Leonardo knew it too.
His face darkened.
He reached for you.
Damian caught his wrist before his fingers touched your shoulder.
No one saw him move.
One second Leonardo’s hand was reaching.
The next, it was trapped in Damian’s grip.
Leonardo’s mouth tightened in pain.
Damian leaned close.
“If you touch her again, you will need a surgeon to sign your marriage license.”
A shocked murmur rolled through the room.
Leonardo yanked his hand free.
“You’re threatening me in front of three hundred witnesses?”
Damian looked around the ballroom.
“Good. Then everyone heard me.”
He bent and lifted you carefully into his arms.
The room blurred again.
You smelled his cologne—cedar, smoke, something cold and clean.
You wanted to tell him to put you down.
You wanted to say you could walk.
But you couldn’t.
So you let the most feared man in Chicago carry you away from the altar where you had almost given your life to a man who treated your fear like disobedience.
As Damian walked down the aisle with you in his arms, no one laughed.
No one whispered.
Not this time.
Outside the ballroom, the cold air hit your face.
Flashing cameras followed.
Security moved too late.
Leonardo shouted your name behind him.
“Valeria!”
You flinched.
Damian felt it.
His arms tightened, not possessively, but steady enough to remind you that you would not fall.
“Don’t look back,” he said.
You didn’t.
A black SUV waited at the curb.
A man opened the door.
Damian placed you inside gently, then climbed in beside you.
Your mother rushed out seconds later, crying.
Your father followed, pale and shaking.
Leonardo’s security tried to block them, but one glance from Damian’s driver made the men step aside.
Your mother climbed into the SUV and grabbed your hand.
“My baby,” she sobbed. “My baby, I’m sorry.”
