Elena Vitiello POV:
My gaze lingered on the pathetic, ruined figure in the wheelchair and the trembling man beside it for exactly one-tenth of a second.
I didn't gasp. My heart rate didn't spike. There was no pity in my chest, no residual anger, not even the satisfaction of mockery. Looking at Matteo was like looking at a piece of discarded chewing gum stuck to the cathedral floor. He was nothing.
Matteo’s bloodshot, pleading eyes met mine. He was waiting for a reaction. He was waiting for proof that he still existed in my world.
When my eyes washed over him with the absolute, freezing indifference of a glacier, his expression shattered. I watched his shoulders cave in as the blunt force of reality crushed his final delusion.
I turned my head away, erasing him from my vision.
I looked back up at Dante. The moment my eyes met my fiancé's, the ice in my veins melted into a rush of pure, intoxicating heat.
Dante’s jaw was tight. His predator's radar had caught my micro-shift in attention. Without moving his head, his dark eyes cut toward the shadows in the back of the church. A lethal, terrifying coldness swept over his features.
"Do you, Dante Moretti, take this woman..." the priest's voice boomed over the speakers.
Dante pulled his gaze back to me. The murderous intent vanished, replaced by an absolute, unwavering devotion.
"I do," Dante said. His voice was a low, commanding rumble that shook the stained glass windows.
The priest turned to me. The entire cathedral fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Thousands of eyes watched the Queen.
I took a deep breath. I thought of the guns pointed at my head in Chicago, the dark attic, the burns on my skin. Then I looked at the man holding my hands, the man who had burned the world down to keep me warm.
I smiled, my voice ringing out clear and loud. "I do."
The cathedral erupted. Thunderous applause bounced off the vaulted ceilings as thousands of red rose petals rained down from the rafters, a torrential downpour of velvet and color.
In the back corner, the deafening cheers hit Matteo like a physical blow. The absolute finality of my words severed the last string holding his sanity together. He had lost the right to even be a memory.
The sudden noise terrified Luca. He dropped his teddy bear, clamped his hands over his ears, and let out a piercing, high-pitched shriek.
The surrounding guests turned in disgust. Three of Dante’s inner-circle enforcers immediately placed their hands on the grips of their holstered pistols and advanced toward the shadows.
Panic seized Matteo. He abandoned the teddy bear in the dirt, grabbed the wheels of the chair, and shoved it backward toward the heavy side doors, fleeing like a beaten stray dog before the enforcers could drag him out and shoot him.
At the altar, Dante ignored the commotion. He cupped my face in his large hands, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones, and crashed his lips down on mine.
It was a kiss of absolute victory. He devoured my mouth, claiming me in front of the entire criminal underworld. But as he kissed me, Dante opened his eyes slightly. He looked over my shoulder, straight at the retreating back of Matteo Vitiello.
Matteo shoved the side door open. He made the mistake of looking back over his shoulder.
His eyes locked with Dante’s. Dante’s gaze was full of icy, mocking triumph. It was the look of a god stepping on an ant. Matteo trembled so violently he nearly tipped the wheelchair down the stone steps.
The heavy oak door slammed shut behind him, sealing Matteo out of the light forever.
The ceremony ended. Dante laced his fingers through mine, and we walked back down the aisle. Every capo and politician bowed at the waist as we passed. Near the doors, Dr. Thomas stood in the crowd. He raised his champagne glass to me in a silent, respectful toast, then turned and faded into the background.
***
By nightfall, the Long Island estate was ablaze with light. A towering champagne fountain caught the glow of crystal chandeliers set up on the manicured lawns.
I wore a custom, blood-red evening gown. I held a crystal flute, navigating the circles of mob bosses with lethal grace. I dictated terms, smiled at their wives, and cemented my power.
Dante never left my side. He stood half a step behind me, his hand resting possessively on my lower back, intercepting every glass of hard liquor offered to me and drinking it himself.
At exactly ten o'clock, a massive explosion shook the ground.
I flinched violently. My heart slammed against my ribs as the sky over the ocean erupted in blinding colors. Fireworks.
The smell of sulfur hit my nose, dragging me back to the yacht in Chicago, the burning sparks eating into my flesh, the freezing water of Lake Michigan. My breathing turned shallow.
Before the panic could set in, Dante stepped in front of me. He pulled me hard against his chest, wrapping his heavy suit jacket around my bare shoulders.
"I've got you," he murmured directly into my ear, his deep voice vibrating through my chest. "You're safe. You're untouchable."
I pressed my face into his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne and gun oil. My racing heart slowed, syncing with his steady, calm heartbeat. The ghost of Chicago evaporated.
As the sky rained golden sparks, Dante reached into his pocket. He pressed a heavy, solid gold key into my palm, along with a folded legal document.
I looked down. It was a global asset transfer. The numbers on the page were staggering—billions in offshore accounts, shipping lines, and real estate.
"Dante..." I breathed, shocked.
"Just a fraction of your dowry," he said smoothly, his eyes dark with hunger.
He didn't give me time to argue. He bent down, scooped me up into his arms, and carried me through the cheering crowd. He walked straight into the main house, up the sweeping staircase, and kicked the doors of the master suite open with his boot.
He dropped me onto the massive bed, his hands already unfastening his bowtie.
"Mrs. Moretti, it's time to claim my rights."
