Part 2: He Brought His Mistress to Their Wedding and Never Expected the Mafia Boss in the Back Row to Follow the Plus-Size Bride Out

Nadine felt the temperature drop as she drew near the towering doors.

She knew who Roman Thorne was. Everyone did. While Grant Sterling played at high finance in glass skyscrapers, Roman Thorne owned the foundation those towers were built upon. He was ruthless, feared, and universally avoided by men who valued their lives. Why he had attended her wedding, she had no idea—her father had never dared solicit the Thorne syndicate for money.

As Nadine approached, Roman didn’t step aside. He stood directly in the center of the aisle, watching her march toward him.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her chin remained lifted. If he was here to collect Grant’s debts or mock her humiliation, she would take the blow on her feet.

"Mr. Thorne," Nadine said breathlessly as she stopped three feet away from him.

Roman looked down at her. His eyes were not cold, as the tabloids claimed. They burned with a dark, intense fascination that traced the defiant curve of her jaw, the flushed silk of her skin, and the strength vibrating through her frame.

"You left your veil, Miss Ward," Roman spoke. His voice was deep velvet, a low vibration that made the air in the vestibule hum.

"I have no use for blindfolds anymore."

A slow, dangerous smile pulled at the corner of Roman’s chiseled mouth. "Good. A woman who sees clearly is dangerous. I like dangerous women."

Behind them, hurried footsteps slapped the marble. Grant was running down the altar steps, his face contorted in frantic rage. "Thorne! Don't let her leave! Block the doors!"

Roman didn't even turn his head. He simply flicked two fingers toward the entrance. Instantly, two stone-faced men in tailored trench coats materialized from the shadows, stepping smoothly between Roman and the approaching groom.

"Mr. Sterling," one of the guards muttered, his hand resting casually inside his jacket where the bulge of a firearm was unmistakable. "Keep your distance."

Grant skidded to a halt ten feet away, panting, looking between Roman and his bride in wild disbelief. "Thorne, what the hell are you doing? This is family business!"

Roman turned his head slowly, regarding Grant like an irritating insect on a pristine windshield. "You brought a stray dog into a holy house, Sterling. You have no concept of family. Nor business."

Turning his back on Grant entirely, Roman offered his arm to Nadine. It was thick with muscle under the fine wool, steady as iron.

"May I walk you out, Miss Ward?" Roman asked, his gaze dropping to hers with absolute, unwavering respect. "It's raining. And white silk stains easily."

Nadine looked at his arm, then back at Grant, whose face was purple with humiliation. Without a word of hesitation, she laid her hand over Roman Thorne’s sleeve.