Vince appears beside us, one hand on Sofiya’s head, the other at the small of my back. “Let’s go introduce our daughter to God,” he says. “And remind everyone else who her father is.”
I’ve never seen so many guards disguised as guests in my life.
One of the “ushers” hands me a program with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his vigilant eyes. The tattoos on his hands are a little bit of a giveaway, too.
“Relax,” Vince murmurs against my ear. “You’re too tense.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” I hoist Sofiya in my arms. She looks like a tiny angel in her christening gown, a handkerchief-sized thing of white lace and satin ribbons.
I feel the weight of the necklace Vince gave me pressing against my collarbone. The sapphire glints in the church light.
Protection disguised as devotion. That
