POV: Marcella
The Vale estate, a place I had once called home, was now a stage for my public execution. The grand ballroom, where my sister Serafina and I had once played hide-and-seek among the towering marble columns, was draped in white silk and filled with the scent of a thousand white roses. The air was thick with the silent judgment of the old guard, the captains of my father's empire, who watched from the shadows with a mixture of grief and betrayal. They saw the end of an era, the death of a family. I saw the beginning of a war.
My wedding dress, a gown of white silk that clung to my body with a cruel, innocent grace, was a lie. The veil, a gossamer shroud that hid my face, was a mask. I walked down the aisle, my hand in Nicolo's, a man tasked with giving me away, his grip steady but his eyes haunted, as though he was leading me to my grave. Every step was a declaration of war. Every beat of my heart was a promise of revenge.
He stood at the end of the aisle, a dark, imposing figure in a perfectly tailored black suit. Lorenzo De Luca. His face, a chiseled mask of cold handsomeness, betrayed nothing, yet his eyes, dark as espresso, swept over me with a possessive precision that made my skin crawl. His stance said a conqueror. Mine said he'd had to fight to keep me.
The ceremony was a blur of Italian vows and ancient rituals, a sacred script twisted into a desecration. My hand trembled as I placed the heavy gold wedding band on his finger, a symbol that meant nothing to me except shackles. His hand, warm and strong, enveloped mine as he slid the matching band onto my finger. The weight was suffocating, a brand of ownership. I felt the chill settle into my bones.
"You may kiss the bride," the priest announced, his voice solemn, final.
Lorenzo's hand, firm on the small of my back, pulled me in. His lips pressed to mine, cold, demanding. There was no tenderness, no hesitation. It wasn't a kiss, it was him stamping his name across my mouth. A seal on his victory. When he pulled away, his eyes lingered, dark and glinting with something dangerous.
The reception was a nightmare played out in crystal and gold. The old guard lingered at the edges of the room, their eyes shadowed with rage and suspicion. On the opposite side, the De Luca captains prowled in tailored suits, the scent of triumph clinging to them like expensive cologne. I was paraded between them like a trophy, my arm hooked through Lorenzo's as we moved from one guest to another.
"Smile, my wife," he whispered as we stood before the towering wedding cake. His breath was warm against my ear, his tone a silk-wrapped threat. "They're all watching. We must give them a good show."
I smiled, a perfect, dazzling curve of my lips that didn't touch my eyes. The knife cut through the soft sponge of the cake, the frosting white as the roses filling the room. My hazel gaze found the eyes of each Vale captain in turn. A silent message passed between us: this wasn't over.
The first dance came, as inevitable as the executioner's blade. His hand gripped mine; his other pressed firmly to my waist, steering me across the floor. We moved in perfect time, a seamless facade for the cameras and the whispering guests. Every step forward dug me deeper into enemy territory, but I carried my own weapon, the kind he'd never see coming.
By the time the music ended, my cheeks ached from smiling. My body hummed with the tension of restraint. The guests began to fade into the glittering haze of champagne and candlelight. The night had teeth in it.
The sleek black car waited at the foot of the grand steps, its polished surface reflecting the chandeliers of the ballroom. Lorenzo's hand rested at the small of my back again, guiding me down the marble stairs. Cameras flashed. Murmured blessings trailed after us.
But when the door closed behind us, sealing us inside the dimly lit interior, the world outside disappeared. The silence in the car was thick, stretching between us like a taut wire ready to snap.
"You played your part well," he said at last, his voice low, almost approving. His gaze slid over me slowly, assessing, as though cataloging both my beauty and my defiance.
I met his stare without flinching. "So did you."
His lips curved faintly—not in amusement, but in acknowledgment. "Good. We understand each other."
I turned my face toward the darkened window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of gold and white. My hands tightened in my lap, nails pressing into my palm until the sting grounded me.
Tonight, the cage had closed. But I hadn't stepped inside empty-handed. I carried a blade he couldn't see, sharpened on years of grief and rage.
And sooner or later, I would use it.
POV: Lorenzo
I watched her walk toward me, her gown whispering against the marble floor with each step. She was breathtaking—not in the way of fragile beauty, but in the way of a storm rolling in over calm waters. Her face was composed, almost serene, but her eyes… her eyes betrayed her. That cold fire told me she had come here for something, and it wasn't love.
The ceremony was a necessary formality, a public announcement to the world that the De Luca and Vale names were now bound by marriage. The ring on her finger was more than a piece of gold—it was a tether, a claim. I felt the faint tremor in her hand as I placed it there. Weakness. Or maybe just the mask slipping.
When I kissed her, I expected a flinch, perhaps even a hint of surrender. Instead, I found resistance—a wall I would enjoy dismantling brick by brick.
The reception was a theater of politics. The old Vale captains clung to their grief, their loyalty to her father visible in every furrowed brow. My men, on the other hand, looked at her like she was a rare prize brought home from battle. She would learn, in time, that I didn't allow my possessions to be touched.
"Smile, my wife," I murmured at the cake, my lips brushing her ear. She obeyed, but I saw the truth in her eyes. She thought she was playing me.
The dance was perfection—fluid, effortless, a vision of unity. But beneath the surface, I felt her resistance in every shift of her body. She was not afraid of me. That made her dangerous.
When the last guest was seen off and the estate doors shut behind us, I guided her into the car. The air inside was thick with unspoken words. I studied her profile, the line of her jaw tight, the flicker of her lashes betraying her thoughts.
"You'll find life with me is not the prison you imagine," I said finally.
Her head turned, hazel eyes meeting mine, sharp as a blade. "I don't imagine. I know."
A slow smile curved my lips. She was a puzzle—and I never left puzzles unsolved.
As the city lights swept past us, I realized something I hadn't before. She might think she's here to destroy me. But I have no intention of losing this game.
And this honeymoon won't be a truce, it will be where I started taking her apart.