Isaia: Chapter 35

The church’s bridal suite is suffocating. The air is thick with the cloying scent of roses and the hum of distant organ music.

I stand before the gilded mirror, staring at the reflection of someone I barely recognize.

The dress is a towering monstrosity of lace, beading, and tulle. It’s the kind of dress that demands attention, dripping in wealth and status. It’s not me. I hate it.

The bodice is too tight, squeezing the breath from my lungs, while the full skirt fans out like a cloud. The intricate silver embroidery climbs up the fabric in delicate vines, scratching my skin with every move I make, and the veil cascades down my back, a mournful waterfall of ivory silk.

It’s too much. Too flashy. Too everything. I wanted something simple, something that felt like me, but this dress is a statement—not of love, but of control.

I close my eyes, focusing on steadying my breath. But nothing steadies the ache inside me, the hollow, gnawing pain that’s been my constant companion these past few days. They’ve been a blur of fittings, floral arrangements, and endless discussions about seating charts.

Everyone’s been so busy—so happy—planning the wedding of the year, and I’ve been dying inside, silently screaming while the world around me moves forward without hesitation.

Isaia’s face flashes in my mind. His dark eyes, the way they burned with intensity every time he looked at me, the way his touch sent my heart spiraling into chaos.

I ache for him. Crave him with a desperation that scares me.

My chest tightens as I remember the sound of his voice, his promises, the way he made me feel like I was the center of his universe. My heart splinters with memories, the jagged edges tearing me apart.

I wonder if he’s thinking about me right now. If he knows what I’m about to do, what I’m about to give up.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. My mother steps inside, her face lighting up as she takes me in.

“Oh, Everly,” she breathes, her eyes misting. “You look…you look stunning. A perfect bride.”

I swallow hard, forcing a smile as she approaches. “Thanks, Mom.”

Her hands tremble as she adjusts the lace on my sleeves. “I’m so proud of you, and your father would be too. I wish he was here to see you about to become a wife. He would have approved of Anthony. I know it.”

Her words twist the knife deeper, and I’m barely able to suppress the sob that swells in me.

“How are you feeling?” I ask softly, desperate to steer the conversation away from me. “Did you make that appointment with your doctor?”

She hesitates, her gaze dropping. “I did. It’s tomorrow.”

My stomach knots. Michele is waiting, I realize. Waiting to ensure I keep my end of the deal before he allows her to take care of herself.

My hands tremble as I reach for hers, squeezing them tightly. “Good. That’s good. I do think getting a second opinion will be a good thing. Who knows,” I shrug, “maybe you’ll find a better doctor.”

One that’s not on Michele’s payroll.

She smiles, oblivious to the war raging inside me. “Don’t worry about me, darling. Today is your day.”

Today is your day. The words echo in my head, bitter and mocking. It’s not my day. It’s not my wedding. It’s not my life.

Another knock interrupts us, and Michele steps in, the weight of his presence sinking into each corner of the room, and I have to fight the urge to vomit.

“It’s time,” he announces, his gaze sweeping over me like a hunter surveying his kill. “You ready?”

No. I will never be ready for this. But I nod.

For a second, I glance at the ground beneath me, not sure it’ll be able to hold me, fearing I might plummet into oblivion. But that would be a mercy, one I can’t afford myself if I want to ensure my mom survives.

I look at her, her eyes, and my heart clenches with my love for her. Even though we haven’t had the perfect relationship, I’ll always love her with that one part a daughter keeps safe for her mother. A part that will shatter and die and never heal if a mother is taken away…forever.

As much as I want to scream from the rooftops what Michele is forcing me to do, I hope she never finds out. I hope she never learns of everything I had to give up…for her. I don’t want her to carry that burden. All she needs to focus on is her health and nothing else.

I plaster a smile on my face, as brittle as glass, and pull my mom in for a hug. I wrap my arms around her as if I could absorb her warmth and draw it into me, my little shield against the cold storm looming ahead. Every second, every heartbeat, feels precious, like an eternity, as I hold her.

“I love you, Mom,” I whisper, a tear sliding down my cheek.

“Oh, darling,” she coos. “I love you, too. So much.”

“It’s not good manners to keep the guests waiting,” Michele barks, and I pinch my eyes closed, breathing in deeply.

Michele holds out his arms, and I clench my jaw. I wanted my mother to walk me down the aisle, but Michele insisted on playing his twisted version of a proud father figure. It’s all about showing the world this is a Rinaldi-Paladino wedding. Not Beaumont.

I take his arm, hating the feel of his touch, the scent of his overbearing aftershave. Everything about this man is revolting, and I will pray for his painful death every day for as long as I live.

The church is grand, every pew filled with faces I don’t recognize turning toward me as the organ plays a haunting melody. My steps feel heavy, each one a march closer to my undoing.

Michele holds me steady, his grip firm, his power over me absolute, and I want to scream, to run, but my mother’s life hangs in the balance, and so I keep walking. Silently. Obediently.

Anthony waits at the altar, his expression soft, his eyes filled with a kindness I don’t deserve, and I feel the full force of my lies. It’s a relentless storm, each beating of my heart another lightning strike scorching my veins.

I yearn to feel the old comforting beat, but it’s now replaced by this alien rhythm—a graveyard’s rhythm, slow, somber, and dreadfully final.

As we reach the altar, Anthony shakes Michele’s hand, then turns and takes mine, smiling softly as if to say, “It’s okay.” And I’m sure I see something flicker in his eyes—happiness? Affection?

His gentleness breaks me further, and I feel like I’m floating, detached from my body, watching the scene unfold as though it’s happening to someone else.

My hand trembles in Anthony’s as we stand at the altar, the weight of hundreds of eyes pressing down on me like lead. My chest tightens as the priest glances between us, his expression serene, oblivious to lies. To the act.

“We are gathered here today,” the priest begins, “to witness the union of Anthony Paladino and Everly Rinaldi⁠—”

I look at Michele, shocked. The bastard actually did it, replaced my surname with his. An imprint of his cruel name on my identity. I see the malicious twist of his mouth, the satisfaction that swells in his eyes. He’s relishing every moment, ensuring the world knows this wedding means an alliance.

A Rinaldi-Paladino alliance.

“…in holy matrimony,” the sound of the priest’s words penetrates my thought, “a bond that represents commitment, love, and trust.”

Love and trust. The words hit me like a sledgehammer, and I force myself to keep standing, to keep holding Anthony’s hands—which somehow feels wrong. This is all wrong. This is nothing but wrong.

I glance at him, his expression calm but watchful, his eyes flicking over my face like he’s searching for something. A sign of hesitation. A flicker of truth.

I can’t let him see it. Not now. Not when everything’s at stake.

The priest continues, his voice a dull hum in my ears as my mind races.

This isn’t real.

The thoughts loop in my head, trying to anchor and numb me to the crushing weight of this moment. But it’s real. Too real. Every word spoken in this church feels like another nail in the coffin of my freedom, my heart, my life.

“Do you, Anthony Paladino,” the priest continues, his gaze settling on Anthony, “take Everly Rinaldi to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

Anthony doesn’t hesitate. “I do.”

I swallow hard as the priest turns to me, his eyes kind, his tone soft.

“Do you, Everly Rinaldi, take Anthony Paladino to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

The silence stretches, my throat closed up as the weight of the vow crushes me from the inside. I taste the lie on my tongue, but the words refuse to spill. Everything slows.

The scent of church incense hangs suffocatingly thick in the air. I hear the rustle of silk dresses, the uncomfortable cough from someone in the crowd. My fingers are going numb from Anthony’s unwavering grip.

Oh, God. Please…

Panic surges, and I glance at the sea of faces watching me. My mother’s hopeful smile, Michele’s sharp gaze dark with warning, and I’m not sure I can breathe. I need to breathe.

“Breathe, baby girl.”

I close my eyes as his voice rings in my head, the memory a haunting lullaby that somehow stills the fear and calms the chaos. A phantom whisper from the past, an echo of something that could have been, but now never will.

Anthony’s hand tightens on mine, grounding me, tethering me to the reality of what I’m about to do—what I have to do. I have no choice.

“I…” The word comes out as a whisper, and I clear my throat, forcing myself to say it. “I do.”

The lie burns as it leaves my lips, scorching through my chest and lodging deep in my soul. I feel like I’ve just signed my death warrant and condemned myself to a life I don’t want with a man I don’t love.

Guilt claws at me as Anthony’s face softens, a small, almost relieved smile pulling at his lips. He believes me. And it kills me.

“Do you have the rings?” the priest asks.

Anthony nods, and his brother steps forward, handing him a small velvet box. Anthony opens it, revealing a simple gold band, and I stare at it as though it’s a shackle, a symbol of everything I’m losing.

He takes my left hand, his touch gentle, reverent, as he slides the ring onto my finger. “I offer you this ring,” he says, low but sure, “as a symbol of our unbreakable bond. It is a reminder of my eternal faith and unwavering dedication. I will cherish you forevermore.” The words—beautiful and sincere as they may be—cut deeper than I thought they would.

My hand trembles as I take the second ring, a matching gold band, from the box. My fingers feel clumsy and unwilling as I hold it in my palm.

Anthony extends his hand, and for a moment, I hesitate. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat screaming at me to stop, to run, to do anything but this.

But I don’t. I can’t.

“I offer you this ring to wear as a symbol of our…unbreakable bond,” I manage, but every word kills me a little more. “It is a reminder of my…eternal faith and unwavering dedication. I will cherish you forevermore.”

I slide the ring onto his finger, my touch featherlight, as though the act itself might shatter me completely.

Anthony watches me, his expression unreadable, and I can feel his concern and confusion pressing against me like a physical weight.

“By the power vested in me,” the priest says, his words echoing in the stillness, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

The words hit me like a blow, and the room spins for a moment, the edges of my vision blurring. I hear the applause, the soft murmurs of approval from the guests, but it feels distant, unreal.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

I’m still trying to gather myself when Anthony turns to me, his hands resting lightly on my arms as he leans in. And the moment his lips brush against mine, soft and fleeting, I stop breathing.

Stop living.

Dying as my stomach twists, the guilt is almost unbearable as I force myself to kiss him back, to play my part.

But all I can think about is Isaia. His touch, his kiss, the way he made me feel alive in a way I’ve never felt before. The memory of him is a sharp, aching wound that refuses to heal, and standing here, in this moment, feels like pouring salt into it.

Anthony leans close. “You’re shaking.”

“It’s just…a lot,” I whisper, hoping I’m playing my part convincing enough.

He nods, his expression softening. “It’s okay. I got you.”

But he doesn’t. Not really. Because the truth is, no one has me. Not Anthony, not Michele, not even Isaia. I’m adrift, lost in a sea of blackmail, lies, and half-truths, and the only thing I’m sure of is that the man I want isn’t the one standing beside me.

The thought claws at my chest, a sharp, unrelenting ache threatening to consume me. But I shove it down, bury it deep because there’s no room for weakness now. I made my choice, and I must live with it, no matter how much it hurts.

The priest smiles, his hands raised in blessing. “I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Paladino.”

The applause swells, and Anthony takes my hand, leading me down the aisle.

My dress brushes against the floor, heavy and constricting, a perfect representation of the weight pressing down on my shoulders. I keep my head high, my smile fixed, but inside, I’m breaking. Splintering.

Because this isn’t a wedding. It’s a funeral. And the thing being buried is me.

My vision blurs and the church suddenly feels too small, too stifling, the world closing in around me. It’s like my lungs no longer know how to expand or what to do with the air I’m struggling to breathe in.

Anthony and I are still walking, smiling at guests like it’s the happiest day of our lives, when the heavy oak doors of the church slam open with a loud crash.

Gasps ripple through the room as every head turns toward the entrance.

“Isaia,” I whisper, my lips barely shaping his name.

“Sorry I’m late, baby girl.”

My heart swells and breaks at the same time. His eyes—those dark, burning eyes—pin me in place like I’m the only thing in the room that matters. It’s terrifying, intoxicating, and achingly familiar. A magnetic pull, drawing me to him as it always does.

I never knew seeing him could hurt so much, a pain so bittersweet.

Behind him, a dozen men follow, faces obscured by black masks, carrying guns.

The air shifts, thick and electric, crackling with danger as they rush to circle the guests. Panic seizes the room, and people scramble, terrified. Some guests begin to rise from their seats, but a sharp gesture from one of Isaia’s men freezes them in place.

“Sit. Down,” the man growls, his voice lethal.

“Del Rossa, what the fuck are you doing here?” Anthony grits out, but I don’t look at him. I can’t tear my gaze away from Isaia, standing there like a dark angel sent to claim my soul.

Isaia doesn’t look at Anthony either, his eyes remaining on me. “I would’ve come sooner, but this fucker had you guarded like you were the crown jewels.”

“Isaia,” I breathe again, like this is all a dream, like I’m about to wake up in some dark, ugly corner of reality and he’ll be gone.

He smirks, and it does something to me. “You thought you could marry someone else, troublemaker?”

I plant my palm over my mouth, trying to stifle the sob that threatens to rise from my chest.

Anthony steps forward, his hand still gripping mine, and I feel the tension radiate through his body. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Del Rossa?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” His gaze is on me. “I’m here to take what’s mine.”

“You need to leave. Now.”

“And you need to take your fucking hands off her,” Isaia warns, glowering at Anthony’s hand holding mine.

Anthony tightens his grip, yanking me closer to his side. “You’re too late, Del Rossa. It’s done. She’s my wife, and I’ll do everything to protect her from the likes of you.”

Isaia laughs, a low, dangerous sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “Your wife? That’s adorable, Paladino. Really. But let’s not pretend this shit-show means anything.”

“It’s a fucking wedding, you motherfucker. So I suggest you turn around and leave before I fucking make you.”

Isaia’s smirk vanishes, replaced by a darkness that sends a chill through me. “You talk a lot of shit for someone standing in a church I could turn into a graveyard with a snap of my fingers.”

Anthony releases my hand and steps fully in front of me, his shoulders squared, protective. “I’m going to give you one chance to walk away, Del Rossa.”

“One chance?” Isaia lifts a brow. “How very fucking noble of you.”

“Don’t fucking push me,” Anthony warns, and I notice his hand twitching toward the gun holstered at his side, and fear wraps around my lungs, my pulse racing so fast I can hardly think.

“Enough!” Michele’s voice booms as he storms toward us, his face red with fury. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“Just the man I was looking for,” Isaia snarls.

“You fucking piece of shit, you better leave before I⁠—”

Isaia draws his gun fast and pulls the trigger, the gunshot cracking through the air with deathly finality.

There’s a collective gasp as the room inhales the shock, a split second of silence before screams ring out, and terror slams into me, almost toppling me over as I watch Michele stumble backward, crimson blossoming through his white shirt.

“Michele!” My mom’s scream rips through the church.

“Mom,” I whimper, hating the fear I see in her eyes, the pain when she looks at Michele’s body. Her legs give way, a guest catching her just before she falls, letting her slowly sink onto the floor.

“Mom!” I’m shaking as I glance between her and Michele’s lifeless body, the pool of blood spreading around him.

This isn’t happening.

Anthony’s voice cuts through the chaos like a blade, sharp and commanding, as he barks into his sleeve, “Get her out of here! Get my wife the fuck out of here now!”

Black-suited enforcers surge in from every doorway, a flood of bodies moving with deadly precision. Orders are shouted, weapons are drawn, and I’m frozen as all hell breaks loose around me.

“Call them off, Paladino!” Isaia bellows, his gun already trained on the nearest man.

Hands grab my arm, yanking me with brutal force, and I’m being dragged to the far end of the church.

“Isaia!” I scream, and another gunshot pierces the air—a deafening, visceral sound—and suddenly, the hand holding me goes limp. Warmth splatters across my cheek, and a lifeless body collapses at my feet with a sickening thud.

I freeze, my wide eyes snapping to Isaia. He’s standing there, gun raised, smoke curling lazily from the barrel.

His gaze locks onto mine, and it’s a storm of cold fury, his control terrifying in its precision. The noise around us feels distant, my own gasping breaths roaring in my ears.

Before I can process what’s happening, a man steps up behind Anthony, his leather jacket pulled taut as he presses his gun against the back of Anthony’s head.

“Call off your security,” he demands, unnervingly calm, almost emotionless.

“How fucking nice of you to finally join us, Maximo.” Isaia’s still aiming his gun at whoever dares to move.

“Shut the fuck up. Let’s just get her out of here.”

“No!” Anthony shouts. “You keep your fucking hands off her.”

Maximo snarls. “Call off your motherfucking security, or I’ll have my guys shoot every one of your guests until your precious church is painted in fucking red.”

“You’re not fucking taking my wife!”

Isaia’s gun is aimed at his forehead in a heartbeat. “Call her your wife one more time, and your dirty priest will be cleaning your brain matter off his precious fucking altar cloth. Now, tell your men to stand. The fuck. Down.”

He glares at Isaia, his teeth clenching so hard it’s a wonder they don’t shatter.

“Anthony,” I murmur. “Please. Just do as he says.” The last thing I want is for him to get hurt. I would never forgive myself if he did. The only reason we’re here is because of me. This wedding is happening because of me.

Fear slides around my spine. “Anthony, please.”

His eyes flick to me, a wild swirl of desperation and determination. I can see him weighing his options, but we both know he only has one.

“It’s okay,” I say. “I’ll be fine. Just…do as he says.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, a moment I’m sure panic will crack my bones before he finally says, “Stand down.” And they do, retreating immediately.

Isaia lowers his gun, his finger still on the trigger, and holds his hand to me. “Everly,” he murmurs.

But I can’t move.

The room is mired in a strange, dense silence, pierced at intervals by choking cries and sharp intakes of breath. It’s as if each second has been painstakingly stretched out, elongated in terror and drenched in fear, and I’m staring at Michele’s dead body again, tears streaming down my mom’s face.

This isn’t real.

“Come on, troublemaker.” Isaia’s voice slices through the panic, and my gaze moves to his hand before looking into his eyes. “Don’t overthink this.”

I glance at Anthony, his jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides, and all I can do is whisper, “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I lied.

I’m sorry I made my burden yours.

I’m sorry…I’m just…fucking. Sorry.

“Everly?” My mom’s broken whisper cuts through me. “What’s happening?”

“Mom,” I suppress a sob, watching her kneel at Michele’s body. With him dead, no one will keep her from getting the treatment she needs. She’s free. And so am I. “I love you, Mom,” I say, and my heart breaks.

“Everly, baby.” A hand wraps around my wrist, and I know it’s him. I can feel it in the way my blood starts singing in my veins from the touch, in the way my heart booms a thunderous response. And I do the only thing my soul demands, the one thing I’ve wanted to do since I was forced to walk away from him.

I throw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest, his familiar scent wrapping around me, and I cry. I cry so fucking hard, it hurts. Tears stream down my face, soaking the fabric of his shirt, each sob a release, a purge of so much anguish and pain, it’s crippling.

He pulls me against him with one arm, and his fingers bracket the back of my neck. “It’s okay, troublemaker. I got you.” He presses his lips on the top of my head. “I got you, baby girl.”

“I’m so sorry,” I sob, unable to stop the way my body trembles.

“Shhh.” He inches back, takes my chin, and makes me look up at him. “Listen to me.” He wipes my tears with his thumb, and his eyes on me make me feel the warmest I’ve felt since the last time I saw him. “I meant what I said. I’ll pave my way to hell with the bones of everyone who tries to take you from me.”

Warning roars between my ears as he lifts his gun and aims.

Blood rushes, adrenaline and terror slamming against my ribs as a scream tears from my lungs. “No!”

The sound of the gunshot rips through the church, louder than anything I’ve ever heard, and my scream dies in my throat as I watch Anthony stumble back, his hand clutching his chest, red spilling past his fingers.

Time slows to a crawl, every second stretched to a lifetime with no sound penetrating the silence left by the gun’s echo. My mind shatters at the sight of his body hitting the floor, the bullet that carries my lie tearing through his flesh, my deception pouring out of his chest in a crimson pool.

The steely silence in the pews is shattered by a scream I don’t recognize. Mine.

My knees buckle as he hits the ground.

Lies. Lies. Lies.

My lies keep on gushing out of him, the wound a gaping hole of how I deceived him. How I betrayed the trust he so blindly put in me.

I can feel Isaia’s arm snake around my waist. “We need to go, Everly. Now!”

“No!” With strength I didn’t know I had, I pull myself free and run. I sink to my knees next to Anthony, my hands trembling over his chest. “No. No. No. No. No.” I keep shaking my head, my mind trying to convince me this isn’t happening. It’s not. It can’t be fucking happening.

“Come on, baby!” Isaia grabs me, lifting me up and off my feet, his grip solid and steady as he pulls me out of the church. The distant wails of sirens sound in the background, coming closer. But all I hear is the lie I told my friend.

“You were right. I was in too deep, and being your wife is the only way I can get out of it.”

“I’m asking you one last time to…keep me safe.”

Sobs wrack my body, shaking me to the core.

“Breathe, Everly.”

“What have you done, Isaia?” What have I done?

I stare at my hands covered in blood. His blood.

Oh, god. I did this.

I killed my friend.

Not with a gun. Not with a blade.

With a lie.

A single, lethal lie.

And now I can’t. Take it. Back.

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