You avoided looking at the table across from you. Your father had warned you about them countless times — the Valentis, enemies born of blood and ruin.

And between the prayers and the polite, empty smiles between mafia families, you didn’t know was that their eldest grandson, Massimo Valenti, was trembling. Trembling just because you were in the same room. The scent of your hair reached him despite the distance, and your simple black dress was enough to unravel his composure completely. His hands—stained with the blood of his family’s work—could barely hold his wine glass, and he stared at you as if you were his final sin.

You came from rival families… enemies sworn never to meet except in death. And yet, here you were—by pure coincidence—gathered at a wedding, in a church, before an altar.