Chapter Four
Adriana
I take another step, my heart thundering against my ribs. The aisle stretches before me, an endless expanse of white petals and expectant faces. But I see only him.
Dante.
He stands at the altar, dark and imposing in his tailored tuxedo. His piercing eyes, lock onto mine. I falter, nearly stumbling over my dress but my father’s iron grip keeps up.
Breathe, Adriana. Just breathe.
My father steps aside when we reach the altar. Dante extends his hand, and I have no choice but to take it. His touch sears my skin, sending shivers through my body. I fight to keep my expression neutral, to not reveal the war raging inside me.
“You look gorgeous,” Dante speaks, his voice a low rumble that only I can hear.
I swallow hard. “Thank you.”
His thumb strokes my palm, a gesture that’s both possessive and oddly tender. I want to pull away, to run as far as I can. But I’m rooted to the spot, caught in his magnetic pull.
The priest begins to speak, his words echoing through the grand hall. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”
I try to focus, but my mind is a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. This isn’t what I wanted. This isn’t how my life was supposed to go. I’m an artist, for god’s sake. I create worlds of fantasy and romance, not… this. Not a marriage built on deals and threats.
And yet…
Dante’s eyes never leave mine, even as the priest drones on about love and commitment. There’s hunger in his gaze, a predatory gleam that makes me shiver.
“Do you, Dante Rossi, take Adriana Moretti to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the priest asks him.
Dante’s voice is strong, and unwavering. “I do.”
The weight of those two words settles over me like a shroud. This is real. This is happening.
“And do you, Adriana Moretti, take Dante Rossi to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the priest turns to me.
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. Panic claws at my throat. I can feel the eyes of everyone in the church boring into me, waiting.
Dante’s eyes narrow, just slightly. A warning.
The weight of my family’s future rests on my shoulders. With a deep breath, I seal my fate:
“I do.”
The words hang in the air, irrevocable.
Dante’s lips curve into a triumphant smile.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” the priest announces.
My heart leaps into my throat. This is it.
Dante cups my face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. He leans in, his breath warm against my lips.
“Mine,” he says so quietly I almost miss it.
Then his mouth is on mine, and the world explodes into sensation. His kiss is demanding, possessive, claiming me in front of God and everyone.
I respond despite myself, my hands fisting the lapels of his jacket. It’s like being caught in a storm, swept away by a force of nature. When we finally break apart, I’m breathless and dizzy.
The guests erupt into applause, but it sounds distant, muffled. All I can focus on is Dante’s face, the hunger and satisfaction warring in his eyes.
“Come, wife,” he says, offering his arm. “We have a reception to attend.”
I take it, feeling the solid strength of him beneath my fingers. As we walk back down the aisle, I catch glimpses of the faces around us. Some smile, some look worried. Others, I notice with a chill, watch us with calculating eyes.
This is my life now. A world of shadows and secrets, of power plays and hidden agendas. I’m no longer just Adriana Moretti, a webtoon artist. I’m Adriana Rossi, wife of one of the most dangerous men in the city.
The sunlight hits us as we exit the church, momentarily blinding me. When my vision clears, I see the luxurious car waiting for us, flanked by men in dark suits.
Dante helps me into the backseat, then slides in beside me. As the car pulls away from the curb, he takes my hand again, bringing it to his lips.
“You did well in there,” he says, his voice a low purr. “I know it wasn’t easy for you.”
I look at him, trying to reconcile the man who just kissed me so passionately with the ruthless crime lord I know him to be.
“What happens now?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.
Dante’s smile is both reassuring and predatory. “Now, my dear, we celebrate. And then… then I show you exactly what it means to be my wife.”
A shiver courses through me - fear or anticipation, I’m not sure anymore. As the car speeds towards our future, I’m once again forced to remember that my old life is over.
I swallow hard, my heart pounding as I process Dante’s words. The car’s interior feels suffocating, his presence overwhelming. I turn to gaze out the window, seeking a moment of respite from his intense stare.
“I… I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” I say, more to myself than to him.
Dante’s hand tightens on mine. “You don’t have a choice, cara mia. You’re mine now.”
His words makes me pale. The car slows, and I realize we’ve arrived at the reception venue. Dante steps out first, then offers me his hand. As I emerge, the sounds of applause and cheers wash over me.
I paste on a smile, trying to look every bit the blushing bride. But beneath the facade, my mind is racing. I scan the crowd, noting the mix of genuine well-wishers and those whose smiles don’t quite reach their eyes.
“Wave to them, tesoro,” Dante whispers in my ear, his hand possessive on my waist. “Let them see how happy we are.”
I do as he says, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m on display. A prize to be admired, a symbol of Dante’s power and reach.
As we make our way through the crowd, I catch snippets of conversation:
“…can’t believe Moretti agreed to this…”
“…wonder how long she’ll last…”
Each word is a dagger, reminding me of the precarious position I’m in. I’m not just a bride - I’m a pawn in a game I hardly understand.
Dante guides me to the head table, pulling out my chair with exaggerated gallantry. While I sit, I catch sight of my father across the room. His face is a mask of relief and worry.
I want to go to him, to seek comfort in his familiar presence. But Dante’s hand on my shoulder keeps me in place.
“Your father made the right choice,” Dante says, following my gaze. “He ensured your family’s survival. Remember that, Adriana.”
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. As the reception begins in earnest, I find myself swept up in a whirlwind of congratulations and small talk. But through it all, I’m acutely aware of Dante’s presence beside me.
His arm around my waist, his lips brushing my ear as he whispers introductions, his eyes constantly watching, assessing. It’s both impressive and terrifying that he knows all of them.
As the night wears on, I begin to see glimpses of the world I’ve married into. The way conversations halt when Dante approaches, the deference in people’s eyes, the undercurrent of fear beneath the festivity.
“Dance with me,” Dante says suddenly, pulling me to my feet.
When we move to the center of the dance floor, the crowd parts like the Red Sea. Dante pulls me close, one hand on my waist, the other clasping mine.
“You’re trembling,” he observes as we begin to move.
“I’m overwhelmed,” I admit, surprising myself with my honesty.
Dante’s lips quirk in a half-smile. “You’ll adapt quickly, I’m sure. You’re stronger than you know, Adriana.”
As we sway to the music, I find myself studying his face. The sharp angles of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes, the small scar above his left eyebrow. He’s undeniably handsome, in a dangerous sort of way.
“Why me?” I ask suddenly. “You could have chosen anyone. Why did you agree to marry me?”
Dante’s grip tightens slightly. “Because from the moment I saw you, I knew you were meant to be mine. Your father’s debt was just… convenient.”
His words unnerve me.
When the dance comes to an end, Dante leans in close, his voice deep in my ear. “Don’t forget, cara mia. This is just the beginning. Tonight, I’ll show you what it truly means to belong to me.”
I stumble back, meeting his gaze. In that moment, I see the passion, the possessiveness, the dark promise in his eyes.