Chapter 38 To Have and to Hold
Valentina
The double doors swung open as the DJ’s voice rang out like a thunderclap across the ballroom.
“Please welcome for the very first time… Mr. and Mrs. Matteo Genovese!”
The crowd erupted into polite applause, and I pasted on my brightest, most bridal smile. My arm rested lightly over Matteo’s, his palm a possessive heat against my lower back as we stepped inside.
It was all crystal chandeliers and imported florals in white and violet, candlelight flickering across tables dressed in fine linen and wine glasses already half full. A dreamscape built on blood money and secrets. A ballroom dressed for a celebration—and a war.
We made our way to the head table, where two thrones waited like the final act of a performance I’d spent a decade preparing for. He pulled out my chair with theatrical ease, and we sat—side by side, unified, polished, and poisoned.
I let my gaze drift to the ring on my finger.
Amethyst shards glittered inside a black metal band, nestled against the leaf-like silver curves of my engagement ring. Feminine. Beautiful. Dangerous. I twisted it slowly, watching the facets catch the candlelight.
Matteo noticed.
“Something wrong, Mrs. Genovese?” he asked under his breath, lips barely moving, like a lover whispering sweet nothings.
I didn’t look at him. “No. Actually… they’re beautiful. The rings. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Oh?” There was a smirk in his voice. “And what were you expecting?”
“Plain. Cheap. A silver band at best.” I flicked a glance his way. “This is a fake marriage, remember?”
He hummed low in his throat. “Fake to you. But very real to everyone here. And it needs to look that way. Appearances are everything, Mrs. Genovese.”
“And matching my birthstone was just coincidence?”
“Total accident,” he said, eyes glinting. “Those were just the rings that insisted on being bought.”
I held his gaze. “Of course they did.”
A pause. Then—
“This marriage will become real in other ways too,” he said casually, slicing into his filet with deliberate ease. “Grandfather will be expecting a pregnancy announcement soon.”
My stomach tensed. “Will he?”
“Oh yes.” He took a bite, chewed slowly, swallowed. “So I’d suggest you prepare yourself. That little shield of yours—your precious virginity—is about to come to its end.”
I took a sip of wine. Held the glass just long enough to mask the tremble of my jaw. “Good thing I’m already wearing white. That era had to end sometime.”
He leaned in slightly, voice a gravel-soft whisper. “Make sure you remember that tonight, baby. Because I intend to end it thoroughly.”
The first course had barely cleared when the clinking began.
Forks tapping glassware. The universal signal for a toast.
Alessio stood slowly, his wine glass raised, the room quieting around him like the world itself paused to listen.
“I’ve given many speeches in this very hall,” he began, voice rich with nostalgia and power. “But none with more pride than this one.” He looked straight at Matteo, then at me. “My grandson… has always walked a fine line between ruthlessness and brilliance. And tonight, I see he’s finally found the one thing cleverer than himself—a woman who can outmatch him.”
Laughter rippled through the room.
I smiled, even as my spine locked into place like armor.
Alessio continued. “To Valentina—who has shown grace under pressure, charm under scrutiny, and more wit than half the men at this table put together. May your fire never dim, and may Matteo never stop chasing it.”
A chorus of “Hear, hear” followed, glasses raised, champagne bubbling like celebration—like acid in my throat.
Matteo stood next, not one to let a moment pass without marking it as his own.
“I’ll keep it short,” he said, ever the effortless speaker. “I never planned to get married. Certainly not like this. But some things… just have a way of happening.”
His eyes met mine.
“She walked into my world, uninvited and unbothered. And suddenly, everything changed. So here’s to unexpected beginnings—and the chaos that follows them.”
The toast was met with another round of polite applause, though several of the guests exchanged knowing glances. Matteo smiled like he’d just bared his soul, when really, all he’d done was polish the blade before handing it to me.
We made our way to the cake soon after. Four tiers, immaculate white with deep violet accents—royalty in frosting.
The knife was silver. Heavy.
Matteo wrapped his hand around mine as we gripped the handle together. His voice was low in my ear.
“You ever think about stabbing me with this?”
“Only every time you open your mouth.”
He chuckled, teeth flashing as the photographer clicked away.
We sliced together. Perfectly in sync. A married couple playing their parts to perfection.
He handed me the first bite on a silver fork. I accepted it with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.
I fed him his next, slow and poised, like I wasn’t imagining shoving the whole slice into his face.
The room clapped. Cameras flashed.
I licked a smudge of frosting from my finger and told myself to hold the line.
Tonight, the curtain was still up.
But soon… it would fall.
The lights dimmed just slightly as the soft opening chords of a string quartet version of La Vie en Rose drifted across the room like a hush settling over a church.
The MC’s voice echoed across the grand hall:
“Ladies and gentlemen, our bride and groom—Mr. and Mrs. Genovese—will now share their first dance as husband and wife.”
My spine straightened instinctively. Every eye turned to us.
Matteo’s hand found mine, warm and firm as he led me onto the dance floor. The room faded into a blur of gold and crystal. Only the violin held us steady, wrapping around us like an invisible thread.
His hand slid to my waist as we found the rhythm, slower than expected, almost tender.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “All lace and legacy.”
His eyes swept over my face, then upward—just enough to catch the sapphire glinting in my hair.
“That crest…” he said, voice low, thoughtful. “It looks familiar.”
I tilted my head, letting the light catch on the sapphires. “It should. Alessio gave it to me this morning. Said it covers old, borrowed, and blue. I figured my dress was new, so I’m set.”
His brow lifted, eyes narrowing slightly as the realization clicked.
“My mother wore that in her wedding photo. And her mother before that. Hell, every woman in the Genovese bloodline for at least three generations has worn it.”
I nodded. “I was told. It’s… beautiful.”
His gaze lingered on me, unreadable. Calculating.
“Well then,” he said, a smirk ghosting over his lips. “That should settle it for him. We sold the illusion. To Alessio, this marriage is as real as the ring on your finger.”
He spun me gently, then pulled me back in, closer this time—his mouth near my ear.
“Step one: marriage—check. Step two: baby. Step three…” His lips brushed my temple. “Full inheritance. Absolute control over the Genovese empire.”
I laughed softly, just enough to keep up appearances for the crowd.
“Do I get a cut of the empire?”
He dipped me slightly, voice like a knife sheathed in silk.
“You get me. That should be enough.”
I met his eyes, smiled sweetly, and pressed my body just a little closer.
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
Around us, the applause began as the song neared its end.
But inside me, another rhythm beat.
Not a waltz.
A war drum.