It was ten minutes past the hour.
The chapel was silent — not with peace, but with pressure.
The kind that coils around your spine, stiffens every breath, and makes men in thousand-dollar suits reach for the triggers they promised to leave at home.
Kai Castellano stood at the altar, jaw clenched so tight it could shatter bone.
She wasn't coming.
Of course she wasn't. Gianna Moretti was chaos in a dress. Venom with lipstick. And she was about to humiliate him in front of everyone, rivals, allies, government officials, even his father who, for the first time in years, had decided to make a public appearance.
Lorenzo Castellano sat in the front row, unreadable. A black three-piece suit. Silver cufflinks. His hand rested on the head of the cane he never actually used , just a prop, a symbol of power.
"Relax," Marsh murmured beside Kai. "You're scaring the priest."
"I am relaxed," Kai bit out.
"She's gonna show. Even if it's just to stab you at the altar."
He didn't respond. Couldn't. His mind was a mess of what-ifs and what-the-fucks.
And then, the doors creaked.
Every head turned.
Gianna stood there, dressed in white like it didn't burn her skin.
Hair swept up like a dagger crown, veil like a ghost trailing behind her, and a look in her eyes that promised this was not forgiveness, not surrender.
This was war.
The crowd buzzed in disbelief.
Some gasped. Some whispered. Some stared in horror.
Enemies. Getting married.
History had rewritten itself, and it was wearing Valentino.
She walked slowly, defiantly. Each step sounded like the ticking of a bomb.
When she reached the altar, she didn't look at him.
Kai didn't look at her either.
The priest cleared his throat. "Shall we begin?"
The vows were short. Mechanical.
Gianna said yes like she was saying try me.
Kai said I do like he was swearing revenge.
The kiss? Barely touched lips. Cold. Pressed like a deal sealed in blood.
Then it was done. Just like that.
The marriage that could've ended a war... or started the worst one yet.
The uproar outside was immediate.
Reporters swarmed. Allies sent wine or warnings. Enemies stared, calculating.
Inside the Castellano estate, Lorenzo poured himself a drink and watched the footage of the wedding again.
"She's smart," he murmured, nodding slowly. "Dangerous."
Kai stood by the window, still in his wedding suit. Tie loosened, shirt half unbuttoned, fury glowing under his skin.
"Why'd you come, old man?" he asked.
Lorenzo sipped his whiskey. "To witness either your marriage or your embarrassment. Both amuse me."
Kai laughed without humor. "She's up to something."
"They always are," Lorenzo said, eyes sharp. "Question is, are you smart enough to be more dangerous?"
The honeymoon suite was a five-star penthouse in a secret Castellano property — cameras swept, guards doubled.
Gianna walked in first, dropped her heels at the door, and flopped onto the couch like she owned it.
Kai walked in after, poured himself a drink, and didn't offer her one.
Silence stretched.
Then Gianna, eyes closed, said, "I thought about running."
"I know," he replied coldly.
"I thought about poisoning you too."
"Next time, don't overthink it."
She opened her eyes, sharp as broken glass. "You're really gonna act like you're the victim here?"
"You are sleeping under my roof."
"Please. You only married me so your father wouldn't see you fail."
Kai's glass shattered against the wall.
Gianna didn't flinch.
He stalked toward her. She stood.
Now toe to toe. Bare feet. Clenched fists. Labored breathing.
"This marriage," he growled, "is a business arrangement."
"Then don't get sentimental if I burn it down."
Their faces were inches apart now, both breathing fire.
Kai's hand hovered, not touching — just tempting. Gianna's lips twitched.
"Go ahead," she whispered. "Kiss your enemy."
He didn't.
Not yet.
Elsewhere in the city, Alessio stood in his private office, watching the footage of the wedding with his advisors.
"She showed up," someone said.
Alessio smiled darkly. "Of course she did."
"Do you think she's ready?"
"She better be," he replied, swirling his wine. "Because when she tears them apart, it won't be just the Castellanos that fall."
Back at the penthouse, night fell.
Gianna stared out the window, arms crossed, moonlight painting her skin silver.
Kai stood behind her, watching. Always watching.
"We'll need to make a public appearance tomorrow," he said. "Something for the press. And for the streets."
"Of course," she said coolly. "Wouldn't want the rats thinking we're soft."
He walked closer. "You really hate me, don't you?"
She turned. "With every breath."
Something about the way she said it, honest, raw — made his throat tighten.
He stepped away.
She let him.
But neither of them slept that night.
Not because of heat.
But because of hatred.
Because they were in the same bed, facing opposite directions, fists curled, hearts burning.
They were married.
But the war had just begun.