You wanted to tell them you were not delicate.
You were not unstable.
You were not dramatic.
You were terrified.
But your body betrayed you.
Damian removed his jacket and placed it over you.
Not for show.
Not romantically.
To cover you.
To protect the parts of you the room had no right to see.
Then he looked at the priest.
“This wedding is over.”
The words hit the ballroom like a gunshot.
Leonardo laughed again, louder this time.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
Damian turned his head.
“No?”
Leonardo stepped forward.
“This is my wedding. My family’s event. My fiancée.”
Your eyes opened at that.
My fiancée.
Not Valeria.
Not the woman I love.
My.
Damian’s voice dropped.
“She has not said yes.”
The guests shifted.
That simple truth changed everything.
The contract had not been sealed.
Leonardo knew it too.
His face darkened.
He reached for you.
Damian caught his wrist before his fingers touched your shoulder.
No one saw him move.
One second Leonardo’s hand was reaching.
The next, it was trapped in Damian’s grip.
Leonardo’s mouth tightened in pain.
Damian leaned close.
“If you touch her again, you will need a surgeon to sign your marriage license.”
A shocked murmur rolled through the room.
Leonardo yanked his hand free.
“You’re threatening me in front of three hundred witnesses?”
Damian looked around the ballroom.
“Good. Then everyone heard me.”
He bent and lifted you carefully into his arms.
The room blurred again.
You smelled his cologne—cedar, smoke, something cold and clean.
You wanted to tell him to put you down.
You wanted to say you could walk.
But you couldn’t.
So you let the most feared man in Chicago carry you away from the altar where you had almost given your life to a man who treated your fear like disobedience.
As Damian walked down the aisle with you in his arms, no one laughed.
No one whispered.
Not this time.
Outside the ballroom, the cold air hit your face.
Flashing cameras followed.
Security moved too late.
Leonardo shouted your name behind him.
