The word that the bridal artist was on her way lifted the whole room.

My mother smoothed the creases in her deep red gown, drew herself up with the poise of a Don's wife, and began reworking the arrangements.

"Adriana waits for Ottavia. Francesca, Bianca, bear with me a little. I'll have two others brought in right now to see to the rest of us."

Francesca stepped in at once.

"Don't trouble yourself, Valentina. We're easy. It's Adriana's day. We'll keep it looking the way it should."

Bianca gave my shoulder a quiet, comforting squeeze.

My father said nothing. He only closed his fists and looked at me with such pain that the tears started spilling down my face again.

He'd named me Adriana, held me like something precious for twenty-seven years, and never once let me so much as bend to pick up a fallen glass.

When the old capos teased him, a man of the Vitale name giving his only daughter such a soft, unguarded name in a world that ran on fear, he only smiled.

"What do any of you know. I want every man at every table to hear the name and understand at once: my daughter is my most treasured girl, my little principessa."

But the little principessa he'd cherished for twenty-seven years, who had never once been wronged, was wronged to the fullest on her alliance day, at the hands of the man who was meant to become her husband.

And for the sake of his daughter's honor before the Families, he could not tear it all down in this moment and make the disgrace worse. He could only grind his jaw and hold his silence.

The clock on the mantel ticked on, each stroke loud in a room that had learned to hold its breath. Another dozen-odd minutes slid past, and the black night began to pale at its edges.

My mother pulled every string in the territory and rushed in two artists to begin on the others.

The frozen air in the room finally began to loosen.

Lorenzo called again.

One of the older women there to see the bride off teased,

"Answer it, quick. He's calling to make amends. Maybe Ottavia's near."

"You two, be sweet with each other. It's a joyful day. Settle it kindly."

I twisted my mouth, and yet I still picked up with a flicker of hope.

"Tesoro, don't be angry, just hear me out. There's truly no way Ottavia can reach you in time now, so why not let her do Gemma's mother while she's close by? It lends our union a little class too."

"I've already reached out to another artist near your place to head over. That's faster. Let's not hold up the union."

It was a bucket of cold water straight over my head. My ears rang, and I nearly missed what he'd said.

The talk in the room cut off in an instant. Every hand stopped mid-motion. Even the soldier at the door went still.

Francesca and Bianca stepped in at once, one on each side, steadying my back.

My voice came out hoarse.

"Lorenzo, do you even want to marry me?"

He pressed his impatience down.

"Tesoro, of course I do. It's only an artist, anyone can do the work. Be reasonable. I only want this settled fast."

I raised my voice.

"Even now, you still think this is about an artist?"

"This is my honor! They're grinding me into the dirt! My own union, the artist my family secured a full year ahead at our own tribute, and instead of touching the bride she's sent by you to some nobody adopted daughter and that adopted daughter's mother! Who exactly are you marrying?"

"Seven years together. Everything you asked me to give up, I gave up. But my own union. Do you want me to hand that over to someone else too?"

Hearing me scream it out like something torn from my chest,

for a moment Lorenzo wavered.

Then he remembered what his mother had put in his ear.

"A marriage is the east wind bearing down on the west or the west bearing down on the east! The Vitale name is old and rich. If you don't get a grip on her early, you're the one who'll bleed for it down the line!"

He hardened his heart.

"There's less than two hours until the bride is called for! You don't want our union turning into a joke before every Family, do you?"

"Stop making a scene. Just make do and get yourself ready. Once the union's done, whatever you want in repayment, I'll agree to it!"

At some point, both my parents had come to stand beside me.

My mother had spent decades running the true business of the Vitale house, decisive and hard-edged, the kind of woman who never let her temper reach her face. But even a saint has a breaking point, and hers had been ground down to it. She said nothing, only took my hand and patted it, quiet reassurance.

The veins stood out at my father's temple. He took the phone from my hand, his eyes rimmed red, and spoke with terrible calm. In this world a Don who raised his voice had already lost, and Lucian Vitale had never once needed to raise his.

"Lorenzo. Adriana is my only daughter. No one gets to treat her like this in front of me."

"You and Adriana were bound to each other seven years before this union was ever spoken of. We wanted this day to go smoothly, all of us, both Families. You see it differently than we do, and we don't hold that against you. I only want one thing from you. Send the bridal artist over now. Show me you actually mean to honor my daughter."

There was a long hesitation on the other end.

"Don Vitale! Let's think of the big picture first. Help me talk Adriana into letting the substitute do her face, and I'll head over for the pickup right away. The made men and the soldiers are all here. Don't let outside Families have a laugh at us."

"After the union, hit me, curse me, I'll come and kiss the ring and beg forgiveness, whatever you want!"

"Don't call me that."

My father hung up, the disappointment plain on his face. He set his cigar down in the ashtray and did not pick it up again.

I took my phone back, lowered my head, and opened the planning group where every honor of this union had been arranged.

"Cancel the morning photographs. Cancel the bride pickup on my end too."

The lead planner replied almost at once.

"And the rest of the day? Should we keep it moving as normal?"

I thought for a moment, then typed.

"Keep filming. We'll settle the rest later."

I lifted my head.

"Papà. Mamma. I don't want to just let it go."

My parents exchanged a glance.

My father stepped forward and gently wiped away my tears. He spoke first.

"Don't be afraid, Adriana."

I'd heard those words for twenty-seven years. With him there, I truly had nothing to fear.

"Your father is going to go call over all a dozen of the Family's men right now."

I'm an only daughter, but my father has brothers. After those brothers had produced a good ten sons between them, I arrived as the only girl in the whole Vitale bloodline. The most doted on. The one the soldiers straightened their backs for.

My mother pulled me into a light hug.

"Whatever you decide to do next, I'm behind you."

Then she called over the artist we'd secured on short notice, a lesser honor bought in an hour when the greater one had been stolen.

"Would you do my daughter's face first? Not a bridal look. Just something that makes her look fresh and put-together."

She turned away and called Ottavia Marchetti, the artist the Vitales had reserved a full year in advance at no small tribute.

"It's all right that you can't come. But you'll touch no one else's face, not one person who isn't ours."

"We'll pay you all the same."

Francesca cursed the cheating dog under her breath, cracking her knuckles one hand at a time, though for once she said nothing more. Bianca rubbed my back, aching for me, and quietly refilled the water glass at my elbow.

The made woman who had been overseeing the bride's send-off, who had watched the whole thing, was seething too.

"I'll go explain to our side of the Family. No one gets away with disrespecting a Vitale like this."

The videographer flashed me an okay, letting me know he'd caught all of it. Every word laid bare for the sit-down that was coming.

Lorenzo called again. I rejected every one.

I peeled off the traditional gown and changed into the white dress I always wear.

I sat down in front of the mirror.

Reading Lorenzo's messages, I let out a scornful laugh.

"Baby, another hour and a half and I can come get you. Be good."

The artist's hands moved over my face, dabbing and blending.

Maybe it was because things had already fallen so far. The anxiety that had gripped me from the moment I learned Ottavia Marchetti had been "handed over" to someone else, strangely, settled into calm. Under the table, I stopped twisting the diamond inward against my palm and set my hand flat on my knee.

The seven years with Lorenzo played through my mind like a film.

We came up together. His Family and mine ran in the same circles, bound by respect and the long peace between us.

He fell for me at first sight and came on strong.

Lorenzo was tall and handsome, easygoing, and he had that heir-apparent glow, a year ahead of me in every room we entered. Falling for him felt like the natural order of things.

We courted, we ran together, we were seen together at every table that mattered, four sweet years.

Until it was time to take our place in the territory. We came back to the old streets to build our standing, and his adopted sister began to appear in ours more and more.

We'd go to the amusement park, and Gemma would say she felt low and craved the crispy fried crab cakes they used to eat as children, so Lorenzo would leave me standing there and go buy them.

We'd mark an anniversary, and Gemma would say her kitten was sick, so Lorenzo would leave me and drive her to the vet.

We'd take a trip out of the territory, and Gemma would turn up in the middle of it, and under Lorenzo's doting eyes she'd take every scrap of his attention until I was the one left standing alone.

I cried over it. I made scenes. And still I couldn't bring myself to let the alliance go.

He'd grin and coax me out of it, and the next time nothing ever changed.

The reason was always the same one. She's your little sister, just give in to her.

And I gave in, all the way up to now. My alliance union. The legendary bridal artist my mother had reserved a full year ahead at great tribute, a mark of Vitale standing, and even she had to "give" the first honor to Gemma and Gemma's mother.

There was no elaborate bridal look left to do, so Ottavia Marchetti finished in a little over half an hour.

The sky at the edge of the estate was already turning pale.

My brothers arrived one after another, the Vitale soldiers and made men filing in, offered me a few quiet words, then found places to sit until the great room was packed.

The younger cousins, prepped to block the door for the bride pickup, sat stiff and proper, faces grave.

Francesca and Bianca flanked me, one on each side, like two temple guardians ready to charge into battle for me at any second.

Mother and Father sat in the seats of honor.

Father's face was stern. Mother smiled and told everyone to take some wine first, saying she'd be counting on all of them for what was coming, her tone as calm as if she were remarking on the fine weather. Lucian Vitale had his cigar going, saying nothing.

Lorenzo wasn't getting through, wasn't getting answers to his messages, and unease started to creep into him.

But he was confident Adriana loved him to death and knew how to keep up appearances before the Families, so she'd never blow up her own union.

He pushed that flicker of worry down and set out with the pickup party as usual.

Gemma climbed into the car partway and said she wanted to come along to fetch the bride.

He opened his mouth, some instinct telling him this wasn't a good idea, but he couldn't hold out against the girl's wheedling and said yes out of habit. He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a soft laugh, the way he always did.

The moment they reached the Vitale estate,

the great crimson wedding banners were hung, the red carpet was rolled out, and yet outside the door it was dead quiet. No people, not the faintest sign of a union.

The feeling in his gut turned worse.

He led everyone straight through with no soldier to stop them, right into the Vitale great room,

and saw a room black with people,

and Adriana in a plain white dress.

He knew this was bad,

and on instinct he pleaded with Adriana, the softest-hearted one of all:

"Adriana, what is all this? I'm here for the pickup. Come with me. The whole Family's waiting."

Gemma, wearing the dazzling, radiant face the legendary artist had poured everything into,

stepped forward in small steps and said, soft and sweet:

"Lorenzo told the artist to do my face first. Are you upset, Adriana? Then I'm sorry. Please don't make a scene today. Just go with Lorenzo first, okay?" She pressed a hand flat to her chest, and her eyes glistened right on cue.

My brothers looked itching to step in. I waved them off and gave my father a small nod.

Then I picked up a glass of water myself, walked forward, and did something none of them saw coming.