Chapter 3 Chapter Three
LILA
Inside was a chapel, the doors closed behind us with a heavy thud that echoed through my bones. The air smelled of melted wax and roses left too long in the heat. Candles lined the aisle in glass holders, their flames trembling like they knew what was coming. The red silk gown dragged across the stone floor with each step, his grip on my arm firm but not tight, just enough to remind me who held the power.
Guests filled the chairs on both sides. Men in dark suits, their eyes cold and calculating, and women in black veils that hid their faces No one smiled or clapped because this wasn’t a celebration, it was a transaction.
I scanned the faces as we walked, looking for anyone familiar... anyone who might help. But it was just strangers with guns tucked under jackets. My bare feet were ice cold against the stone. The veil Matteo had placed on my head earlier weighed like a crown I never asked for.
We reached the altar, a simple wooden table covered in white cloth with a gold cross and a Bible worn at the edges. The old priest stood there, his hands shaking as he clutched his notes. Sweat formed on his forehead despite the cool morning air seeping through the cracks in the stone walls.
Matteo released my arm but stayed close... a bit too close. His presence was a heat I couldn’t ignore, even when I hated it.
Then the priest cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved…”
His voice cracked then he started again in Latin, the words flowing fast, like he wanted this over with. I didn’t understand most of it, but I caught enough to know what was happening. The vows were promising forever.
My stomach twisted, this couldn’t be real. Six hours ago I was on stage at Club Nero, spinning under coloured lights, tips raining into my garter. Now I was here, in a mafia don’s private chapel, about to become his wife.
The priest switched to English. “Matteo Russo, do you take this woman…”
Matteo’s answered immediately and without hesitating for a second.
The priest turned to me, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. “Lila Moreno, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, till death do you part?”
The chapel went silent as I looked at Matteo, his face hard as stone but he looked amused, maybe he was expecting a good response.
I gathered the spit in my mouth and launched it straight into his face, it landed on his cheek with a wet smack. Gasps rippled through the guests as a few men reached for their guns.
Matteo didn’t flinch or wipe it away. He just smiled, slow and dangerous, and grabbed my chin with one hand, his thumb pressed into my jaw, forcing my head up.
Then his lips crushed mine in a deadly kiss, teeth scraping, tasting the blood where his ring had cut my lip earlier. I tried to pull back, but his other hand held the back of my neck, fingers tangled in the veil.
The priest stammered but kept going, his voice rising in panic.
When Matteo finally released me, my lips throbbed. The spit was gone from his cheek, replaced by a red mark.
“Continue,” he told the priest without looking away from me.
The old man swallowed hard and rushed through the rest, then rings were brought out from a velvet box held by a stone faced guard. God forbid they brought a gold or diamond, it was made of bullet casings, polished and soldered into bands.
Matteo took the smaller one first and slid it onto my finger. It fit perfectly, like everything else he’d forced on me. “Till death, moglie,” he said. That word meant Wife, it hung in the air like a threat.
My hand shook as I took the other ring, the metal warm from the guard’s palm. I hesitated but Matteo’s eyes narrowed.
“Do it,” he whispered.
When I slid it onto his finger, my fingers brushed his skin, and for a split second, I felt the rough scar on his knuckle.
The priest raised his hands. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
No one cheered. There was no food or music, just the scrape of chairs as guests stood.
Matteo didn’t wait for permission before he scooped me up, one arm under my knees, the other around my back. The gown pooled over his arms like blood as I pounded his chest with my fists.
“Put me down!” I struggled but he ignored and carried me out of the chapel, down the hall, past the guards who followed us with their eyes.
We reached the master bedroom, the same one I’d woken up in, bullet holes still in the headboard from the sniper. He kicked the door shut behind us and the lock clicked.
He set me down hard on the rug, my knees buckling for a second.
“Time to calculate the debt,” he said, voice low.
My heart slammed against my ribs and I backed up until my shoulders hit the wall. “Touch me and I’ll kill you.”
He stepped closer, unbuttoning his jacket and letting it fall. “You already tried.”
I glanced around, the glass shard from the bathroom earlier, no, that was gone. The lamp? Too heavy. The bedpost? Too far.
He was on me in two strides. He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, his body pressed against mine, heat seeping through the silk.
“Fight harder,” he murmured against my ear. “I like it.”
His free hand slid down my side, fingers tracing the curve of my waist through the gown. I tried to kick him but he twisted at the last second, taking the hit on his thigh.
He laughed, his breath hot on my neck. His teeth grazed my skin, not biting, just there.
Suddenly, there was a flash of a red dot moving on the window. It was a sniper, right on Matteo’s back. I saw it clear, the laser sight dancing between his shoulder blades.
My mind raced, should I warn him? Push him away? Let the bullet take him?
His mouth was on my collarbone now, teeth scraping. He had no idea.
When the dot steadied, my eyes lit open and I opened my mouth to talk..