Page 48 of From Italy With Love

I met his gaze and saw the absolute certainty there. The promise of violence.

“I understand.”

“Good.” He released my arm. “Take care of her, Valentinetti. She’s family. And I protect my family.”

Then he was gone, disappearing back into his office and leaving us standing in the hallway.

Madigan was quiet as we left the building. Quiet as we got into the car.

Quiet as I drove us back to the hotel.

It wasn’t until we were alone in the room that she finally spoke.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice trembling. “About all of it?”

I pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly. “I’m sure.”

“You’re giving up everything. Your family. Your freedom. You’re becoming⁠—”

“I’m becoming whatever I need to be to keep you safe.” I tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at me. “I don’t care what it costs me, Madigan. I don’t care what I have to do. You and our child are all that matters.”

She searched my face, looking for doubt.

For regret. But there was none.

I’d made my choice.

Tomorrow night, I would marry the woman I loved in a private ceremony at the Devil’s house. I would bind myself to her legally, permanently, irrevocably. And then I would send her away to a place where no one could hurt her.

And in exchange, I would become a spy. A traitor. A man who betrayed his own blood to protect the woman he loved.

It was a Faustian bargain. The kind of deal that would damn me if anyone ever found out.

But she would be safe.

She would be my wife.

Our child would have a place to exist, to grow, to live without fear.

And that was worth everything.

Even my soul.

The ceremony was brief.

We stood in his study—just the three of us and a judge who asked no questions, signing the papers in silence. Madigan wore a simple white dress, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. I wore a suit. There were no flowers, no music, no guests. Only two people making promises they ached to keep, locked in a moment that felt both fragile and monumental. The arrangement with Sinclair was the only thing standing between us and the danger lurking in New York. A reality that hovered at the edge of every vow.

“Do you, Salvatore Valentinetti, take Madigan Kelley to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.”

The words fell from my lips easily, as if they had always been a part of me, waiting, patient, for this moment. My thumb brushed lightly against Madigan’s knuckles, a silent promise in that small touch.

“Do you, Madigan Kelley, take Salvatore Valentinetti to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

Her voice was steady, unwavering. She squeezed my hand, her eyes locked on mine, steady and sure. And in that instant, with the city’s dangers a world away and the judge’s pen scratching across the page, a rare peace found me.