I did not believe him. I remembered David’s hands at my waist, the way he kissed my forehead every night, the vows whispered like secrets. I clung to those memories like scripture.
Westley only smiled wider. “Hold on to that,” he said. “It will hurt more when you finally see the truth.”
My vision went white.
A year ago, my husband had been taken.
David Vanderbilt. Mafia boss of the east coast. Untouchable. Feared.
They said he was kidnapped.
For our son. For the family. For the empire. I did not hesitate. I stepped forward and said take me instead. I thought I was being brave. I thought I was being a wife… I became the hostage. I became the bargaining chip. I became nothing.
And now my son?
My little boy.
Ryle Vanderbilt was walking through the crowd with a tray too heavy for his thin arms. He bowed his head at every step, voice small and flat.
“Please enjoy, sir.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I am sorry! I will be faster.”
He looked like he was afraid to breathe.
Like fear had been trained into his bones.
When I stumbled inside, the music stopped mid note. Every face turned. David was standing at the altar, ring in his hand. For half a second, his eyes widened.
Then his face went cold.