Chapter 24 And Now?

Chapter 24 And Now?


The orchestra continued to play, filling the hall with a melody meant to disguise the growing tension. Vicenzo stood at center stage—or rather, at the improvised altar—his posture impeccable, his mind boiling. His eyes swept the main door, waiting for the inevitable: Giulia’s rebellion.

Suddenly, a security guard approached, sliding silently to Vicenzo’s side. He leaned in, his voice a discreet whisper, almost inaudible amid the guests’ murmur.

“Sir, Mrs. Giulia has just arrived.”

A cold, satisfied smile began to form on Vicenzo’s lips. It was time. He turned to the guard, his voice low but heavy with authority.

“Take her to the room to put on the dress. If she refuses, call me. I’ll dress her myself.”
The threat was clear—the promise of humiliation, an anticipated pleasure.

But the guard did not step away as Vicenzo expected. Instead, he hesitated, his eyes slightly widened.

“Sir… she’s already dressed as the bride.”

Vicenzo stared at him, surprise freezing the smile on his face. That, he had not expected. The image of Giulia tearing the dress to shreds or showing up in rags had been so vivid in his mind.

“Are you sure?” he hissed, his voice a blade of ice. “If she appears here wearing anything other than the dress I chose, I’ll kill you.”
The threat was real, fury simmering beneath the surface.

The guard, however, held his composure.

“Yes, sir. She’s wearing the correct dress.”

A chill ran down Vicenzo’s spine. He felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: fear. Not fear of Giulia herself, but fear of what she might be plotting. The question screamed in his mind: What the hell is that bitch up to? Surely something meant to leave him publicly humiliated during the ceremony. Or the dress was torn, and the idiot guard hadn’t noticed. But there was no alternative. Time was up.

Anger rising in his throat, a tight knot in his chest, he walked toward the improvised altar. His mind raced, trying to anticipate Giulia’s every move, every possible humiliation.

As he took his place, the guests began to sit, the murmurs fading, anticipation building. The orchestra shifted to a soft bridal march, announcing the bride’s entrance.

In one of the front rows, Don Vittorio stared at Vicenzo as if he could kill him with his eyes—a silent promise of retribution. Beside him, Guillermo, his son, maintained a tense expression, his eyes also fixed on the entrance, waiting for Giulia.

But Vicenzo saw none of that. His gaze was locked on the door through which she would appear. In his mind, one single concern consumed him: What would Giulia do this time? How would she turn his day of triumph into a public hell? The anticipation was torture, and he braced himself for the blow he knew was coming. The hall fell silent, the music filling the void, and the door began to open slowly.

Then the bridal march swelled, filling the hall with its grand, solemn melody. All eyes turned to the main door, where the light seemed to intensify. Giulia entered, escorted by her father, Guillermo, who—despite the tension—maintained a dignified posture.

She was magnificent. The white dress—the same one she had commissioned for Luca—fell perfectly over her body, highlighting her silhouette with classic elegance. There wasn’t a single tear, not a single stain that Vicenzo could detect. Her makeup was flawless, accentuating her eyes, and her smile was perfect as well—a glow on her lips that seemed genuine.

At the altar, Vicenzo felt his stomach tighten. His attentive, analytical eyes scanned every inch of her, searching for a trap, a sign of defiance, any imperfection that would reveal the rebellion he so expected. But there was nothing. Only the image of a breathtaking bride walking toward him.

What Vicenzo didn’t realize was that his intense stare—his frantic search for a flaw—was interpreted by most of the guests as the gaze of a groom in love. The way his eyes were fixed on her, the intensity of his expression, all fed the illusion.

In the front row, Don Vittorio muttered a low, almost inaudible curse in Italian. His eyes, once filled with hatred for Vicenzo, now narrowed in confusion. Had that demon truly fallen for Giulia? The question haunted him. If Vicenzo had succumbed to his granddaughter’s charms, the plans would change drastically. The war could turn into something far more complex, far more dangerous.

Valentina, seated a few rows back, went into full panic. Her eyes, once filled with cold determination, were now wide, her breath caught in her throat. This couldn’t be real. Vicenzo couldn’t be looking at Giulia like that. He couldn’t. Her smile, her beauty, the way he watched her—everything was a direct affront to Valentina’s very existence. She felt her blood boil and decided that as soon as she could, during the reception, she would remind him of Luca and of the promise he had made to her—painful reminders meant to help her regain control of the situation.

Giulia, however, walked calmly toward Vicenzo, each step a silent victory. Inside, she celebrated. Unlike the others, she could read him. She felt his gaze on her, his desperate search for something that would expose her. He was looking for a flaw, a challenge, an act of defiance.

Giulia’s smile widened—a smile not of happiness, but of cold, calculated satisfaction. She would show Vicenzo that she learned quickly too, that she wasn’t the passive victim he expected. She had studied him, understood his expectations. And now, she was raising the stakes of the game. The absence of rebellion was, in itself, the greatest rebellion. Perfection was her weapon. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing her broken, nor the satisfaction of an obvious challenge. She would be the perfect bride—the image of innocence and beauty—and that would torment him far more than any scream or tear ever could.

Her eyes met Vicenzo’s. Her smile deepened, and for an instant, an almost imperceptible glint of defiance flashed in her irises. She was there—bride, dressed in white, ready for sacrifice. But it would not be the sacrifice he expected. It would be the beginning of a new game, one in which the rules would be rewritten.