Chapter 10 – The Wedding

• The wedding began in silence.
• No music. No birdsong. No voices.
• Only the rustle of silk sheets as Alina sat on the edge of her bed.
• Teresa entered with quiet footsteps, her hands folded in front of her. “It’s time,” she said.
• Alina didn’t move.
• Teresa said softly. “Please. We have to get you ready.”
• Alina stood without a word. There was no point in fighting—not today. Her defiance was coiled now, deeper, sharper. A blade hidden in velvet.
• The dress slid over her body like liquid moonlight. Her hair was brushed and twisted into an elegant knot. The garnet necklace was fastened at her throat, cold against her skin.
• She didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Beautiful and trapped.
• They led her down the corridor. The hallway was lined with white roses, trailing vines, candles that flickered behind glass. The estate had been transformed, but it only made the silence louder.
• At the chapel doors, two guards flanked her. Neither spoke. Neither looked at her.
• The doors creaked open.
• Alina stepped inside.
• The chapel was small but ornate—gothic arches, stained glass bleeding color across the stone floor. There were no pews, no guests. Just a half-circle of hand-picked witnesses—men in dark suits, women with cold eyes, people who owed Luciano everything or feared him enough to pretend.
• The priest stood stiffly at the altar, his white robes stark against the blood-red carpet. He didn’t smile. His hands trembled as he opened the book.
• And there, at the center of it all, was Luciano.
• He wore a black suit, perfectly tailored, with no tie. The open collar exposed the clean line of his throat, the edge of the tattoo inked across his chest. His hair was dark and neatly swept back. His eyes—those storm-grey eyes—never left her as she walked toward him.
• No music played.
• Each step echoed like a countdown.
• Her hands trembled slightly. She clenched them into fists.
• When she reached him, Luciano extended his hand, not to hold hers, but to offer a single black ring box.
• Inside was a black diamond, cut like a dagger.
• “Put it on,” he said.
• Her fingers hesitated.
• “Do it,” he murmured. “Or I’ll do it for you.”
• She slid the ring onto her own finger, heart pounding.
• The priest began to speak, voice low and solemn, reading the vows as if they were a sentence, not a blessing. The words blurred in her ears. Her gaze locked on Luciano’s face. Calm. Imposing. Possessive.
• When the priest faltered—just before the declaration—Luciano turned to him slowly.
• “Finish it,” he said. His voice was soft, but final. Commanding.
• The priest swallowed hard and continued. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
• No kiss.
• No applause.
• Only the sound of the book closing.
• Alina signed the documents with a trembling hand, her name bleeding across the page like a wound. The ink barely dried before the paper was swept away by one of Luciano’s men.
• Luciano leaned close, brushing her ear with his breath.
• “Now you’re mine in every way.”
• Her spine went rigid.
• She didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. She kept her eyes forward, fixed on the stained-glass window above the altar. The Virgin Mary stared down at her with hollow eyes, frozen in painted sorrow.
• They left the chapel in silence.
• No reception. No toast. Just more guards, more corridors, more eyes watching her every move.
• Back in her room, the door clicked shut behind her.
• Alina stood in front of the mirror, her wedding gown glowing in the late afternoon light, the garnet necklace like a drop of blood on porcelain skin. She didn’t recognize the bride staring back.
• Luciano had taken everything—her father, her freedom, her art, her name.
• But not her will.
• Not her fight.
• She walked to the window and looked out over the gardens below. Somewhere, far beyond the iron gates and marble walls, the real world continued. People laughed. Music played. Lives were lived freely.
• And she would have that again.
• She would survive him.
• Out loud, softly but clearly, she whispered to her reflection—
• “This is war.”