“God has nothing to do with this union, Father,” Vittoria says with more respect toward him than he deserves. She’s right about God, though. He abandoned my family years ago if he’d ever cared about us at all.
Father Paolo looks at me for instruction. “My bride is right.” I stand. “Thank you, Father.” I hold my hand out to help Vittoria up, but she ignores it, rising on her own instead. “Your office?”
“I need time to prepare the forms.”
“I have the paperwork,” Bruno helpfully offers, stepping forward with his briefcase in hand.
Father Paolo nods and turns, and we follow him through the door at the back of the altar. Bruno and Donatella accompany us along with two soldiers. His office is at the end of a narrow corridor which is lit dimly. Once inside it, Father Paolo stands behind his desk, and Bruno opens his briefcase, setting several pages in front of him.
“Everything is in order,” he says. “Just need your signature here.” He points and even hands him a pen.
Father Paolo takes it and makes little effort to read it before quickly signing his name. Bruno turns to the next page, and he signs that as well. Once that’s finished, Bruno nods to me.
“Thank you, Father. Make sure he’s paid his due,” I tell the soldier who ushers the priest out. Vittoria turns to follow him, but I capture her arm. “Just a few more things.”
She glances at Bruno, at Donatella, then me.
“Donatella.” I smile at her, and she steps forward to sign the papers where Bruno instructs. He’s next, then me. And finally, I hand the pen to Vittoria. “Marriage certificate.”
She nods, taking the pen. There’s nothing for her to do but sign. We are legally married. And she does. It’s the next document Bruno takes out of his briefcase after setting the marriage certificate inside it with a promise to file it the following day.
“It’s ready for your signature, Vittoria,” Bruno says with a gentle smile. I wonder about him some days. He comes across as kind. And he is. But he is loyal first. And truth be told, no man in my business is ever truly kind. They’d be eaten alive.
“What is it?” she asks him with a worried glance at me.
“This document will give your husband power of attorney over your finances.”
She’s confused or surprised or both. “What?”
“Amadeo will handle your finances. Of course, you see here an allowance has been set aside for you.” He turns the pages searching for the clause.
“An allowance of my own money?”
“I was generous. Don’t worry,” I tell her.
She shakes her head. “I’m not signing that. No. It’s too far.”
I smile, take out my phone, and pull up the photo Bastian sent. I turn the phone to her. “Emma’s on her way.”
I see the blood drain from her face as she processes the fact that she has no choice. This will be done.
She turns wet eyes up to mine, and when I look at them, I watch the single tear spill over and down her cheek. When I see that vulnerability bared, something shifts inside me. Like it did when I heard her cry out in terror as she slept, locked in a nightmare. And in that kiss we shared. A kinship of some sort. That brokenness inside her touching the brokenness inside me.
When she asked me earlier this evening to let her go when it was over, that, too, stirred my humanity, a thing I thought dead for too long. I understand her. But that’s as far as this can go.
“You’re going to take everything from us,” she says.
I clench my jaw. If my brother were here, he’d tell me to get my head out of my ass. To remember the endgame. Would he be moved by her?
“What you asked for earlier,” I start, pausing. Processing my own words. “I will give you that. I will set you free. You and Emma.” I hear the heavy thudding of my own heart and wonder what the fuck I’m thinking. Saying. Doing. Because I know I won’t break my promise to her. To anyone.
A crease forms between her brows. She’s trying to puzzle out whether or not I’m lying.
“You have my word,” I add.
She blinks, then looks down at the contract, at Bruno’s outstretched hand with the pen. She turns once more to me, still trying to gauge the truth before taking the pen and signing her name.