He Left Me at the Altar, So I Married His Mafia Uncle

Sienna Carlton had already died once because she married Arnold Walsh.

This time, when he abandoned her thirty minutes before their wedding, she did not cry.

She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled.

A bride needed one groom. No rule said she had to keep the one printed on the invitation.

Rain blurred Boston Harbor beyond the bridal-suite windows. Downstairs, nearly three hundred guests were drinking Walsh champagne beneath crystal chandeliers, including Walsh Group partners and people tied to Boston's waterfront business.

They had no idea the groom was about to run.

Sienna did.

She sat before the mirror in a white silk gown, her dark hair pinned beneath a long veil.

At eleven twenty-five, the door opened.

Arnold Walsh walked in wearing a black tuxedo. Handsome, polished, and impatient—exactly as she remembered him.

"Give us a minute." he said.

The bridesmaids and makeup team quickly left. When the door shut, Arnold glanced at Sienna, then at his phone. He looked like a man stopping by a meeting he had already decided was beneath him.

Sienna turned on the stool. "How do I look?"

In her first life, she had asked because she desperately wanted him to call her beautiful.

Now she only wanted to see if history would repeat itself.

His eyes skimmed over her dress. "Fine."

His phone vibrated.

Sienna did not need to see the screen. She already knew the name.

Delia Underwood.

Arnold answered before the second ring.

"Delia?"

His face changed. The impatience disappeared, replaced by a concern he had never shown Sienna.

"Slow down. Tell me where you are." He turned toward the window. "Lock the door and stay there. I'm coming."

Arnold ended the call and headed for the door.

"The ceremony starts in half an hour," Sienna said.

He did not stop. "Something happened to Delia."

"Something always happens to Delia."

His hand closed around the door handle. "Not today, Sienna."

"Especially today."

He looked back, eyes cold. "She called because she needs me. Ask the coordinator to delay the ceremony."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

"Until she decides I've been humiliated enough?"

His jaw tightened. "Don't turn this into another fight."

Sienna rose, gathering the skirt of her gown. "What matters more to you—our wedding or Delia?"

Arnold gave an irritated breath. "Delia once saved my life. I owe her."

"That wasn't my question."

"She matters more than any ceremony. More than my own life, if that's what you need to hear."

There it was.

The sentence that had destroyed her once.

This time, it set her free.

A flash of another life crossed her mind—cold concrete, blood in her mouth, her bound fingers slipping across a phone screen. She had called Arnold while men waited outside the locked room.

He had rejected the call.

Then he had sent a message.

Stop creating trouble. Delia needs me.

Sienna blinked, and the bridal suite returned.

"Grandfather can control the guests," Arnold said. "Smile for the cameras. We'll deal with everything later."

"You expect me to hold a wedding without a groom?"

"It's one ceremony."

"Should I carry your portrait down the aisle? People may mistake it for a funeral, but at least your face will be there."

His stare hardened. "This is why no one can reason with you."

Sienna stepped between him and the door. "If you leave now, you will not come back as my groom."

He took her wrist and moved her aside. The sharp motion sent her into the vanity. Bottles rattled, and a red mark appeared beneath his fingers.

For one second, Arnold looked at it.

Then his phone vibrated again, and his guilt vanished.

"Stop being dramatic."

"I mean it. If you walk out, I'll choose another man and finish the wedding without you."

Arnold stared at her. Then he laughed.

It was the quiet, dismissive laugh of a man who believed her love had made her harmless.

"You've waited half your life for me," he said. "You wouldn't replace me if I disappeared for a year."

He opened the door.

"Do whatever keeps the guests entertained. I'll handle your tantrum when I get back."

Then he left.

His footsteps faded down the corridor. A moment later, the elevator chimed.

Sienna stood alone in her wedding dress.

In her first life, she had chased him. She had begged, forgiven, and spent years accepting crumbs from a man who gave Delia everything.

Not this time.

This time, she would choose what happened next.

She opened the locked drawer beneath her cosmetics. Inside lay a second phone that no member of the Carlton family knew about.

Only one number had been saved.

She pressed Call.

He answered on the first ring.

"Has he left?" Ronan Walsh asked.

His voice was deep and controlled. No surprise. No wasted words.

"Yes."

"Did he hurt you?"

Sienna looked at the mark around her wrist. "Nothing that matters."

A dangerous silence followed.

Ronan controlled the Walsh Syndicate and much of Boston's waterfront. Men who threatened his family rarely received a second warning.

One month ago, when Sienna asked him to prepare for this moment, he had agreed.

"Are you still willing?" she asked.

"I did not spend a month preparing to be your emergency replacement."

Her fingers tightened around the phone. "Then what are you?"

"If I enter that ballroom with you, I will be your husband. Not Arnold's substitute. Not a weapon you borrow for one afternoon."

"I understand."

The bridal-suite door shook beneath a sudden knock.

"Sienna!" Rosie called from the corridor. "Where's Arnold? Everyone is waiting!"

The handle began to turn.

On the phone, Ronan spoke again.

"Ask me properly."

Sienna drew one steady breath.

"Ronan, will you marry me?"

His pause felt like a hand closing around her waist.

"Come to Suite 3001," he said. "Your real groom is waiting."