Chapter 24
Loriana
The weight of Simeone’s grandmother’s ring catches the morning light as I trace security protocols across the estate blueprints, my mind working through logistics that would make a general proud.
Two days have passed since he learned the truth about Flavio, and watching him shed twenty years of misplaced guilt has transformed him into something even more magnificent—a man finally free to protect what actually matters.
Which gives me the perfect opportunity to surprise him with something he’ll never see coming.
“Tiziano.” I don’t look up from the tactical maps spread across the library table as his footsteps approach. “I need your help with a project that requires absolute discretion.”
“Yes, Donna.” His winter-pale eyes take in the security diagrams with professional interest. “What kind of project?”
“The kind that involves surprising your boss with a wedding ceremony he didn’t plan himself.” I finally meet his gaze, noting the way his expression shifts from casual attention to sharp focus. “Think you’re up for coordinating the most secure romantic gesture in mafia history?”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—the first genuine emotion I’ve seen from him since we met. “When?”
“Tonight. Sunset ceremony, eight trusted witnesses maximum, complete lockdown protocols.” I gesture to the blueprints where I’ve marked optimal positioning for both romance and security. “I want him to walk downstairs and find me waiting to marry him in our own home.”
“He doesn’t suspect?”
“He thinks I’m researching enhanced perimeter defenses.” Which isn’t entirely a lie—I have been studying every weakness and strength of this estate since he allowed me to join in on the estate’s security operations. “Can you arrange a priest who won’t ask inconvenient questions?”
“Father Respicio. He’s performed ceremonies for the family before, and he understands the value of discretion.” Tiziano pulls out his phone. “Guest list?”
“Your choice entirely. People who’ve bled for him, people who’d die for him, people whose loyalty is beyond question.
” I trace the main staircase on the diagram, already envisioning how to transform it into a makeshift aisle.
“I want witnesses who understand they’re not just watching a wedding—they’re watching the foundation of a new dynasty. ”
“And security?”
“Triple the usual protocols. Outer perimeter lockdown, inner perimeter armed escort, and enough firepower to make the Pope jealous.” My voice hardens with the authority I’ve learned from watching Simeone command his empire. “Anyone who wasn’t invited doesn’t exist until tomorrow morning.”
“Understood.” He starts making calls as he walks away, his voice carrying that quiet authority that makes impossible things happen within hours.
I return to my planning, mapping out every detail. Flowers that won’t obstruct sight lines. Candles positioned to enhance ambiance without creating fire hazards. A ceremony intimate enough to feel personal but secure enough to ensure we both survive our wedding night.
The student is becoming the teacher. The protected is becoming the protector. The woman he claimed is transforming into the wife who’ll stand beside him as an equal partner in everything that matters.
Six hours later, I’m standing in our bedroom studying my reflection, and I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
The dress is ivory silk that flows like water over curves I’m still getting used to—elegant but not ostentatious, beautiful but practical enough for a ceremony in a house designed for warfare as much as romance.
My hair is swept up in an elegant chignon secured with pearl pins that catch the candlelight I’ve arranged throughout the room. Makeup that’s flawless but natural, emphasizing features that have learned to command attention in rooms full of dangerous men.
I look like a woman ready to become the Silver Devil’s wife. Beautiful enough to hold his attention, dangerous enough to survive his world, strong enough to build an empire beside him.
“Stellina?” Simeone’s voice carries through the door, rough with confusion and something that might be suspicion. “Tiziano said you needed me downstairs immediately. Something about security protocols?”
“In a minute.” I take one last look in the mirror, noting how the ring catches the light and throws rainbows across my reflection. “I’m just finishing some final preparations.”
I hear him pace in the hallway—actual pacing, like he’s trying to figure out what I’ve been planning all day.
The thought makes something warm and possessive unfurl in my chest. This man, who anticipates every threat, who sees three moves ahead of his enemies, has no idea what’s waiting for him downstairs.
“Loriana, if this is about the Flavio situation, we’ve already discussed—”
“It’s not about Flavio.” I open the door with deliberate ceremony, watching his expression transform from concern to something that looks like religious awakening. “It’s about us.”
The sound that escapes him isn’t quite a groan, isn’t quite a prayer, but it makes me hot all over. His dark eyes rake over me from head to toe, taking in every detail with the intensity of a man who’s just been presented with his deepest fantasy made flesh.
“Dio mio,” he breathes, reaching for me with hands that shake slightly. “What are you wearing?”
“A wedding dress.” I step closer, noting how his pupils dilate as he catches my jasmine scent that I know drives him wild. “The question is whether you’re ready to see me walk down the aisle in it.”
Understanding crashes over his features like dawn breaking. “You planned a wedding. Tonight.”
“I planned our wedding. Tonight.” I trace the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the way he leans into my touch. “Complete with security protocols that would make Fort Knox jealous and witnesses who understand they’re watching history being made.”
“Without asking me.”
“Without asking you.” I meet his gaze directly, unflinching. “Because I’m ready, Simeone. I’m ready to do this. I want to be your wife.”
“You magnificent, impossible woman.” His hands frame my face with infinite gentleness. “You organized a surprise wedding in my own home without me suspecting anything.”
“I learned from the best.” I rise on my toes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips that tastes like promises and forever. “Besides, someone had to make sure you didn’t talk yourself out of this.”
“I wouldn’t have—”
“I wasn’t willing to take that risk.”
His laugh is genuine, warm. “Fair point. Though I should mention that I’m not exactly dressed for a wedding ceremony.”
“Tiziano left appropriate attire in your office. Black tuxedo, family cufflinks, everything you need to look like the mafia don who’s about to claim his bride.” I step back, letting him see how the ivory silk clings to my body. “Unless you’re planning to keep me waiting at the altar?”
“Not a chance in hell.” His voice carries the weight of absolute promise. “Give me ten minutes to transform into a groom worthy of the most beautiful bride in history.”
“You have eight.” I check the delicate watch on my wrist—another gift from his extensive collection. “Father Respicio is waiting, our witnesses are in position, and I refuse to be late for my own wedding.”
He kisses me again, soft and reverent and full of promises that have nothing to do with the ceremony waiting downstairs and everything to do with the life we’re choosing to build together. When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“For what?”
“For choosing me. For planning this. For becoming exactly the kind of woman who surprises the Silver Devil in his own fortress.” His thumbs stroke across my cheekbones. “For making me believe that something this good can actually last.”
“It will last.” I lean into his touch, letting him see everything I feel reflected in my eyes. “Because we’re not just getting married tonight—we’re founding a dynasty that will make the Codellas legendary for all the right reasons.”
“A dynasty,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word on his tongue.
“A dynasty,” I confirm. “Built on choice instead of circumstance, love instead of convenience, partnership instead of possession. The kind of legacy worthy of the man who claimed me completely and gave me everything in return.”
Eight minutes later, he emerges from his office looking like something carved from marble and moonlight. Black tuxedo that emphasizes his silver hair, family cufflinks that catch the candlelight, an aura of power and possession that makes my knees weak with want.
“Ready?” he asks, offering me his arm with old-world courtesy.
“Ready.”
Side by side, we make our way down the hallway. I find myself oddly captivated by the way our steps seem to match without effort. At the staircase landing, I hesitate, caught off guard by what awaits below.
The foyer has been converted into something between a chapel and a fortress.
White roses and ivory candles create beauty while strategically positioned guards ensure security.
Father Respicio stands beside the windows in full ceremonial robes, and the eight witnesses Tiziano selected are arranged in precise formation.
All men who’ve sworn loyalty to Simeone. All armed. All prepared to die defending what happens in this room tonight.
“Your court,” I comment.
“Our court,” he corrects, his voice thick with emotion. “They’re here to witness the beginning of everything we’re going to build together.”
The word sends a thrill through me that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the kind of future we’re choosing. Not just a marriage—a partnership. Not just a family—a legacy that will reshape his entire world.
“Shall we?” he asks.
I nod, and we begin our descent together.
Every eye tracks our movement as we walk down the makeshift aisle, and I’ve never felt more powerful in my life.
These dangerous men who’ve killed for Simeone, who’ve bled for him, who’ve built his empire from violence and strategy—they’re witnessing his complete claiming of me.
And more importantly, they’re witnessing my complete claiming of him.
Father Respicio doesn’t use flowery language, or gentle promises—just the raw acknowledgment that we’re binding ourselves to something beautiful and terrible. Love as warfare. Marriage as alliance.
When Simeone slides the wedding band onto my finger—platinum to match his grandmother’s engagement ring—his voice is steady despite the emotion burning in his dark eyes.
“With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship. With all my worldly goods, I thee endow.”
The possessive satisfaction in his voice makes something primal and satisfied purr in my chest. This isn’t just a ceremony—it’s a public declaration that binds us together in ways that go deeper than law or custom.
“You may kiss the bride,” Father Respicio announces with the kind of benevolent smile that suggests he’s performed this ceremony for dangerous men before.
Simeone’s kiss is soft at first, reverent, but it quickly transforms into something hungry and possessive that makes heat flood my cheeks. When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine.
“Mia moglie,” he whispers, and the Italian endearment makes my heart skip. “My wife.”
“Mio marito,” I whisper back. “My husband.”
The whole dynamic between us shifts in real time—from keeping each other safe to actually belonging to each other, from chemistry to something that feels like it could last forever.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Father Respicio announces to our small audience, “I present Mr. and Mrs. Simeone Codella.”
The applause is restrained but genuine, and I catch Tiziano’s subtle nod of approval from his position near the windows. Mission accomplished—we’re married, the estate is secure, and our new dynasty has officially begun.
As Simeone leads me away from our witnesses toward the privacy of our bedroom, his hand is warm and possessive on my back. “What happens now, Mrs. Codella?”
“Now,” I say, letting all the heat I’ve been restraining bleed into my voice, “you show your wife exactly what it means to belong to her husband completely.”
His eyes darken with hunger that makes my knees weak. “Careful what you ask for, stellina. I’ve been looking forward to our wedding night since the moment you said yes to my proposal.”
“Threatening or promising?”
“Both,” he says, sweeping me into his arms like I weigh nothing. “Definitely both.”
As he carries me up the staircase toward our wedding night, I catch a glimpse of our reflection in the windows—two figures bound together by choice rather than circumstance, ready to build something beautiful and dangerous from the foundation we’ve laid tonight.
Mrs. Loriana Codella. The title fits like a glove designed specifically for my skin, and as Simeone kicks our bedroom door closed behind us, I realize that surprising him wasn’t just about romance or spontaneity.
It was about proving that I’m exactly the kind of woman who can stand beside the Silver Devil as an equal partner in everything that matters—love, power, protection, and the dynasty we’re going to build together.