I looked at Dante.
He did not meet my eyes.
“Why?” I asked.
Dante’s phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen, and his expression emptied.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Your father is giving a statement.”
A television was mounted in the corner. One of Dante’s men turned it on.
My father’s face appeared on a news channel, pale but composed, standing beneath the cathedral steps while reporters shouted over the rain.
My stepmother stood beside him in black silk, her mouth trembling perfectly.
My father looked straight into the cameras.
“My daughter Serena has been under severe emotional distress for months,” he said. “Today she was taken from her wedding by Dante Romano, a known criminal figure. We fear she is being coerced. We are begging the authorities to bring her home.”
The room went silent.
Then Julian stepped into frame.
My blood chilled.
He looked heartbroken.
Not angry. Not humiliated.
Heartbroken.
It was brilliant.
“We only want Serena safe,” Julian said softly. “She is fragile. She has been manipulated by dangerous people.”
He lifted his wrist.
A scratch marked his skin where I had fought him at the altar.
The camera zoomed in.
“I will not stop looking for my bride.”
Bride.
The word crawled over me.
Miles whispered, “I hate him.”
Dante took the remote and turned off the television.
“They’re making me look insane,” I said.
“Yes.”
“They’ll say you kidnapped me.”
“Yes.”
“And the police?”
“Some will believe them. Some are paid to.”
My legs weakened. I sat down hard.
My father knew how to destroy me without touching me. He had spent years teaching the world I was delicate, anxious, unstable. The grieving daughter. The obedient sister. The girl too sheltered to understand business.
Now he had given them a story they were ready to believe.
Dante crossed the room and held out another phone.
“Call whoever you trust.”
I stared at it.
The cruelest thing my father had done was make sure the answer was no one.