2. Ambush
Chapter two
Ambush
(Dante)
My eyes are glued to my bride as Emilio slowly escorts Danica to me.
Every other sight and sound fade away, including the intrusive stares from our guests.
Dio mio, she looks incredible!
Alessio briefly squeezes my hand, and we share a knowing look before I return my full attention to the vision-in-white approaching us.
The wedding dress looks phenomenal on her!
This is my first viewing, and my jaw is damn-near on the floor.
The dress hugs all of Danica’s curves in the right places, supporting her hefty cleavage with a modest neckline that fans out into yards and yards of fabric that trails behind her as she walks.
With every step my Queen takes, her beauty magnifies, captivating me. I've never seen her hair styled like this—classy, elegant, and utterly mesmerizing.
My heart swells with pride and love, knowing that in just a few minutes, this incredible woman will be my wife.
I never thought I’d ever get married again.
Not after last time…
But it’s different now.
I’ll protect her.
Nothing bad will happen—I’ll make sure of that.
Mrs. Danica Fera.
I can’t believe she’s willing to take my name. I always thought she’d fight me on that, but Danica was eager to part with Matthews. Not sure why.
Perhaps it has something to do with why her family isn’t here today. She’s been quite tightlipped about that, and I didn’t want to push. We had enough on our plate already.
Not that any of my blood relatives could be found among the rows of well-dressed friends, foes, and allies lining the seats before me either.
I couldn’t let Luca come.
Even if he’s my brother, his sins are unforgivable.
He’s been banished from the city.
If it were up to me, he’d be weighted down at the bottom of the ocean, but Danica wouldn’t let me get my justice. Not like that, she said.
The sunlight catches her earrings as she moves down the aisle, and suddenly, I can barely breathe.
My partner, my light, walking toward me like she isn't afraid of the darkness that clings to my soul. Like the blood on my hands doesn't matter.
If she knew half the things I've done...but she does know.
She's seen the monster and still chooses to love the man. Still looks at me like I'm something worth saving, worth keeping. For life, Danica always reminds me.
The concept seems impossible—good things don't happen to men like me.
I blink back tears, cursing my weakness.
Don Fera doesn't cry.
Can't cry.
Not here, not in front of these men who circle like sharks, waiting for any sign of vulnerability. Their respect is built on fear, their loyalty on the understanding that I'm more monster than man.
One bullet would be all it takes—nothing personal, just business. The price of power.
But watching my bride walk toward me, radiant in white...for the first time in decades, I want something more than power.
Something pure.
Something real.
Even if I don't deserve it.
Danica smiles at me, and my heart fills with happiness.
What an incredible woman!
How my life has changed since fate crossed our paths. She’s grown up so much since then—my stunning Goddess, kinky and sometimes cruel but always kind.
She already owns my pleasure, but after today, she’ll own all of me. What’s mine will be hers, and I can’t wait. I want her to have everything.
Nobody but Alessio knows that underneath this crisp shirt and tie, my leather collar tightly hugs my throat, reminding me who I belong to. Danica made sure I wore it for the ceremony, fastening it herself this morning after our shower together.
I am overly aware of it, just as I am of the pain in my ass from last night’s play session. The future Mrs. Fera had me strung up on the cross, whipping me until my skin cracked and my knees grew weak, until all the stress around our big day evaporated, and my mind was clear, at peace.
Just the thought of last night makes my dick jump, and I quickly push the memory down. The last thing I want is to get a boner in front of all these people.
What Danica and I do behind closed doors is our secret. To everyone else, today just seems like another old Don (well, 46 feels old) marrying some young piece of ass with great tits.
And that she is, but she’s also so much more.
Alessio leans in closer, whispering in my ear. “You lucky bastard.”
“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” I don’t take my eyes off my approaching bride for a second. She chose to forgo the veil, and I’m not mad, not when I can see that stunning face as it approaches me in virtual slow motion.
I am so grateful Alessio could be here today. It wouldn’t be the same without him. Our lives have been so different this past year, largely thanks to him as well. He’s been a great inspiration for just letting go and having some fun sometimes.
We’ve run off to Vegas whenever we could. Danica was hooked on the city of sin and seduction. I couldn’t blame her.
And me? I was hooked on having them both…The Queen and the Joker.
My mind runs through a million thoughts a second as Danica and Emilio draw closer, those little kids leading the way with their uneven scatterings of dried flower petals.
But when my bride reaches the front, all the thoughts disappear, replaced by a single one—mine.
Emilio takes his spot beside me as Alessio kisses Danica’s cheek.
I hardly hear what the priest says; I’m drowning in my bride’s gaze.
If only the formalities were all over already. Then I could just throw her over my shoulder and take her away, somewhere private, somewhere I can have her all to myself.
But not yet…
Time passes like a dream, slowly, sparkly around the edges…until Alessio’s urgent “Get down!” shatters the illusion.
Was that a gunshot?
I know the answer without having to turn my head. The crack of gunfire is a sound I know in my bones, in my nightmares.
More shots follow, a deadly percussion accompanied by a symphony of screams in Italian, English, and…Russian?
They come in like a black tide—tactical gear, face masks, professional hardware.
Not street thugs.
Not amateurs.
My blood runs cold even as fury ignites in my chest.
How dare they? How fucking dare they turn this day into a battleground?
My body moves on instinct as Danica and Alessio drop.
Training kicks in, separating emotion from action.
Threat assessment.
Exit routes.
Variables.
Around us, our perfect wedding dissolves into chaos—chairs overturn, flowers scatter, white decorations stained red.
Emilio and Carlo already have weapons drawn, their movements fluid, practiced. We've danced this dance before, just never at my own fucking wedding.
My other guards materialize like menacing phantoms, dressed in their all-black suits, moving into formation.
The air fills with cordite and copper, the familiar taste of violence coating my tongue.
“Take the left!" I bark at Carlo, already moving right, creating a perimeter.
Through the mayhem, I catch sight of Danica—my almost-wife, my Queen—tangled in white silk, now spattered with mud, while Alessio shields her with his body. The sight hits harder than any bullet could.
"Stay with Danica," I tell Emilio, knowing he'll die before letting anyone touch her.
Questions race through my mind even as I return fire.
Who would be this bold?
This stupid?
Even the most ruthless families respect wedding neutrality. It's one of our oldest codes. To break it means...
A bullet whines past my ear, too close. I drop and roll behind an overturned chair, my suit collecting grass stains.
Bodies litter the garden—guests, guards, attackers. Later, I'll count the cost. Now, I just need to keep my people alive.
"Dante! Behind you!"
Alessio's warning comes a fraction too late. Pain explodes at the base of my skull as something heavy makes contact with my skin, stars bursting behind my eyes.
I didn’t even see the guy coming.
Didn’t see the steel pipe.
I’m losing my touch.
Fuck.
As I hit the ground, one thought burns through the pain: This is not how I die. Not today. Not at my own fucking wedding.
The grass is cool against my face, wet with dew and something darker.
I can hear Danica screaming my name.
Alessio barking orders.
The continuing pandemonium of gunfire and multi-lingual curses.
My vision blurs…
Cazzo!