- Isabella
The dress weighed more than it should have.
Not because of the silk.
Not because of the embroidery stitched by hands that would never know the war it represented.
But because it was chosen for peace.
And peace, in our world, always came at a cost.
The bridal suite was silent except for the faint rustle of fabric as the seamstress adjusted the train.
No bridesmaids.
No laughter.
No champagne.
Just two armed guards outside the door and the distant echo of church bells rehearsing a celebration no one truly believed in.
I stared at myself in the mirror.
White silk.
Long sleeves.
High neckline.
No exposed vulnerability.
Luca's request.
Or command.
I couldn't tell the difference anymore.
A knock sounded.
Three sharp taps.
Not polite.
Measured.
The seamstress stiffened.
"Leave," I told her quietly.
She fled.
The door opened without waiting for permission.
Luca stood there.
Already dressed.
Black suit.
Black tie.
Black gloves.
He looked less like a groom and more like a man attending a funeral.
Perhaps he was.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
We were alone.
For the first time since the arrangement.
His gaze traveled over me slowly.
Not indulgent.
Not soft.
Assessing.
"You look prepared," he said.
"Prepared for what?" I asked.
"War."
The word settled between us.
"Isn't this supposed to prevent it?"
His eyes darkened slightly.
"Yes."
A pause.
"But prevention requires readiness."
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
Never touching unless deliberate.
"There will be heightened security today," he continued. "You will not leave my side."
"I wouldn't dream of it," I said dryly.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Do not test me today."
"I'm not the one who invaded a house at dawn."
Silence.
Then—
"You are angry."
"Yes."
"Good."
That caught me off guard.
"Anger sharpens instinct," he said quietly. "Fear clouds it."
He reached forward.
For one heartbeat I thought he would touch my face.
Instead, he adjusted the delicate veil at my temple.
The contact was brief.
Gloved fingers brushing my hair.
Still—
Heat traveled down my spine.
"You will walk down the aisle alone," he said.
"Your father forfeited the right."
My pulse stumbled.
"What did you do?"
"I ensured clarity."
He did not elaborate.
That terrified me more.
A distant explosion cracked through the air.
The windows rattled.
The church bells stopped mid-chime.
My breath caught.
Luca did not flinch.
His head tilted slightly as if listening to music only he could hear.
Then—
Gunfire.
Rapid.
Close.
Screams erupted below.
The chaos was immediate.
Luca's phone buzzed violently in his pocket.
He glanced at it.
Expression sharpening.
"They've breached the outer perimeter," he said calmly.
"They?" I whispered.
He looked at me.
Cold.
Focused.
"Your father."
The words felt like ice down my spine.
Another explosion.
Closer.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
The door burst open.
Matteo appeared, blood on his collar.
"Romano men and two unknown crews," he said quickly. "Snipers positioned on the cathedral roof."
Unknown crews.
My mind flashed to the anonymous message.
If you hurt her, I will destroy you.
Luca moved instantly.
He grabbed my wrist.
Firm.
Possessive.
Not painful.
"Stay behind me," he ordered.
Gunshots echoed down the corridor.
A body hit the marble floor outside.
My wedding day smelled like smoke.
We moved through the hallway with calculated precision.
His men closed ranks around us.
Black suits.
Black weapons.
Red blood blooming against white walls.
I had grown up around violence.
But this—
This was organized destruction.
A statement.
Another blast rocked the building.
The stained-glass windows shattered inward, scattering fragments of saints across the floor.
Luca pulled me down behind a pillar just as bullets tore through the corridor.
Stone chipped above us.
Dust filled the air.
He shielded me with his body.
His chest against my back.
Solid.
Unmovable.
"You planned this," I accused under my breath.
"If I had planned it," he said coolly, "it would already be over."
More gunfire.
Closer now.
A scream I recognized—
My father's voice.
Raw.
Desperate.
Luca's grip tightened slightly.
His jaw clenched.
He didn't look at me when he spoke.
"Stay here."
"No."
The word escaped before I could stop it.
His eyes snapped to mine.
Dangerous.
"You will obey me."
"They're killing each other because of me."
"They're killing each other because of power."
He leaned closer.
"If you step out there, you become leverage."
"I already am."
A flicker crossed his face.
Not anger.
Something sharper.
Possessiveness.
"You are mine," he said quietly. "Which means you are not theirs to use."
The words should have terrified me.
Instead—
They steadied me.
A bullet ricocheted off the pillar.
Matteo shouted from down the hall.
"They're moving toward the sanctuary!"
The sanctuary.
Where the guests were.
Where—
Another explosion shook the cathedral.
The floor trembled.
And through the smoke—
I saw him.
A masked man at the end of the corridor.
Not Romano.
Not De Santis.
His weapon was trained—
Not on Luca.
On me.
Everything slowed.
The world narrowed.
Luca turned—
But not fast enough.
The masked man fired.