Father finally moved toward me, his grip firm as he placed a possessive hand on my back and steered me toward the gathered men—like a lamb being led to slaughter. My pulse pounded in my ears, but I forced myself to keep my posture straight, my expression unreadable.
The only man who looked utterly unimpressed was Ethan Sullivan, his focus fixed solely on the glass of Scotch in his hand. His detachment should have been comforting, but it wasn't. Our family had attended the funeral of his wife two months ago, and now he stood here, a widower in his thirties. I might have pitied him if he didn't terrify me just as much as Liam did.
Father led me straight to my future husband, his expression a challenge, as if daring Liam to show awe. But Liam's face remained impassive, gray eyes as cold and unyielding as steel when they locked onto my father.
"This is my daughter, Emily."
Liam's gaze flicked over me, unreadable. He didn't speak.
Vincent Sullivan, however, was quick to fill the silence. "I told you I wasn't exaggerating."
Heat flooded my cheeks. I had never been subjected to such scrutiny, and the weight of their stares made my skin crawl. Especially Rico's. My cousin had turned eighteen just two weeks ago and had been initiated shortly after. Since then, his presence had only grown more insufferable.
"You didn't," Liam finally responded, his voice void of any emotion.
Father's lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of displeasure in his eyes. He had expected something more from Liam—more reaction, more approval. But Liam gave him nothing.
Without anyone noticing, Leo had crept up beside me, his small fingers slipping into mine. It was the only warmth I had felt all night. But Liam noticed. His gaze flickered to my little brother, then trailed down to my bare legs.
I shifted under his scrutiny, resisting the urge to tug at the hem of my dress. Liam looked away.
"Perhaps the bride and groom would like a moment alone?" Marcus Romano suggested, his tone light, almost amused.
I stiffened. My eyes darted to him, barely masking my shock. Liam noticed that too, but he remained impassive.
Father smiled, pleased. I couldn't believe it.
"Should I stay?" Salvatore asked, his voice low, cautious. His concern was a small comfort, but my father shook his head.
"Give them a few minutes," he ordered, waving him off.
Marcus had the audacity to wink at Liam before stepping away.
One by one, they all filed out, leaving only Liam, Leo, and me. My stomach twisted into knots. What had Marcus's wink meant? What did they expect to happen?
"Leo," my father's voice cut sharply through the room. "Out. Now."
Leo stiffened beside me. His small hand gripped mine tighter, but he knew better than to disobey. With reluctant steps, he let go and turned to leave. Before he did, he shot Liam the most murderous glare a five-year-old could muster.
A muscle ticked in Liam's jaw, his lips twitching as if fighting a smirk.
Then the door shut, and we were alone.
Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. I didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe too loudly.
Liam turned toward the window, his broad shoulders blocking most of the view. He didn't even look at me. Apparently, dressing me up like a doll hadn't made me any more interesting to him. Why would it? I had seen the kind of women he surrounded himself with. They would have filled out this dress better.
"Did you pick the dress?"
His voice startled me. Deep. Measured. Controlled.
I hesitated. "No. My father did."
Liam's jaw clenched, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he reached into his jacket. For one ridiculous moment, my heart stopped, thinking he was about to pull a gun on me.
Instead, he withdrew a black velvet box.
My breath hitched.
Slowly, he turned to face me. With a flick of his fingers, he opened the box, revealing a white gold ring, the center diamond flanked by two slightly smaller ones. The stones caught the light, gleaming with an almost cruel finality.
I stared, frozen.
After a long, unbearable silence, he extended his hand. Expecting mine.
Humiliation burned through me, but I forced myself to lift my trembling fingers. His skin was warm as he took my hand, his touch sending an unexpected shiver up my spine. With precise, almost indifferent movements, he slid the ring onto my finger before releasing me.
"Thank you," I murmured, though the words felt foreign. Forced.
I glanced up at him, searching for something—anything—in his expression. But his face remained impassive. Only his eyes betrayed him. They burned with something I couldn't place.
Anger? Resignation? Disappointment?
Without another word, he extended his arm. I hesitated before linking mine through his, letting him lead me toward the dining room.
The silence between us stretched, filled with unspoken thoughts neither of us dared to voice. Was he already regretting this? Would he call it off? No. He wouldn't have put the ring on my finger if that were the case.
When we entered the dining room, the women had joined the men. The Romanos had brought no female company. Perhaps they didn't trust my father and the Sullivans enough to bring their women into our home.
I wouldn't blame them.
I didn't trust my father either.
Liam let go of my arm, and I quickly moved toward my mother and sisters. They crowded around me, pretending to admire the ring. Savannah shot me a knowing look, her lips twitching with something between amusement and sympathy. But for once, she held her tongue.
What had our mother threatened her with to keep her quiet?
She rolled her eyes. I shook my head, silently pleading with her not to push.
Dinner passed in a blur. The men spoke in low voices about business, their words slipping past me like water. The weight of the ring on my finger felt unbearable, the metal pressing against my skin like a shackle.
I kept my hands in my lap, staring at the gleaming stones.
It was done.
Liam Romano had marked me as his.