Chapter 2
“The bride is mine by right of conquest.”
My voice carries through the cathedral like a blade through silk, invoking laws older than this city. Laws written in blood before Chicago had a name. The ancient right of a stronger family to claim what the weak cannot protect.
Silence follows my words. The kind that comes before violence.
I stride down the aisle with the confidence of a man who's already won.
My brothers emerge from the pews like shadows given form.
Dante on the left, silent and lethal in his dark suit.
Luca on the right with that unsettling smile.
Alessandro near the back doors. Nico by the windows.
My soldiers shed their sheep's clothing, revealing the wolves beneath.
Sofia rises from her seat near the bridesmaids, her yellow silk dress hiding the blade I know she carries.
The cathedral erupts in whispers, then movement. Hands reach for weapons. Safeties click off. The Bernardi soldiers look to their boss for orders while the Irish scramble to understand what's happening. They expected a wedding. They're getting a war.
But my eyes stay locked on Valentina.
She stands frozen at the altar in her grandmother's dress, all that vintage lace making her look like something out of a fever dream.
Her dark eyes are wide with shock, but I see the exact moment surprise shifts to fury.
Her spine straightens. Her chin lifts. There's my principessa.
The one who threw wine in my face rather than accept my authority.
The dress clings to her form perfectly, highlighting every curve I've imagined since that night two years ago. The vintage lace speaks of tradition, of generations of Bernardi women bound by duty. Soon she'll understand what it means to be bound to me instead.
"You can't do this," Alonzo Bernardi's voice cracks across the space. "This is 2024, not 1924. The old laws…"
"The old laws were never revoked." I don't look at him. Can't take my eyes off his daughter. "Just forgotten by men too weak to enforce them."
Valentina's hands clench around her bouquet.
White roses and baby's breath, traditional and pure.
Nothing like the woman holding them. I remember her in my conference room, that red dress clinging to curves that haunted me for months, her voice passionate as she argued for territory that would never be hers.
She was magnificent that night. Standing in my office like she had the right to challenge me. No fear, just pure conviction. It was the first time in years someone saw me as a man instead of a monster. I've been chasing that feeling ever since.
Now she'll be mine instead. Along with everything else her father thought to bargain away.
"Like hell."
Alonzo reaches for his gun, but his hand freezes halfway. Dante has materialized beside him, close enough to whisper, close enough to kill. My brother doesn't need words. Never has, since that night he lost his voice. His presence alone is threat enough.
"You planned this." Alonzo's face drains of color as understanding dawns. "Your men were already here."
"Control is my religion." I continue my approach, each step measured. "Did you really think I'd let an Irish-Italian alliance form in my city?"
Liam O'Brien finally finds his spine, stepping forward. "She's my bride…"
The words die as Dante's hand closes around his throat. Not squeezing, not yet, just resting there with promise. The Irish prince goes pale beneath his spray tan. Behind him, his father's men reach for weapons, but they're outnumbered three to one.
"Your bride?" I laugh, the sound sharp enough to cut. "You were borrowing her, O'Brien. A political prop for a doomed alliance."
Sofia glides between the pews with lethal grace, her sweet smile never wavering as she positions herself behind the Irish contingent.
The blade appears in her hand like magic.
There, then gone, just enough for them to see.
My baby sister, who everyone underestimates because she looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine.
They don't know she's killed more men than Luca.
"This is sacred ground," the priest stammers. "You cannot…"
"We're all Catholic here, Father." My voice carries dark amusement. "We've been desecrating sacred ground for generations. One more sin won't damn us any deeper."
Valentina finally finds her voice. "You arrogant bastard."
There she is. There's the fire that made me decide she'd be mine. Two years since she made me feel anything beyond cold calculation. Two years of wanting to destroy her and taste her in equal measure.
I reach the altar. Close enough to see the rapid pulse at her throat. Close enough to smell her perfume. Something French and expensive. Church incense clings to her skin, mixing with that perfume. Sacred and profane. She smells like sin in a confessional.
"Hello, principessa." I let my eyes travel down her dress, taking my time. "You look beautiful. Virginal. Almost believable."
"Go to hell."
"Eventually. But first…" I step closer, backing her against the altar. "You owe me for the wine. With interest."
Her dark eyes flash with memory. She remembers that night too. The satisfaction on her face as crimson spread across my white shirt, the way she'd smirked while my brothers held their breath, waiting to see if I'd kill her for the insult.
I hadn't. I'd finished the meeting, closed the deal, sent her father home with less than he'd come for. Then I'd gone home and remembered that moment, adding it to the growing obsession that would lead to this day.
"That was business," she says, but her voice wavers.
"No." I lean in close enough that my breath stirs the lace of her veil. "That was personal. Just like this."
She swings the bouquet at my face. White roses weaponized. I catch her wrist, flowers scattering across marble. Her other hand comes up, nails aimed at my eyes, and I have to admire her instincts. She fights like someone who's been trained.
But I'm stronger. I catch both her wrists in one hand, spin her around, and lift her over my shoulder in one smooth movement.
The sound of ripping lace fills the cathedral as her dress catches on my shoulder.
She shrieks rage, not fear. Never fear with this one.
And her struggles are vicious enough to impress me.
She weighs nothing. All that designer lace and righteous fury barely registering as I hoist her over my shoulder. Behind us, I hear the distinctive sound of Luca's laugh mixing with Irish cursing. Someone's about to learn why we own Chicago.
"Put me down!" Her fists pound my back. "I'll kill you!"
"Promises, promises."
Her nails rake across my neck, finding blood. The sting makes me smile. I taste copper where one nail caught my lip. Behind us, the cathedral erupts. Shouts, threats, the sound of weapons being drawn. But my brothers will handle it. They always do.
Somewhere behind us, her sister Alice is probably being hustled to safety. One daughter lost is enough for today. The younger Bernardi girl will be safe. For now. Alonzo still needs leverage for future negotiations.
"Stop this!" Alonzo shouts. "That's my daughter!"
"Not anymore."
I carry Valentina down the aisle like a conquering warrior with his prize. She fights the entire way, dress tangling, veil falling, hair coming loose from its elegant style. By the time we reach the doors, she looks wild. Perfect.
The March air hits like a slap. My Escalade waits at the curb, engine running. Tommy at the wheel, loyal as always. I toss Valentina into the backseat and follow before she can scramble for the opposite door.
She launches herself at me immediately, all rage and claws and desperate violence. I catch her wrists, use my weight to pin her back against the leather seat. The position puts us close. Too close. I can feel her heart racing against my chest, see the gold flecks in her dark eyes.
"Get off me!"
"No."
I adjust my grip, pinning both her wrists above her head with one hand. The other goes to her throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, feeling her pulse hammer against my palm. The rapid flutter of her heartbeat, trapped beneath my thumb like a hummingbird in a cage. She goes still. Finally.
"Better." I study her face, watching emotions war across her features. Fury, fear, and something else. Something she doesn't want me to see. "Now, let's discuss your future."
"Where are you taking me?"
"It's your wedding day, principessa. We're getting married." I lean closer, letting her feel the cage of my body. "Your father's alliance dies today, replaced by something much more permanent. A Rosetti-Bernardi union, except you'll be taking my name, not the other way around."
She tries to twist away but there's nowhere to go. The movement brings her hips against mine, and I see her eyes widen at the contact. Her breath catches.
"You can't force me to take your name…"
"Force?" My thumb strokes the pulse point at her throat. "No, principessa. You'll beg for my name before I'm done with you."
The car turns onto Lake Shore Drive. Through the tinted windows, the city spreads before us. My city now. My empire. And soon, my wife.
"I hate you," she whispers, but her body has stopped fighting. She's smart enough to recognize futility.
"I know." I breathe in her scent. Church incense and fear mixing with that expensive perfume. "Doesn't matter."
Her eyes search mine, looking for something.
Mercy, maybe. Weakness. She won't find either.
But she must see something because her body shifts beneath mine.
Not struggling, just… aware. Of my weight.
My strength. The bergamot cologne I wore specifically for this moment, knowing I'd be close enough for her to smell it.
"Why?" The word is barely audible. "Why me?"
"You know why." I finally release her wrists but don't move back. "Two years ago, you walked into my office and challenged me. No one challenges me, Valentina. They obey or they die. But you…" I touch her face, watch her flinch. "You threw wine in my face and smiled."
"That was a mistake," she says, voice steadier now. "One I won't repeat."
"No. You'll make all new mistakes." I sit back, giving her space but blocking any escape. "Interesting ones, I hope."
She pushes herself upright, hands shaking as she tries to fix her ruined hair. The dress is beyond saving. Torn lace, missing buttons, dirt from her struggle. She looks like she's been in a fight. She has been. She lost.
"I will never submit to you." Each word comes out carved from ice. "Never. You can force me to stand beside you, force me to take your name, but you will never own me."
The promise in her voice makes me smile. There's the fire that intrigued, the spirit that made her throw that wine. Other women would cry. Beg. Break. But Valentina Bernardi, soon to be Rosetti, promises war.
"Good." I catch her chin, force her to look at me. "I'd be disappointed if you made this easy."
The car slows. Through the windshield, I see my building rising against the Chicago skyline. Home. The penthouse where she'll learn exactly what it means to belong to me.
"You're insane," she whispers.
"No. Just patient." I release her face, settle back against the leather.
"I've waited months for this exact moment.
Planned every detail. Your father's weakness, the Irish desperation, the wedding that would never happen.
" I let satisfaction color my voice. "Even your dress.
Your grandmother wore it to marry your grandfather.
Your mother wore it to marry your father. Family tradition."
Horror flashes across her face. "How could you know that?"
"I know everything about you, principessa. Everything that matters."
The Escalade pulls into my private garage. The gates close behind us with finality. No escape now. Tommy opens my door, careful not to look at the disheveled bride in the backseat.
I step out, then start to lean back for one last look at my prize. But her hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. The rosary beads tangled in her fingers press against my skin. Still warm from her grip, leaving indentations in my flesh.
"You think you've won?" Her voice is low, dangerous despite her disheveled state. Despite everything I've taken from her today.
I turn back, lean into the car until our faces are inches apart. Close enough to see tears she refuses to let fall. Close enough to taste her breath. "I know I have."
Something shifts in her eyes. Not surrender, never that, but recognition. She sees what I am. What I'm capable of. What I'm promising. I'll keep her safe from everyone but me. I'll protect her from every threat except the one I pose. I'll give her everything and take even more.
She releases my wrist slowly, the rosary beads leaving perfect impressions in my skin. Marks that will fade by morning but feel permanent now. Her hand drops to her lap, fingers still clutching her mother's prayer beads like they might save her from what comes next.
I straighten, step back from the car. Tommy waits, eyes averted, professional as always.
Behind us, I hear more vehicles pulling into the garage.
My brothers, returning from whatever chaos erupted at the cathedral.
There will be consequences for today. Blood debts and new vendettas. But that's tomorrow's problem.
Today, I have her.
"Twenty minutes, principessa." I check my watch with deliberate calm.
"The judge will be here in twenty minutes.
Just enough time for you to decide if you'll walk to another altar today…
" I let my eyes travel over her ruined dress, her wild hair, the defiance still burning in her eyes.
"Or if I'll have to carry you to this one too. "
The promise hangs between us, heavy with inevitability. She doesn't answer, but her chin lifts in that way I'm already learning means she's preparing for battle.
Good. I want her to fight. It will make her surrender so much sweeter.