Chapter 11
Maria
The soft hum of the church organ fills the air, but it does nothing to slow my racing heart.
I stand at the grand wooden doors of the same church where generations of my family have married, and today, it’s my turn.
My fingers curl tightly around the bouquet in my hands.
The scent of fresh roses and my mother’s old perfume lingers in the lace of my dress, the dress that once belonged to her.
It’s my something old. My something borrowed. And now, with the changes I made, it is something new.
I exhale sharply, my stomach twisting, but not with fear. With certainty. With love.
Jo touches my arm gently. “Breathe, Maria.” She smiles, she hasn’t left my side all week, wanting to be part of every step of the wedding.
I nod once, and as the doors swing open, my breath catches in my throat.
Everything slows, and there Massimo stands at the altar, his posture rigid, his black suit perfectly tailored, every inch of him a man carved by power, by control. But the moment our eyes meet something breaks.
A muscle in his jaw twitches. His fingers flex, and in his dark, stormy eyes, I see it.
I see everything.
I see it all in him, how he kissed me like I was his salvation, touched me like I might break, and looks like he’d burn the world to keep me.
My uncle walks beside me, his grip steady on my arm, but I barely feel it. I only feel him.
I reach the altar, my uncle glances between us both before taking my hand and placing it in Massimo’s. His hand is warm, inviting, and when he curls his fingers around mine, I feel safe.
He stands in front and begins. I zone out the words, all while I take in the man I’m about to marry.
“Do you, Maria Rossi, take Massimo Messina to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The question brings me back to the now, and I smile.
I swallow hard, looking up at him. Massimo is watching me. Just me.
“I do.” The moment the words leave my lips, his grip on my hands tightens.
My uncle turns to him. “And do you, Massimo Messina, take Maria Ros—”
“I do.”
His voice is low. Firm. Unshakable.
A small chuckle slips from me, a ripple of laughter breaks from a few guests, quick, before the silence swallows the room again.
My uncle gives a small nod. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Massimo reaches for me, lifting my veil slowly, his fingers grazing my cheek. His touch burns. His gaze flickers down to my lips, then back to my eyes, asking for permission he doesn’t need, and then, he kisses me.
It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s a claim.
His lips press against mine with possession, with promise. The church disappears. The guests vanish. The only thing that exists is the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his hands pulling me closer. Everything around me vanishes…The only sound I hear is…
Gunfire.
The moment the first shot rings out, Massimo yanks me behind him. Deep down, I felt it, something would ruin this day.
Screams erupt in the church. Guests dive for cover. Men reach for their weapons. Massimo pulls his gun out from the back waist of his trousers.
The Irish have come for war. I hear the chaos before I see it: bullets slicing through the air, shattering the stained-glass windows, raining shards down onto the wooden pews, as the weather has changed as has the atmosphere in the church.
The thunder from outside, is echoing the thunder inside the church.
My uncle shields the altar, his arms outstretched, but Massimo doesn’t let go of me. “Stay behind me.” His voice is sharp, unwavering.
A man rushes toward us, gun raised. Massimo doesn’t hesitate. One shot. Right between the eyes.
I gasp. My stomach lurches. I’ve seen death before, but never like this. Not at my wedding. Another bullet flies hitting Massimo in the shoulder.
He grunts, his body jerking back from the impact, but he doesn’t fall. He doesn’t stop.
“Massimo!” I hear someone yelling his name, but there is too much happening to know who it is.
His jaw clenches as he lifts his gun and continues to fire.
Sebastian is beside him, blood splattered across his white shirt, shooting down an Irishman trying to flank them.
The pews are overturned. Bodies litter the floor. Blood pools where there should have been flower petals.
And then… A scream.
I turn just in time to see Massimo’s mother collapse. My heart stops.
Massimo’s roar splits the air, his scream “No!” echoing off the walls. Unleashed fury follows him as he becomes a weapon.
One by one, he takes them down. Not just shooting. Killing. By the time the last shot is fired, the Irish are gone.
But the damage is already done. The church is the scene of a massacre. The scent of gunpowder lingers. Smoke curls toward the rafters. I look down at myself, at the lace of my wedding dress once pristine, now stained with blood forever.
And then, I see Massimo kneeling. His mother lies in his arms, his hands pressed to the wound on her stomach, desperate to stop the bleeding.
And all I can do is stand frozen to where I am.
The killer vanishes. What’s left is a son, broken and desperate.
“Stay with me, Mom.” Tears sting my eyes as I step closer, my own hands trembling, reaching for him. For the man I love. For the man who's losing the last piece of innocence he has left.