9. Luca
9
LUCA
T he morning dawns bright and clear, a mockery of the storm raging inside me. Today is the day. The day I claim my prize, the day I strike the final blow against Dom Sicura.
The day I marry Mia Marino.
I stand at the window of my study, watching as my estate comes alive with frenzied activity. My staff, accustomed to following orders without question, have thrown themselves into the task of preparing for a wedding on impossibly short notice. It’s almost amusing to watch them scurry about like ants, each with their designated task, working together to create the illusion of a joyous occasion.
A knock at the door interrupts my musings. “Enter,” I call, not turning from the window.
Marco steps in, his face a mask of professional calm. “Everything is proceeding as planned, Boss. The chapel is being prepared, the priest has arrived—though he seems a bit… nervous—and the kitchen staff are working on a small reception.”
It’s no surprise the priest is nervous. He’s the same one I tried to use a year ago with Sofia. But he’s being paid handsomely to show up and marry us, so I discard him from my mind.
I nod, satisfied. “And the bride?”
Marco hesitates for a moment. “She’s… cooperative. My wife is overseeing her preparations personally.”
I turn to face him, raising an eyebrow at his hesitation. “But?”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She’s scared, Boss. Trying not to show it, but it’s there in her eyes.”
For a moment, I feel a twinge of… something. Not quite guilt, but close. I push it aside. This isn’t about Mia’s feelings. This is about revenge, about finally making Dom Sicura pay for everything he’s taken from me.
“She’ll be fine,” I say dismissively. “Make sure she has everything she needs. I want her looking her best today.”
Marco nods and leaves, closing the door softly behind him. I turn back to the window, my mind already racing ahead to the ceremony.
The hours fly by in a blur of last-minute preparations. I supervise where necessary, making decisions on everything from flower arrangements to the seating arrangement in the small chapel. It’s not the grand affair I might have planned if I’d had more time, but it will serve its purpose.
As the afternoon approaches, I retreat to my rooms to prepare. My tuxedo, perfectly tailored and waiting for this day, feels like armor as I put it on. Each button, each cufflink, is another piece of my victory falling into place.
I check my reflection in the mirror, adjusting my tie. The man staring back at me is not the same one who was beaten by Dom and Sofia over a year ago. That man was broken, defeated. This man—this version of Luca Strambo—is triumphant. Victorious.
A soft knock at the door announces Marco’s return. “It’s time, Boss. Everything’s ready.”
I nod, taking one last look in the mirror before following him out. We make our way to the small chapel on the grounds of my estate, the same one where I had planned to ‘marry’ Sofia. The irony isn’t lost on me.
As I enter the chapel, I’m struck by how different it looks from that day over a year ago. Then, it had been filled with rage and desperation. Now, it’s adorned with white flowers and soft candlelight, a facade of romance that almost makes me laugh.
I take my place at the altar, nodding to the nervous priest who stands ready to perform the ceremony. My men fill the few pews, an odd assortment of guests for a wedding. The photographer, a last-minute addition I insisted on (after all, what good is victory if you can’t savor it later?), stands ready with his camera.
And then, the music starts. It’s not the traditional Wedding March —we didn’t have time for such niceties—but a soft, classical piece that fills the air with an unexpected solemnity.
The doors open, and there she is.
Mia Marino, soon to be Mia Strambo, stands framed in the doorway. For a moment, all I can do is stare.
The dress she wears is clearly vintage, but with subtle alterations that bring it firmly into the present. It’s an ivory silk, the bodice fitted and adorned with delicate lace that spreads out over her shoulders and down her arms. The skirt falls in a gentle A-line, a cascade of silk and tulle that seems to float around her as she moves.
It takes me a moment to realize why the dress seems familiar. It’s my mother’s . The staff must have found it in storage, altering it to fit Mia.
The thought should anger me—how dare they use my mother’s dress for this? —but instead, I find myself oddly touched by the gesture.
Mia begins her walk down the aisle, her steps slow and measured. Her face is hidden behind a delicate veil, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremor in her hands as they clutch a small bouquet of white roses.
As she reaches the altar and takes her place beside me, I’m struck by how small she seems. How young. God, she’s only eighteen. For a moment, just a moment, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing.
But then I think of Dom, of Sofia, of everything they’ve taken from me. My resolve hardens. This is necessary. This is justice.
The priest begins the ceremony, his voice shaky at first but growing stronger as he goes on. I barely hear the words, my focus entirely on the woman beside me. Through the veil, I can see the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw. She’s beautiful, there’s no denying that, a worthy prize in this game I’ve been playing for so long.
When it comes time for the vows, I speak mine with clear, confident tones. They’re traditional words, devoid of personal meaning. After all, what could I say? I barely know the woman I’m marrying.
Mia’s voice, when she speaks, is soft but steady. I have to admire her composure, even as I hear the slight catch in her breath that betrays her fear.
Before I know it, we’re at the end. “You may kiss the bride,” the priest says, and I reach out to fold back Mia’s veil.
As the delicate lace falls away, I find myself looking into Mia’s eyes for the first time since last night. They’re filled with unshed tears, a mix of fear and resignation that hits me harder than I expected.
For the first time, I truly consider what this marriage means for her. Not just as a way to punish Dom, not just as a victory for me, but as a life sentence for this young woman who’s sacrificed everything for her family.
In that moment, I make a decision. While I still want Dom to suffer, to feel the pain of knowing his sister-in-law is in my possession, I don’t want Mia to be terrified of me.
This doesn’t have to be cruel. It can be… tolerable, at least.
I lean in, pressing my lips to hers in a kiss that’s softer than I intended. And suddenly, unexpectedly, sparks fly.
It’s like the moment on the terrace all over again, when I first saw her and felt that jolt of attraction. But this time, it’s stronger. More intense. Her lips are soft beneath mine, and for a moment, just a moment, I forget that this is all part of my revenge. I forget everything except the feeling of Mia in my arms.
When we part, I see a flash of confusion in her eyes, quickly hidden behind a mask of calm acceptance. But I felt it too, that unexpected connection. And I realize, with a jolt of surprise, that maybe this marriage won’t be the chore I anticipated.
As we turn to face our odd assortment of guests—my men cheering and whistling, the photographer snapping away, the priest looking relieved that it’s over—I feel a sense of triumph wash over me.
I’ve done it. I’ve married Mia Marino. I’ve struck a blow against Dom Sicura that he’ll never recover from.
And now, she’s all mine.
We make our way back down the aisle, confetti raining down on us—where did they even find confetti? Mia’s hand is small and cold in mine, and I can feel her trembling slightly. Without thinking, I give her hand a reassuring squeeze. She looks up at me, surprise evident in her eyes, before quickly looking away.
As we step out of the chapel into the warm afternoon sun, I’m struck by the surreal nature of the moment. Just yesterday, Mia was celebrating her birthday, surrounded by family and potential suitors. Now, she’s my wife, walking beside me as confetti settles in her hair and on the shoulders of my mother’s repurposed wedding gown.
The sound of cheering and the click of the camera fade into the background as I focus on the woman beside me. Mia’s face is a study in contradictions—fear and resolve, sadness and determination.
She’s holding herself together with admirable strength, but I can see the cost of it in the tension of her shoulders, the slight tremor of her hand in mine.
For a moment, just a moment, I allow myself to imagine a different scenario. One where this isn’t about revenge, where Mia isn’t a pawn in my game against Dom. One where we might have met under different circumstances, where the spark I felt when I kissed her could have led to something real.
But as quickly as the thought comes, I push it aside. This is reality. I married Mia Marino to hurt Dom Sicura, to claim a prize he thought was beyond my reach. The unexpected attraction, the odd feeling of protectiveness I feel toward her—these are just complications. Nothing more.
And yet, as we reach the end of the confetti-strewn path, I can’t help but wonder what the future holds. I’ve achieved my goal, struck my blow against Dom. But as I look at Mia, at the woman who is now my wife, I realize that this might be just the beginning.
Only time will tell what this marriage will bring. For now, with the sound of celebration behind us and an uncertain future ahead, I lead Mia forward into our new life together.
As we step away from the chapel, I guide Mia toward the lawn. The late afternoon sun casts a golden glow over everything, giving the hastily arranged celebration an almost dreamlike quality.
“Smile for the camera, Mrs. Strambo,” I murmur, nodding toward the photographer who’s circling us like a particularly persistent fly.
I expect Mia to comply silently, to play the part of the demure bride. But to my surprise, she turns to me, a flash of defiance in her eyes.
“I think I’ve smiled enough for one day, Mr. Strambo,” she says, her voice low but firm. “My cheeks are starting to hurt.”
I blink, taken aback by her unexpected sass. “I wouldn’t want to cause you any discomfort on our wedding day,” I reply, unable to keep a hint of amusement from my voice.
Mia raises an eyebrow, a gesture so reminiscent of her sister Sofia that it almost takes my breath away. “Oh? And here I thought discomfort was the theme of the day.”
Her words are like a splash of cold water, reminding me of the reality of our situation. This isn’t a love match, no matter what unexpected sparks might have flown during our kiss. This is a forced union, a punishment for her family and a victory for me.
And yet, I find myself oddly delighted by her show of spirit. It seems the youngest Marino sister has more fire in her than I anticipated.
“You surprise me, Mia,” I say, leading her to a quiet corner away from the prying eyes and ears of my men. “I didn’t expect such… candor from you.”
Mia looks up at me, her eyes a mix of fear and annoyance. “Would you prefer I simper and swoon, Husband ?” The word ‘husband’ comes out sharp, almost like a challenge.
I can’t help but chuckle. “No, I don’t think that would suit either of us, would it?”
For a moment, we stand in silence, the sounds of the small celebration washing over us. I study Mia’s face, noting the tension in her jaw, the slight furrow between her brows. Despite her brave words, I can see the toll this day has taken on her.
“Look,” I say, surprising myself with the gentleness in my voice, “I know this isn’t what you wanted. But we’re here now, and we might as well make the best of it.”
Mia’s eyes narrow slightly. “Make the best of it?” she repeats, her voice low and intense. “You took me from my family, tried to kill my brother-in-law, forced me into this marriage, and now you want to ‘make the best of it’?”
I open my mouth to respond, but she cuts me off.
“Let me be clear, Luca,” she says, and I’m struck by the steel in her voice. “I’m here because I chose to be, to protect my family. But don’t for a second think that means I’m going to play the happy bride. You might have won this round, but don’t underestimate me.”
I stare at her, a mix of admiration and frustration swirling in my chest. This is not the meek, easily cowed girl I expected.
This is a woman with a strength all her own, a fire that burns bright even in the face of adversity.
“I wouldn’t dream of underestimating you, Mia Strambo,” I say, unable to keep a smirk from my face at her distaste at her new name. “I think you might just keep me on my toes.”
A flash of something—surprise?—passes across Mia’s face before she schools her features back into a mask of cool indifference. “Good,” she says simply. “See that you don’t forget it.”
With that, she turns and walks away, her head held high. I watch her go, a strange mix of emotions churning inside me. This marriage may have started as a move in my game against Dom Sicura, but I’m beginning to realize it might be so much more than that.
Mia Marino—no, Mia Strambo now—is not a pawn. She’s a player in her own right, and I have a feeling she’s going to make this game a lot more interesting than I ever anticipated.
As I follow her, I find myself looking forward to the challenge she presents. It seems my revenge might have unexpected benefits, after all.