Chapter 25 The Kiss of Fury

Chapter 25 The Kiss of Fury

Giulia reached the altar and stopped beside Vicenzo. The air between them vibrated with almost palpable tension. Vicenzo leaned slightly toward her, his lips nearly brushing her ear. His voice, a hoarse murmur laced with venom, cut through the silence meant only for her.

“What the hell are you planning? Don’t forget the consequences…”

Giulia didn’t answer with words. Instead, she turned her face toward him, and an absurdly angelic smile spread across her lips. Her eyes—eyes Vicenzo knew were full of defiance—now looked innocent, almost childlike. That smile, so pure and harmless on the surface, sent icy shivers down Vicenzo’s spine. He knew. He knew exactly what that smile meant. She was indeed planning something, and the absence of any obvious reaction was the strongest proof of her strategy. In his mind, Vicenzo growled: Damn her. What is she hiding?

The ceremony began. The officiant spoke the ritual words, but to Vicenzo they were only a distant buzz, background noise for the silent battle he was fighting. He was tense, every fiber of his being on high alert, waiting for Giulia’s strike. His eyes, like laser beams, scanned her from the corner of his vision, searching for any movement, any tremor in her lips, any sign of the trap he was certain she had prepared. Vicenzo’s jaw was clenched, a muscle pulsing in his temple. She won’t catch me off guard, he thought, anger building.

Giulia, on the other hand, was enjoying herself. Inside, she celebrated. With every passing second, with every furtive glance from Vicenzo, she could feel his discomfort growing like a fever. That angelic smile was her most powerful weapon, her way of destabilizing him without breaking the façade of the perfect bride. She could feel his rage simmering beneath the surface, his frustration at being unable to decipher her. He wanted her to fight, to scream, to refuse. But she stood there—perfect, submissive—and it was driving him slowly insane. She’s provoking me with her calm, Vicenzo concluded, clenching his fists.

The vows were brief, rehearsed words devoid of genuine emotion. Vicenzo recited his with calculated coldness, his voice steady but his eyes fixed on Giulia as if trying to pierce her soul. Giulia spoke hers with crystal clarity, her voice soft and sweet, yet with a glint in her eyes that only Vicenzo could interpret as a silent challenge. Every “I do” from her was a stab into his expectations, a promise that the game was only beginning. Then let the war begin, he thought, a bitter smile touching his lips.

The officiant, oblivious to the silent war unfolding between the couple, finally reached the crucial moment.

“You may kiss the bride,” he announced solemnly, breaking the tense silence.

Vicenzo, who had originally planned to ignore the kiss—or perhaps give a quick, impersonal peck—felt anger explode inside him. Giulia’s angelic smile, her calm, the way she was manipulating him without doing absolutely anything, was unbearable. He needed to regain control. He needed to break that mask.

In a sudden movement, he grabbed Giulia’s face with one hand, his fingers pressing hard against her jaw. His other hand tightened around her waist, pulling her closer with a brutality that made her gasp. His lips crashed against hers—not in a kiss of love, but with savage fury, a desperate attempt to regain control over her, to imprint his dominance. The kiss was punishment, possession, a silent declaration of war meant for her alone to feel the weight of his anger.

The fury of the kiss consumed them, a silent battle of wills. Vicenzo gripped her jaw while the hand at her waist pulled her tighter against him, as if he wanted to absorb her into himself. Giulia, however, did not yield, her mouth firm beneath his, a mute challenge. The air seemed thin, heavy with the intensity of that confrontation.

Then a burst of applause erupted through the hall, breaking the spell. The sharp sound snapped Vicenzo back to reality. He pulled away from Giulia with almost imperceptible violence, a sharp tug that made her stumble one step backward. His eyes, when they met hers, promised only one thing: later she would pay for that. It was a cold promise, burned into his gaze.

The celebration began. Waiters, impeccable in their uniforms, started circulating with trays of expensive drinks, the clinking of glasses blending with the murmur of the guests. Vicenzo did not hesitate. He left Giulia there, alone, standing at the altar like a forgotten statue. He walked away with firm steps, heading straight toward Valentina, whose eyes were filled with tears, her face flushed with rage and humiliation.

Don Vittorio approached Giulia. His eyes, usually hard, carried an urgency she rarely saw. He grabbed her arm, his fingers closing with a force that made her gasp, almost dragging her to a discreet corner, away from curious eyes. His grip was firm, almost painful—a silent warning mixed with a desperate plea.

He kissed her forehead, a gesture so unexpected that Giulia shivered, her eyes widening for a moment. Don Vittorio looked at her, his voice low, almost a rough whisper.

“My dear, I have no idea what you’re trying to do with this, but you are a Salvatore. You were raised and forged to be my heir. Don’t let him destroy you.” His gaze faltered, a flash of pain crossing his eyes before fixing on Giulia again, his voice even deeper. “Kill him first.” He paused, a heavy sigh escaping him, his shoulders dropping slightly. “I think you really got under his skin.”

Giulia let out a bitter laugh, a dry sound that never reached her eyes. In her mind, she mocked the idea. It was funny to imagine Vicenzo capable of loving. And even funnier to think he would love her. Love? Him? Impossible.

Don Vittorio was about to say more when Rafael appeared, interrupting them.

“Don’t monopolize the bride, Don Vittorio. Everyone wants to congratulate her.” Rafael smiled, but his eyes were steel.

Don Vittorio smiled back at Rafael, a false smile that barely touched his lips.

“Always Vicenzo’s errand boy,” he said, his voice disguised poison.

Rafael was unfazed. He shrugged casually, a gesture that concealed a threat.

“It’s not always the same one, but it’s always a corpse who just hasn’t realized he’s already dead trying to stop Vicenzo.”

Those words sent a shiver through Giulia’s body. A cold chill. A corpse who doesn’t realize he’s already dead. In her mind, she wondered if she was already dead too. If that marriage was her own coffin.

Her angelic smile faltered for a moment—almost imperceptibly.