Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Chloe
The wedding took place on a Saturday evening.
Right on the coast in Blackhill.
Enzo had wanted it in New York at first. He figured that with the family stable again, a big ceremony there would announce my status loud and clear, give me and Emily top-tier protection. It made sense, but I shot it down.
I wanted this tiny beach spot for the ceremony. Because this place held the best moments of my life.
That afternoon, the weather was unreal—perfect. Deep, clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight. The sea barely rippled, calm and stunning.
I wore a simple white gown, no lace, no embroidery, no beads—just plain white. But when I checked the mirror, I looked better than in any fancy dress before.
Maybe because I'd finally stopped fighting my own face.
For over twenty years, since the afternoon my stepfather first stared, I'd hated it. But now Richard was dead. I'd found the love I craved, broken free from those chains.
I clutched a bouquet of white daisies I'd bundled myself at the shop. White ribbon, the kind I used for Enzo's daily flowers. Stems cross-cut at the bottom for better water—Grandma Ruth's trick. I fussed over it more than any customer's order, tweaking every angle until it was just right.
Grandma Ruth sat in a folding chair by the water, in a deep blue dress—first time I'd seen her without her work apron. Her white hair fluttered in the breeze, face blank as ever, but her eyes glistened a bit.
Noah stood beside her, in an ill-fitting white shirt, collar crooked.
He fixed it twice, but it flopped back. Mrs. Douglas was there too, with her old hound sprawled on the sand, yawning.
The bakery owner and the grocery girl showed up in their best, faces lit with that small-town mix of excitement and shyness for a neighbor's big day.
Less than ten people. But each one had appeared when I was at my loneliest, most desperate. They didn't pry into my past or judge my story—just quietly took in a stranger with a kid, gave her a job, a croissant, a lemonade, a daisy.
Luca was there too, hanging back in a new dark suit, clutching flowers awkwardly. He looked out of place, face stuck between serious and lost.
Enzo waited by the water.
His wounds weren't fully healed. Standing long hurt, he'd admitted. But from the far end of the beach to his side, he stood ramrod straight, unmoving.
Shoulders squared, like in his New York tailored suits. But the old intimidation was gone. He didn't look like a mafia Don surveying turf—more like a regular guy waiting for his bride.
Maybe not so regular. Even hurt, Enzo Falcone still made my heart race.
I walked up slowly, and he smiled back. He reached out; I placed my left hand in his.
The town pastor stood by us—a plump old guy with a crinkly smile, usually doing mass in church. Today, he was seaside for our tiny crowd. He opened his prayer book, cleared his throat, and started the vows.
I barely heard him. My eyes locked on Enzo's face. Sunset gilded his profile in gold. His dark eyes softened in the glow, lips curved faintly.
Then the question came.
"Enzo Falcone, do you take Chloe Bennett to be your wife, in good times and bad, in sickness and health, till death do you part?"
"I do."
No hesitation. He flashed me a soft smile.
"Chloe Bennett, do you take Enzo Falcone to be your husband, in good times and bad, in sickness and health, till death do you part?"
I met his dark eyes. My tiny reflection stared back, framed by golden sea and white sky.
"I do," I said.
Years of fear, walls, and distrust shattered like dust, swept away by the wind.
I didn't need them anymore. They'd kept me safe once, but now they could go.
Following the pastor's lead, Enzo leaned in, lips meeting mine.
His hand rested lightly on my lower back, warmth seeping through the thin cotton. Mine pressed his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the shirt.
That heart had nearly stopped. I'd almost lost it forever. But it thumped strong, alive, under my palm.
Scattered applause rose behind us. Grandma Ruth clapped twice from her chair, face unchanged, but lips curved wider. Noah whistled once, shut up by her glare. Mrs. Douglas dabbed her eyes. The bakery guy yelled, "Kiss longer!" and got smacked on the head.
Emily giggled mushily in Grandma Ruth's arms.
The wedding was wrapped in that quiet warmth.
Enzo and I lingered on the beach, unwilling to leave.
Waves lapped the shore, steady. Sun dipped below the horizon, the sky turned deep blue, first star twinkled.
I rested my head on his shoulder; his arm wrapped around my waist.
"You haven't told them about going back to New York yet."
I tensed a little. We'd planned it, but I hadn't mentioned it to anyone. Not Grandma Ruth, Noah, Mrs. Douglas. They thought I'd stay forever.
"Don't know how," I mumbled into his shoulder.
Enzo went quiet for a beat. His fingers traced lazy circles on my side, thumb rubbing the cotton.
"If you don't want to go, stay. I'll handle New York alone, sort it, come back in two months max."
I lifted my head, searched his face.
Last sunset rays softened his jawline. His dark eyes deepened in the dusk.
He'd changed. Old Enzo wouldn't ask—he'd decide and tell me it was best, do it. But now, minutes after vows, he was asking.
I shook my head.
"No, I'll go with you."
His brow twitched. "You sure? You have..."
"I'm sure." I cut in. "We're family now, Enzo. You've got a mess to fix. I won't be a burden. And," I glanced at Emily in Noah's arms, "I barely had a dad growing up. Can't do that to her. She needs you close."
His throat bobbed. Arm tightened around my waist.
"Plus," I met his eyes, slow and deliberate, "I need you too."
His jaw clenched, lips pressed, throat working twice.
Then he cupped my face, kissed me hard. Hands slid from cheeks to nape, fingers tangling in my hair, palm hot against skin.
I braced his chest, felt his heartbeat race through the shirt. My fingers bunched the fabric near the collar into wrinkles.
His other hand slipped from my back to side, breath roughening, hot and urgent on my lips. My back pressed his arm, muscles trembling taut.
Through my skirt, I felt him harden against my hip, scorching. My ears burned. I pulled back half an inch, glaring.
"Enzo Falcone." My voice broke, breathless. "Your wounds aren't healed."
His lips hovered, breath scorching my face. Dark eyes gleamed in twilight, pupils blown, breaths heaving his chest.
He ground against me teasingly.
"Who did you say something so cute, Chloe? You're seducing me, so I got hard." Voice wrecked, husky. "Normal reaction."
"Normal? Your stitches came out less than two weeks ago."
He didn't let me finish. Thumb pressed my lower lip, sealing the rest.
"All your fault." Thumb dragged off, over chin, along jaw to ear. Tingles shot down my spine. "Why are you so damn irresistible?"
My face burned beyond saving. I pushed his chest, but it was weak, half-hearted. "This is the beach. Public."
He glanced around. Neighbors gone, sand empty. Last car engine faded from the lot. Just waves, wind, our ragged breaths.
"No one's here," he said, grinning with that dangerous spark that revved my pulse.
I tried to protest; his arms scooped under my knees and back, lifting me. I clung to his neck, face in his shoulder.
"Put me down! You'll rip your wounds!"
"They're almost healed."
"You're lying!"
He ignored me, carried me along the sand, around a big rock. Behind it, a natural dip, walled by stone, hidden from the beach. Fine sand layered flat, dry, moonlit silver.
Perfect spot for something illicit. Then he set me down on that platform, his body following mine down in one fluid motion.
The platform felt secluded, like our own private world, the rocks shielding us from any prying eyes that might wander back.
Moonlight filtered through, casting everything in a soft, ethereal glow.
Enzo's weight pressed against me, careful despite his hunger, mindful of his healing body.
But the heat in his eyes told me he wasn't holding back—not really.
I gasped as his mouth found mine again, deeper this time, tongue sweeping in with that possessive edge I'd come to crave.
His hands roamed, one sliding up my thigh, bunching the white skirt higher, exposing skin to the cool night air.
The contrast made me shiver—ocean breeze chilling where his touch burned.
"Enzo," I murmured against his lips, half protest, half plea.
My fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons, popping them open one by one, desperate to feel more of him.
His chest was a wall of muscle under my palms, scars from the recent ordeal still pink and raised, but healing.
I traced them lightly, a reminder of how close I'd come to losing him, and it only fueled the fire building inside me.
He groaned into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me.
"Chloe... fuck, you drive me crazy." His voice was gravel, raw with need.
He shifted, settling between my legs, his hardness pressing insistent against my core through the thin barriers of fabric.
I arched up instinctively, grinding back, and he hissed, fingers digging into my hip.
The sand shifted under us, soft and yielding, molding to our bodies as we moved.
His free hand tugged at the strap of my dress, pulling it down my shoulder, exposing one breast to the night.
Cool air pebbled my skin, but his mouth was there in an instant, hot and wet, lips closing around the nipple.
He sucked hard, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks shooting straight to my center.
I moaned, loud enough that the waves might have drowned it out, my hands threading into his dark hair, holding him there.