ALLURA POV.
THREE DAYS LATER
The giant doors were finally pushed open by Russo and Tank, revealing the stunning, yet utterly predictable, scene of our wedding: our guests were already pointing guns at each other.
The enemies had clearly expected us not to come. For the past three days, we'd been weathering relentless gun attacks and chilling threat notes, but none of it fazed us. Thanks to Xavier's efficiency, the criminals were always swiftly caught.
We walked hand-in-hand, my black veil drawn over my eyes. I could still clearly see the hundreds of figures around me. As we advanced, the raised guns were quickly—if grudgingly—dropped and stashed away. We approached the platform at the end of the aisle where the Pope stood, ready to bless our Union.
FLASHBACK (MORNING)
I stood before the large ornate mirror in my voluminous black wedding dress. The maids scrambled, putting the finishing touches on my hair and makeup. Suddenly, they all paused and stood in a rigid ovation. Without turning, I knew Xavier had entered the room.
I quickly dismissed them, and they bowed deeply as they scurried out.
Once the door closed, Xavier came closer, his reflection becoming sharp and imposing in the glass. He pulled a small black box from his pocket, opened it, and placed the contents around my neck: a golden chain with a heavy anchor pendant.
I froze. "What is the meaning of this prank?"
He ignored the question and simply stated it was his mother's. "The pendant represents a strong ground in the family—its culture and traditions."
I started to turn, but he gently held my head, then leaned down until his rested on my neck—an image in the mirror that I simultaneously despised and found intoxicating. His voice was low and rough.
"I have always told you this marriage is a shield and nothing more. Today marks the official start of our contract, and this pendant is the testament." He shushed my attempt to speak. "Just like the anchor to the sea, you will always be loyal to me. If you betray me, I will not hesitate to end your life."
A wicked laugh tore from my lips. "How is an anchor that holds a ship supposed to betray?" I challenged. "Both it and the ship are bound to destruct without each other."
He smirked, a genuine flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Not if the sailor is skilled." My jab had clearly landed harder than any previous ones.
He lifted his head from my neck and walked over to the couch at the foot of the bed, settling into the velvet cushions.
"Have you memorized the names?" he asked. "The guests, and those you must avoid."
I confirmed I had. Two days prior, he had handed me a full list of a thousand guests, specifying eight hundred people from twenty-five mafia families and their UK branches whom I should avoid.
"Avoid my Aunt Laurence, Michael's mother," he warned, lighting a cigarette. "She is a sophisticated woman who takes pleasure in disgracing brides who enter the family. She did it to my mother and five other brides my grandfather married. I'm going to settle my mother's score with her soon."
He took a long drag. "I noticed you went to the cemetery a few days ago. Why?"
"It was the first time in four years I was allowed to visit my parents' grave," I told him, the truth surprising even me. "Magnus never let me out of the house."
Xavier sighed, releasing a long stream of smoke. "Are you scared to walk the aisle with Madison or Mr. Quinn?"
I admitted I was.
"You don't need to be scared," he said, not unkindly. "I will walk you down the aisle. I have no intention of letting someone else hold my wife's hand during her happy moment."
I was stunned, yet I knew he wasn't talking to me. He must have been referring to Samantha; Madison had told me she was terrified of walking down the aisle alone, which was why they always went everywhere together.
FLASHBACK ENDS
The Pope opened a large book and began the words of blessing. The world went silent as Xavier and I stared at each other. For a fleeting moment, I thought I saw a small, genuine smile on his face, but it vanished instantly, replaced by the practiced, cold facade he reserved for the media.
He snapped me out of my daze when he took my hands. The Pope asked, "Allura, do you take Xavier Giovanni Jr. to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
"Yes, I do," I said, without a second thought.
Then, he was instructed to kiss me. He lifted the black veil, then quickly covered it again, kissing me on the lips—this time, it was rougher and more possessive than any contact we'd shared before. When he finally pulled back, I gasped for air.
He lifted the veil fully. Camera flashes greeted me like a curtain call. He held my hand tightly, his eyes boring into mine as he mouthed a silent promise: "Welcome to the family."
Hours later, the sound of champagne flutes clanking echoed in the ballroom. When the time came for the toast, our guests—including the formidable old Giovanni himself—poured their drinks into the nearest flowerpot or onto the rug.
Sensing my confusion, Xavier leaned in and whispered, "Weddings in the Giovanni Mafia are different. Nobody eats or drinks." He gestured to the lavish buffet. "One taste from any buffet is the taste of death."
He pointed to a large, decorative bowl. "This citrus punch, especially, has been doused with arsenic. Not even the paparazzi dare touch it." The Giovanni Mafia were the biggest, the legendary "Phoenix Dragon King" of them all. Attending the wedding meant paying respect, not indulging.
We were dressed in the traditional Giovanni Mafia wedding attire, a privilege that caused instant envy. None of the other wives had worn this dress, as it was reserved only for the bride of the first son or the designated successor. As Xavier was the successor, I was opportuned.
Xavier, ever the performer, wrapped his hand around my waist, giving the media and his cousins more reason to simmer in jealousy.
He leaned in his voice feathery in my ear. "Look around love you're the center of jealousy as expected. "As it should be. I replied with a small but seductive voice.
Soon, a group of men in black suits approached him, and he began conversing with them.
Feeling uncomfortable under their scrutiny, I told him I was going to refill my glass. Right there, in front of his associates, he kissed me. His tongue penetrated my mouth, and the kiss instantly turned fierce. A metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth.
I pulled back, breathless, and saw his bottom lip was bleeding. He stared down at me, his eyes dark. "Make sure you enjoy the wedding, Allura," he said. "Because soon, I'll be enjoying myself."
My face burned. I looked at the men; they had been laughing but immediately drowned their amusement when Xavier glared at them, none daring to hold his eye.
I made my way to the citrus punch bowl, spinning the ladle to stir the poisoned liquid before reaching to fill my glass.
"Are you enjoying the party, Mrs. Giovanni?"
My mind instantly went sharp and alert. The voice was smooth, chilling, and deadly familiar. It was not Xavier. It was Lucas Turner, his worst enemy.
I smiled to myself, ready to deploy my invisible acting skills on Lucas Turner. It was, after all, my wedding, and I fully intended to savor every moment of the ceremony.
"What is a bride's wedding day without a little enjoyment?" I asked, turning to face him. His grey eyes glimmered with something close to contempt, but he masked it quickly, offering an embarrassed smile.
"Well said," he conceded with a slight nod before turning his attention toward the bustling hall.
"Look at everyone," Lucas murmured, his voice low and dangerous as he gestured to the crowd. "They are so happy for Xavier's wedding. But at this time last year, the guests at the previous Phoenix's burial weren't even three in number."
I placed my glass on the table near the bowl of citrus punch. "On such an auspicious day as this, why do you speak of such unrelated matters?" I asked, my voice cool but neither unfriendly nor offended.
"I'm only looking out for you, Mrs. Giovanni," Lucas replied, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "This family might look golden on the outside, but inside, it's a hell hole. Athena had relatives, but they were all barred from her funeral, and none dared to ask what caused her death. I can only feel for you—a lowly orphan with no one to defend her."
His words hit me like an emotional earthquake. But instead of giving him the satisfaction he craved, I simply widened my smile.
"It is sound advice, Lucas, and I will take it to heart," I replied, my gaze unwavering. "But you mustn't forget that your in-laws aren't the only ones to lose a wife under mysterious circumstances. Yours, from the Santiago family, died last year after discovering your affairs with a foreign man. To this day, no one knows his name."
A muscle twitched in his jaw. The jab had landed.
"And speaking of wives," I continued sweetly, "Tabitha is a full-blooded Giovanni and pregnant with your child. She needs to see a doctor before she loses your only heir. I'm not sure her father would go easy on you if she did." I glanced toward the exit. "I'll take my leave now. My husband is looking for me."
I walked away from the stunned fool. Badmouthing the very family he was desperately trying to contend with for succession—what an imbecile.
I continued toward the area where the Mafia's female relatives were seated. I greeted everyone, ignoring the barely suppressed murmurs that followed me. My task was to touch their hands and then my forehead—a physically exhausting family tradition designed to show respect and submission.
Finally, I came face-to-face with Aunt Laurence. She wore a striking purple dress and an immense designer hat that gave her a perpetually sinister look.
She met my eyes with undisguised disgust. Rather than flinch, I approached her immediately and offered my initial greeting.
"Don't you know how to offer the greeting properly?" she called out before I could step away, her voice a dry rasp. "Or have you lost your manners? I don't blame Xavier for marrying a poor and lowly orphan whom he could dispose of easily. You have no power, no backing, just—money."
I remained silent, simply offering the polite greeting again, lowering my hand further. But the old woman was relentless.
"More sincerity! Unless you are like a green tea trying to leech off this family? Do you wish that I die with the way you're greeting me?"
I did not dare to reply. I repeated the required motion—hands to the head—seventeen times. My hand and head ached from the force I had to use just to appease her.
She finally rewarded me with a wicked, triumphant smile.
"Thank you," I added crisply, ending the exchange.
The other women stared in disbelief, their intense, killing auras momentarily weakened by my sheer, painful resolve. I flashed them a smile of assurance, but beneath the surface, I was simmering.
When I turned, I saw Xavier. He was staring at his aunt, his eyes blazing with anger. He strode over, pulling me firmly to his side. He didn't utter a single word to her, simply guided me out of the room.
We excused ourselves and quickly walked toward an old, unused room in the family house. It was dark, but to my surprise, it was filled with forgotten toys, telescopes, and space magazines.
He sat me down on the bed and began pulling off my wedding shoe. The area around my ankle was redder than a ripe tomato.
"You stood far longer than you should have," he said, his voice flat with concern. "You'll wear a low-heeled shoe for the time being. When we get home, I'll call Doctor Roma."
Seeing my gaze fixed on the childlike remnants of the room, he explained, "I once aspired to be an astronaut. But after my parents' death, things changed. I had to become the monster I am now to find their killer."
"Why did you start Skynet?" I asked quietly, looking at a dusty toy rocket.
"I learned how to make robots from my father, Xavier Giovanni Sr., the former Mafia King," he explained. "I discovered that if I wanted power that rivalled my grandfather's, I had to be wealthier and legit on the surface by owning a legal business—but underneath, I ran illegal businesses, independent of his control."
"Why are you telling me all this now?"
He chuckled softly. "I'm only reminding you how far it took me to get here. I'm also surprised at the effort you put in to endure Laurence. My own mother wasn't so patient, and it severely damaged her and my father's reputation."
"As an elegant wife and your shield," I replied simply, "it was my responsibility. I merely carried it out."
He stood up and, to my complete surprise, kissed me gently on the cheek.
A sudden knock on the door interrupted the charged silence. He left me to answer it. It was Madison and the other girls, carrying a garment bag and a make-up box. He gave them a curt nod before exiting the room, leaving me to their services.
Madison helped me change. I stood there, stiff and lifeless, like a doll waiting for the next scene to begin.
HOURS LATER IN THE EVENING, THE REAL WEDDING BANQUET.
The wedding reception finally yielded to nightfall, and the grand banquet began. For this segment, I changed into a pristine white trouser suit, paired with a matching cashmere cloak, which offered a chic defense against the autumn chill. This was the moment for feasting, yet Xavier rejected the idea that I should eat from the main buffet, muttering that the enemy was "everywhere in our midst."
Russo and Madison stood sentinel near a small, exclusive table where my own personalized buffet was laid out, just as instructed. I dined comfortably, maintaining a façade of elegant indifference as I watched Xavier across the room, deep in conversation with a host of high-ranking officials. The atmosphere was becoming increasingly sharp, edged with business and power plays.
The tension broke when a discreet attendant leaned in and informed me: "Tasha and her husband have arrived, Mrs. Giovanni."
A subtle smirk touched my lips. This was it. My time to put everything to good use. I stood from my seat, cleansing my hands with a linen napkin, and made my way toward the unsuspecting couple.
Tasha, radiant and eager, was dressed in a shimmering lavender gown. Around her neck, she wore the heavy, intricate Van Cleef & Arpels Alhambra golden jewelry set—a previous, highly publicized gift from me. The sight of the expensive piece flashing under the ballroom lights was the perfect accessory for this performance.
Upon seeing me, her excitement was genuine. She immediately rushed forward, and we embraced with the warmth of old, intimate friends. The flashbulbs erupted—the media captured the moment with furious zeal, knowing this was prime material for their gossip columns.
Magnus, Tasha's husband, stood slightly behind her. He offered me a congratulatory smile, his eyes lingering on me as he spoke. "Congratulations, Samantha. You look absolutely beautiful," he said, not paying Tasha, his wife, the slightest heed.
Tasha, however, seemed entirely focused on me. "I need to hear everything!" she exclaimed.
"Of course," I replied, gesturing toward a secluded corner. "I've personally prepared a lounge area for us. Come, let's leave the men to their games."
I led her away, beginning the subtle play of power that everyone in the room was now watching.