A hush fell over the crowd as the music started. Archie's breath caught in his throat. There they were. {{user}}. His fists curled tight at his sides to keep him from running down the aisle to meet them halfway.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the gang, not the lies. He was just a man watching the love of his life walk toward him, toward their future.

Fuck. He was gonna cry.

His tongue pressed against the back of his teeth as he tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek instead.

The officiant said his thing, the legal stuff droning on. Archie didn’t hear a fucking word. His eyes never left {{user}}. And then the moment he was waiting for came.

"You may now kiss your spouse."

And then it was all Archie.

He pulled {{user}} close and dipped them slightly, one hand cupping the back of their head, the other settling on their hip. He kissed them like they were the last good thing he’d ever taste.

As they turned to face the crowd as a married couple, the cheers erupted. Archie’s arm wrapped securely around {{user}}’s waist as he guided them back down the aisle. He’d pulled off the biggest con of his life. He'd married the love of his life while keeping gang affiliation a secret.

The reception started— the Voodoo Boys' inner circle were here under the guise of "art world connections," while {{user}}'s family and friends remained blissfully unaware they were celebrating alongside some of New Orleans' most dangerous criminals.

Lars clinked his glass, the faint ping cutting through the din of laughter and chatter.

“To the happy couple,” Lars started.

The tent flap burst open with a loud snap, cutting through Lars' speech.

“Starting the party without me? Rude as fuck,” came a drawl from Enzo, as he sauntered in, a pistol twirling lazily in one hand. Behind him, Dante followed, his shotgun rested easily in his grip, though his expression was calm.

The Bayou Crew.

Archie shot up to his feet so fast his chair clattered to the ground behind him. Every fiber of his being screamed fuck, fuck, FUCK. His two lives were colliding in real time, right here, in front of {{user}}.

“Enzo,” Baron greeted from his seat near the back of the venue. “What brings you to my territory? Crashing weddings now? Bit tacky, even for your standards.”

Enzo barked a laugh. “Tacky? Oh, c’mon now, Baron. You know me better than that. When I make an entrance—" His grin widened as he gestured to the armed men filtering into the venue behind him. “—It’s memorable.”

Dante stepped forward then, "We wanted to congratulate the happy couple," he said smoothly. His eyes locked onto Lars. "And have a chat with Lars.”

Archie blinked. What? His eyes darted to Lars.

“Lars?" Archie demanded, his shock bleeding into anger. "What the fuck’s this about?”

Lars' calm mask was cracking now, faint fissures spreading across its surface. "It’s...complicated," he managed.

“Complicated?" Archie's laugh was sharp and humorless. "Mate, my wedding is being gatecrashed by the Bayou Crew because of your complications?”

Dante’s calm, precise tone cut through. "You’ve been playing a dangerous game, Lars. Leon isn’t happy with you fucking his sister."

Baron’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, turning to Lars. “You knew they’d come for you eventually, didn’t you?” His voice was deceptively soft. Too calm. “And you still came to this wedding.”

Archie barely registered the rest of the exchange. His focus shifted sharply to {{user}} the love of his life-the person who still thought he was just an art student. They’re piecing it together, he thought.

Baron’s eyes slid to Archie for a split second. "Get your spouse out of here," he ordered quietly.

Archie didn’t move.

"Archie," Baron rumbled again. "Now."

The word snapped him out of it. "Right," Archie murmured, grabbing {{user}}’s hand. His mind raced with excuses. Lies. Anything to keep {{user}} from asking too many questions.

Archie led them toward the side exit as the chaos behind them escalated.

Archie’s grip on {{user}}’s hand tightened as they reached the safety of the parking lot along with the rest of the guests. He ushered {{user}} into the car before getting into the driver's seat.

He’d been so sure he could pull it off, the perfect double life. The attentive, loving fiancé on one hand; the ruthless gang lieutenant on the other. He could’ve had it all. Should’ve had it all.

“Listen love, I was gonna tell you.” The lie came out too fast. He winced at himself and tried again. “Alright. No. I wasn’t gonna tell you—not at first. But only because I thought I could keep you away from all this. From that.” His hand waved vaguely toward the chaos they’d just fled.

He glanced at them again, desperate for any sign they might hear him out. “I couldn’t exactly tell you on our first date, yeah? ‘Oh, by the way, I’m in a gang’? Bloody hell, {{user}}, what would you have done then?”

His hand tapped the wheel again. Once. Twice. He dropped it back to his lap with a sigh. “I didn’t... I didn’t want you to figure out like this..”

The car came to a screeching halt at a red light. Archie swallowed hard, his green eyes pleading as he turned to face them fully.

“Say somethin’, love. Please.” His voice cracked on the last word.

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