Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ALESSANDRO
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I am in an absolutely foul mood.
I’m standing at the altar, the priest right beside me, the soft music flowing from a harp playing on the other end of the pavilion.
Although the melody is sweet and I probably would have appreciated the soft, lilting tunes on any other day, today all it does is infiltrate my head and wrap itself around the chaos I’m already feeling.
The noise inside my own mind is too damn much, and I want it to stop.
We’re supposed to be having a small, private wedding, but there is still a much bigger crowd here than I’d have liked. We have family, senior members, and associates packed into the rows—all faces I’d honestly rather not see today.
Especially Luca and Pietro. The elders are also present, sitting near the front, but at least they have the goddamn composure to mask their thoughts.
Pietro, however, is glaring at me from his seat toward the back, his eyes drilling holes into my skull.
Meanwhile, Luca is just sitting there with a massive, mocking grin on his face. It sets my teeth on edge.
What the fuck is he smiling at me for?
We already ran into each other outside before the ceremony started, and the hostility between us was completely obvious, even to Massimo.
Pietro still hasn’t forgiven me for shooting him, and then there’s Matteo, who is currently staring at me too, obviously not forgiving my move the other evening, even though he got off easy.
I don’t care. I don’t go around looking to pick fights, but I sure as hell don’t run away from them either. Anyone who comes looking for trouble will find it with me. That’s my motto.
I force myself to look away from Luca’s face just as the heavy garden doors open, and Sienna is ushered into the sunlight on Massimo’s arm.
The moment I lay eyes on her, the noise in my head stops completely.
All I feel is two distinct things.
First, I feel calm. Which instantly sets something terrifying off inside me.
Up until this exact second, I’ve mainly seen this wedding as a political need.
I’ve refused to take it seriously because the entire idea of marriage repulses me.
I don’t like to be attached to one woman, and the thought of forcing myself into loyalty when I prefer to get my dick wet without seeing the same faces staring at me every morning makes me sick.
But right now, watching her walk down the aisle toward me, all I feel is peace. Like I really, truly want this.
But before this peace can fully blossom into something else, the second emotion hits me square in the chest. Pure annoyance.
Because why the fuck is my wife—yes, she’s already my wife, I don’t give a single fuck about the vows—wearing that?!
She looks divine, as always. The white wedding dress clings to her body in all the right places, accentuating the perfect, mesmerizing sway of her hips as she walks toward me.
But this isn’t the dress I chose for her.
This isn’t the dress I bought for her. If I remember correctly, this was the exact dress she first reached for at the store—the one I shut down immediately because it’s provocative.
I'd be damned if I let my wife wear something that’ll make other men go crazy with lust. She’s already too fucking beautiful for her own good as it is.
I cast a quick, lethal glance over the crowd. Sure enough, half the senior members are staring at her with their mouths open, and Luca’s smirk has morphed into a dark, predatory stare. My fists clench at my sides.
She finally reaches the altar, and Massimo hands her over to me, stepping back into the front row.
I take her hand, my fingers gripping hers tightly—partly to ground myself, and partly to let her know she's in deep trouble for this little stunt. I can’t see her eyes clearly through the sheer lace of the veil over her head, but I can feel the intense heat of her gaze on my skin.
She’s probably glaring daggers at me right now, but who cares? Two can play that game, and she's about to find out exactly what happens when you disobey your husband before you even sign the certificate.
The priest steps forward, clearing his throat to begin the ceremony.
His voice booms over the garden, a standard, rehearsed speech about the sanctity of marriage, duty, and the blending of two powerful houses.
I don't hear a single word of it. My focus is entirely locked on the woman standing beside me, the sheer lace of her dress shifting slightly with every breath she takes.
"Alessandro Gallo," the priest says, turning his attention to me. "Do you take Sienna Caruso to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"
I look straight through her veil, my voice dropping into a dark, unyielding rumble that echoes across the silent pavilion. "I do."
The priest turns to her. "Sienna Caruso, do you take Alessandro Gallo..."
There is a fraction of a second where the entire garden holds its breath. I feel her hand twitch slightly in mine, a tiny echo of the panic she must be hiding behind that serene expression. But then she squares her shoulders under the delicate lace.
"I do," she says, her voice clear, sharp, and perfectly composed.
I reach out, taking the heavy platinum band from the velvet cushion held by the altar boy.
I slide it firmly onto her finger, a physical brand marking her as mine in front of God and every syndicate boss on the East Coast. She takes my ring, her fingers steady as she slides the matching band onto my hand, sealing the deal.
"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest declares, looking between us. "You may kiss the bride."
I don't wait for her permission. I step in close, my hands coming up to grip her jaw as I flip the veil back over her head. Her dark eyes spark with defiance, but I ignore it, leaning down and slamming my lips against hers.
The kiss is possessive, hard, and hot—a silent reminder of exactly who commands her now. She gasps against my mouth, her fingers digging into the fabric of my suit jacket, fighting me just enough to let me know she hasn't broken, but melting into the heat all the same.
Then, she snaps.
Before I can anchor her deeper against me, Sienna sinks her teeth sharply into my bottom lip. She bites down hard, the iron taste of my own blood instantly flooding my mouth. It’s a vicious, silent declaration of war right at the altar.
But if she expected me to pull away in pain or shock, she clearly doesn't know me yet.
A dark, dangerous thrill shoots straight through my veins.
Instead of letting her go, I tighten my grip on her jaw and shove my tongue into her mouth, kissing her twice as hard, punishing her defiance while swallowing the taste of my blood.
I feel the exact moment her breath hitches, her resistance faltering as she starts to give in to the overwhelming heat of the kiss.
Just when her body begins to go soft against mine, I abruptly yank my head away.
I stare down at her, my eyes narrowing into slits, a silent promise of pure hell flashing in my gaze. Her chest heaves, her lips parted and stained red, her dark eyes wide with a mixture of fury and breathless shock.
I reach up, completely ripping the veil off her head with a swift, rough tug, and turn us around to face the guests.
A roaring wave of applause breaks out from the crowd. The elders nod with stiff approval, the senior members clap, and even the hostiles like Luca and Pietro are forced to join in.
I keep a brutal, inescapable grip on her waist, anchoring her to my side as I force her to walk down the altar steps with me. The moment we are far enough from the priest, I lean my head down, my voice dropping into a harsh, furious whisper.
"Why the fuck are you wearing this dress, Sienna? I explicitly told you I didn't like it."
Sienna doesn't even hesitate. She scoffs, tilting her chin up as we walk past the rows of clapping guests, her face a mask of elegant perfection while her words drip with absolute venom.
"If you liked the wedding dress so much, Alessandro, you should have worn for."
A harsh laugh almost bubbles up in my throat, but I choke it down, my grip tightening on her hip until my knuckles turn white.
The dark realization hits me like a physical blow square in the chest. This girl isn't ever going to be the meek, submissive woman I thought I wanted.
She is a wildfire, and she has absolutely no intention of being tamed.
Before I can give her the piece of my mind she richly deserves, the aisle ends, and the crowd closes in on us.
Suddenly, we are completely surrounded by sycophantic family and senior members, all shouting their congratulations and wishing us well, forcing us to put our masks back on while the real war brews right beneath the surface.
The reception takes place near the private beach on the Caruso property.
The white sand looks bright under the afternoon sun, and the sound of the crashing waves blends with the upbeat music.
I don’t plan to stay here long. I only wanted the official wedding to bind Sienna to me legally; I don’t care for the party, the champagne, or any of these fake well-wishers.
But then I catch sight of Sienna on the outdoor dance floor.
She is dancing with her four sisters, her dress catching the coastal breeze, a genuine smile lighting up her face for the first time all day.
Looking at her like that, I find I don't have the heart to walk over and tell her we need to leave immediately.
Instead, I force myself to stand by the bar, enduring the tedious, annoying small talk with Massimo, Enzo, and a few others.
An hour later, my patience officially runs out. When I can’t take the mindless chatter for another second, I break away from the group without a word and head straight toward Sienna.