Chapter 5 The Captor and his war prize
Three days had crawled and now, it was my wedding morning. I was in my bedroom while Dad’s voice droned on about the sacred responsibility of being a wife.
"...and you must remember that this union is bigger than you, Arya. The De Luca family expects-"
But his words were just noise, I stared past his shoulder at the window, watching the estate's gardens blur through my unshed tears.
"Are you even listening to me?" My father's sharp tone cut through my thoughts like a blade.
I blinked slowly, mechanically reciting his last sentences back to him. "This union is bigger than me. The De Luca family expects a wife who will uphold tradition and bring honor to both families. I understand, Father. I'm listening."
His eyes narrowed into suspicious slits, studying my face for traces of rebellion. The silence stretched between us until Mom stepped forward, breaking the tension with open arms.
"Oh, my darling girl," Mom whispered, pulling me into an embrace. Her voice trembled on the edge of tears. "You look so beautiful."
I felt my mother's tears dampen my shoulder, even Christabel who was standing near the doorway was blinking rapidly, pressing her lips together to keep from crying.
The room felt suffocating with everyone's grief but my own. I had moved beyond sadness into a hollow acceptance.
I was far from happy, but I’d also stopped fighting. What was the point? The cage was locked and the key had been thrown away the moment she was born a Vitale.
"We should go and welcome the guests," my father announced. He adjusted his cufflinks then left without looking back.
My mother followed him out but Christabel stayed behind, watching me quietly.
I turned to the full-length mirror, barely recognizing the ghost staring back at me. My green eyes looked hollow, the spark that used to be there had disappeared and I almost couldn’t recognize myself.
My vision blurred with tears that I refused to let fall. Because if I started crying, I might never stop.
What would my life be like if I wasn't a Vitale? The thought came suddenly.
What if I'd been born ordinary? What if I could just... choose?
It was terrible that daughters of mafia kings didn't get to have choices or second chances. We either get married off like precious cargo or traded like currency.
"Breathe, Arya," I whispered to my reflection, my hands trembling as I adjusted the veil.
But I couldn't breathe. Not when marrying Alessio De Luca meant shackling myself to everything I despised.
"Smile, Arya." My father's voice echoed in my mind. “A Vitale woman always smiles, even when the world is burning."
A soft knock interrupted my spiral. The door opened and Marco stepped in, looking devastatingly handsome in his tailored black suit, but his eyes were rimmed with red.
"Hey," he said softly, closing the door behind him.
I couldn't speak.
He crossed the room and pulled me into his arms, careful not to crush the dress. "I know," he whispered against my hair. "I know, and I'm so damn sorry."
A sob caught in my throat, but I swallowed it down.
Marco pulled back, reaching into his jacket pocket. "I have something for you." He produced a small velvet box. "I wanted you to have something that was yours."
He opened it to reveal a delicate gold necklace with a small bird pendant, its wings spread mid-flight.
"Marco..." My voice cracked.
"You used to draw birds all the time when we were kids," he said, his voice thick. "Remember? You said you'd fly away someday."
The tears I'd been holding back blurred my vision. With shaking hands, I reached up and unclasped the heavy strand of Vitale pearls at my throat.
"Arya, Mother won't approve," Christabel said from across the room, her voice uncertain. She'd been so quiet I'd almost forgotten she was there. "Those pearls are tradition-"
"I don't care," I said, and handed her the pearls and turned back to Marco. "Put it on."
He fastened the necklace around my throat, and for the first time in three days, I felt like I could breathe. The little bird rested just above my heart.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Marco kissed my forehead, lingering there for a moment. "I'll give you a minute," he said hoarsely, then walked toward the door.
"Marco?" He paused, hand on the doorknob. "I love you."
His shoulders tensed, and for a moment I thought he might break down but he just nodded once and slipped out.
“I’ll see him out.” Christabel murmured, walking out of the room and leaving me alone.
I picked up my bouquet, forcing my lips to curve upward, and turned back to the mirror when another knock came, the door cracked open and cold air slipped into the room.
Only it wasn’t air but an overpowering presence, and those impossibly intense eyes I’d been unable to forget stared back at me.
He stood in the doorway in a dark suit with no tie. Each step he took toward me was unhurried, like a predator savoring the final moments of a hunt.
The gun beneath his jacket wasn't hidden well enough, and neither was the blood drying on his cuff.
The faint scent of smoke and gunpowder clung to him as those soulless steel-gray eyes locked onto mine.
He stopped just in front of me, bending slightly until his face was a breath away. I couldn't move or breathe.
"Hello, Princess," he said with that same devastating smile from the bar.
"You… what are you-" Horror and confusion crashed over me in waves. "How did you-"
"Who are you?" Christabel's voice cut through my confusion, her bridesmaid dress rustling as she hurried forward. "Arya, what's happening? Who is this man?”
The stranger's lips curved into a malicious grin. I'm here to claim what's mine."
"What?" The word ripped from my throat as I stumbled backward. "I’m not yours," I forced out, hating how weak my voice sounded.
His jaw tightened, something dark flickering in those cold eyes.
"No?" He stepped closer, eliminating what little space remained between us. "You think marrying that coward will protect you from me? From what you owe me?"
"Leave my sister alone," Christabel demanded, but her voice trembled. She grabbed my arm, trying to pull me away. "I'm calling security-"
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." His voice dropped lower. "Not unless you want this beautiful wedding to become a bloodbath."
My heart was a war drum against my ribs. "Who are you?"
He stepped close enough so I could see the coldness in his eyes. "Giovanni De Santis."
The name hit me like a bullet. The air left my lungs and my knees nearly buckled.
Everyone in our world knew that name. The De Santis family had been rivals to the Vitales for generations. They were the only ones capable of making my father quake in his boots.
Giovanni De Santis was the heir to it all, the man they called "’Il Fantasma’, because he struck without warning and disappeared without a trace just like a ghost.
"That's impossible," I breathed. "You're supposed to be-“
"What?" Giovanni's smile sharpened. "Living in the shadows? I assure you, Princess, I'm very much alive and I'm done waiting."
Before I could answer, his fingers brushed the veil from my head with practiced ease, like he'd done this a thousand times in his mind.
"You were marked the moment I saw you," he murmured, and that dangerous smirk made my stomach drop.
"Arya, run!" Christabel screamed, but before either of us could move, Giovanni's arms locked around my waist.
"What do you think you’re doing!?” My fists pounded against his chest, but it was like hitting stone. "Let me go! You can't just-"
"I can… and I will.” He said against my hair. " He lifted me effortlessly, pulling me against his chest as I struggled. "I've torn apart empires for less than what you mean to me."
“I don't mean anything to you!" Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "You don't even know me!"
"That’s what you fail to understand, dolcezza." His eyes met mine, and the intensity there stole my breath.
“I’ve known you your whole life and now, I’m here to receive my penance.”
Before Christabel could move, he lifted me into his arms like I weighed nothing
My heels scraped against the marble and the bouquet slipped from my trembling fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud.
Christabel screamed and I felt tears burning behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
None of it mattered.
Giovanni carried me like a war prize, striding through those grand doors like a conqueror who'd just claimed his victory, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do to stop him.