Chapter 37 Here Comes The Bride
Valentina
Alessio’s arm was steady beneath my hand, warm and firm like stone warmed by sun. The silk of my dress rustled softly as we stepped forward, my heels echoing against the polished marble floor with every measured beat.
The hall was cathedral-like—vaulted ceilings, chandeliers dripping with crystals, sunlight spilling through arched windows to set the floor aglow. It should’ve felt sacred. But instead, it felt… sterile. Choreographed. As if the whole space was holding its breath.
Rows of faces turned to watch.
Painted smiles. Polished shoes. The scent of white roses and expensive perfume hung thick in the air. Dozens of strangers sat like an audience waiting for a curtain to rise.
Every one of them here to celebrate a love that didn’t exist.
Putting on a show for Alessio was one thing. He was sweet. Earnest. The kind of man who still believed in things like legacy and loyalty. And he wanted so badly to believe I belonged. That I was the woman to carry on his family’s name with grace and devotion.
But this?
This was a whole different battlefield.
I didn’t know a single soul in the pews, yet their gazes landed heavy on my skin. Measuring me. Memorizing me. Smiling like they were in on a secret.
My fingers tightened slightly around Alessio’s forearm, the only anchor I had in a sea of judgment and opulence.
He leaned in just enough for his words to reach without anyone else hearing. “You look beautiful, cara. Truly.”
My smile came on instinct. Soft. Grateful. Believable.
Like a woman honored by the moment.
Not one who’d spent the last ten years preparing to gut the groom with his own secrets.
Not the girl who watched her world burn and came back with ash in her lungs and a dagger behind her smile.
No. That girl was hidden beneath gossamer tulle and pearl-tipped pins.
The music swelled, elegant and aching, as we neared the end of the aisle.
And there he was.
Matteo Genovese. Standing at the altar like he owned the world. Sharp black suit. Eyes locked on me like I was something rare. Something dangerous.
And I was.
I held his gaze as we approached. Chin high. Spine straight. Every inch the radiant bride.
I am the long game, you son of a bitch.
I didn’t let my smile falter.
As Alessio slowed his steps, I caught a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision—just enough to tilt my head slightly and see her.
Audrey.
Perched in the front row in some blinding shade of champagne silk, legs crossed too high and neckline cut too low for a family function. Her mouth was frozen in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Eyes that were locked on me with all the rage of a woman who just realized her entire playbook had failed.
My lips barely twitched, but the satisfaction coiled like smoke in my chest.
Did you really think batting your lashes and flashing cleavage was enough to dethrone a bride?
Nothing short of a hurricane could’ve stopped this wedding.
And even then, it would’ve been postponed—not canceled.
I turned my gaze forward again, perfectly serene as Alessio brought us to a pause.
The officiant gave a small nod.
Alessio leaned in to whisper one last time. “Ready?”
No.
Not even a little.
But I nodded.
Because this moment wasn’t about readiness. It was about execution.
And I was here to play my part.
To finish what I started.
The music faded as we reached the altar.
The officiant looked out over the crowd, voice warm but formal. “Who gives this woman to be married?”
Alessio didn’t hesitate. “I do.”
He lifted my hand and gently placed it in Matteo’s, his palm lingering a second longer than necessary. When he stepped back, I felt the shift in gravity. The spotlight narrowed. It was just us now.
Bride and groom.
Victim and executioner.
The officiant began the standard vows—because of course we hadn’t written our own. Nothing about this was romantic. This was performance. Theater. A business arrangement sealed with rose petals and champagne flutes.
But I said the words.
I promised to honor, to cherish, to obey—ha—and when it was Matteo’s turn, he said his part without hesitation, gaze steady on mine. His voice never wavered.
Then came the rings.
The officiant nodded toward Matteo, who reached into his inner jacket pocket and withdrew a small velvet box. He opened it, and for a moment—just a moment—I forgot how to breathe.
They were stunning.
Not what I’d expected at all.
I’d pictured something generic. A plain band. Maybe gold, maybe silver. Something forgettable, just like the lie we were telling.
But this?
The women’s ring glittered like starlight—an elegant swirl of silver leaves cradling a teardrop-cut stone, encircled with amethysts and pale lilac gems. Feminine, intricate, almost ethereal.
And the men’s band? A bold black metal with a crushed purple inlay that shimmered like crushed violet glass beneath a forge flame.
My mouth went dry. I had no idea he’d even picked out rings—let alone ones like this.
Why did they look… chosen?
Matteo took my left hand and slid the ring onto my finger, the cold metal kissing my skin like a vow all its own. Then I took his, smaller in weight but heavier in implication, and placed the matching band on his.
It fit him too well.
Like he was always meant to wear it.
The rings settled into place, the officiant’s voice folding around us like a silk ribbon.
“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
A beat of silence.
Then—
“You may kiss the bride.”
Matteo didn’t hesitate.
His hand slid behind my neck, warm and steady, guiding me in with the kind of confidence that made it clear this wasn’t just for show—even though it was. His mouth met mine with firm pressure, soft at first but unmistakably possessive. The kind of kiss that didn’t just seal a deal—it claimed it.
The crowd around us blurred into nothing. I could feel the weight of his palm against my spine, the press of his chest as he stepped in closer, not breaking the kiss right away like someone following instructions. No—this was deliberate. Controlled. A promise wrapped in poison and velvet.
He tasted like champagne and smoke.
When he finally pulled back, he didn’t move far.
His lips brushed the shell of my ear, and his voice dropped low enough that only I could hear it.
“Mine now, Valentina.”
And just like that, the ceremony ended—but the war had only just begun.