Chapter 32
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The morning, came too soon than I expected. My grandfather also arrived yesterday night with our men.
Currently it's 8AM in the morning and Ruhi is in another apartment because her friend from school told us to spend 2 days away from each other before the wedding.
So while she's in her friend's apartment, I'm stuck with his old man here and..other headache "Alexander" .
"Non riesco a credere che la fredda mafia si sia fatta sciogliere il cuore da una bellezza indiana " he said while sipping his drink.
( Can't believe the cold mafia got his heart melted by an indian Beauty)
Alexander doesn’t stop grinning.
Not even when I glare at him like I’ve murdered men for less.
“So,” he says, stretching his legs on my couch like he owns the place, “the great Lorenzo De Romano is getting married. In a temple. Barefoot. Flowers. Blessings.”
My grandfather hums approvingly from his chair. Traitor.
“I’ll throw you off the balcony,” I mutter.
Alexander laughs harder. “Ah, amore. Relax. I’ve seen you point guns without blinking. But one Indian woman and ” he snaps his fingers, “ finished.”
I pick up the cushion and throw it at his face. He dodges easily, still laughing.
“You’re unbearable,” I say.
“You love me,” he replies smugly.
“I tolerate you.”
My grandfather chuckles. “You’ve changed, Lorenzo.”
I look away, jaw tightening not annoyed, just… exposed.
“Good change,” the old man adds softly.
Silence settles for a second. The good kind.
Then Alexander claps his hands. “Enough emotions. Let’s get dressed. I want to see this.”
I shoot him a warning look. “Comment once about my clothes and you’re dead.”
He raises both hands. “Promise nothing.”
The kurta hangs neatly on the bed ivory, simple, elegant.
I stare at it for a moment longer than I should.
This isn’t my world. Suits. Guns. Shadows—that’s what I know.
But this? This is hers.
And I’d burn my world down to stand in hers.
I change slowly, adjusting the fabric, the unfamiliar comfort of it surprising me. When I step out, Alexander whistles low.
“Madonna,” he says. “If the groom looks like this, the bride will faint.”
“Shut up.”
My grandfather stands, walking closer, eyes shining with pride. He fixes the collar himself, hands steady.
“You look like a man ready for a lifetime,” he says.
I swallow.
Outside, the morning sun pours in.
Somewhere across the city, Ruhi is getting ready too.
And for the first time in my life,
I’m not afraid of what comes next.
We have already prepared the temple,
so there’s no rush only a quiet anticipation humming under my skin.
The car waits downstairs, engine already running. My driver opens the door, but my grandfather waves him off and gets in beside me instead, Alexander sliding into the front seat like he owns the damn vehicle.
“Shotgun,” he says, far too pleased.
I don’t argue. I’m too busy staring out of the window as the gates open and the car rolls forward.
The city moves around us awake, breathing, unaware that my entire world is about to change.
White fabric brushes against my wrists as I rest my arms on my knees. The kurta still feels unfamiliar, but not wrong. Almost… grounding. Like I’ve stepped into something sacred without realizing when.
My grandfather glances at me, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m focused,” I reply.
Alexander snorts. “He’s terrified.”
I turn slowly. “Say that again.”
He raises both hands. “Terrified of how beautiful she’ll look.”
That… I don’t deny.
The car turns, traffic thinning as we move closer to the temple. Bells ring faintly in the distance, carried by the morning air. Flowers line the streets marigolds, jasmine bright and unapologetically alive.
My chest tightens.
Somewhere not far from here, Ruhi is walking toward the same place.
Toward me.
I adjust the ring hidden in my pocket without thinking, thumb brushing over cool metal. A promise waiting to be spoken.
The car finally slows.
The temple comes into view washed in sunlight, steps dusted with petals, priests moving quietly as if they already know what this day means.
The driver stops.
For a moment, no one speaks.
Then my grandfather places a firm hand on my shoulder. “Go,” he says simply.
I step out of the car.
The air feels different here cleaner, heavier, sacred.
And as I take my first step toward the temple doors, one thought anchors me completely—
This isn’t a battlefield.
This is where I choose love.
The moment I step inside, the scent of incense wraps around me warm, earthy, calming in a way I didn’t expect.
The pandit looks up from arranging the flowers and smiles, palms coming together. We return the greeting, my grandfather doing it perfectly, like he’s been doing this his whole life. Alexander tries too slightly awkward but the pandit only chuckles.
We’re guided to our place near the mandap.
I sit down cross-legged, mirroring my grandfather, the silk cloth cool beneath my hands. The pandit begins chanting softly, words flowing in a language I don’t fully understand, but somehow… I feel them. Each syllable settles into my chest like a vow already being written.
Flowers are placed before me. Rice. A small brass bowl of water.
I follow every instruction carefully. When to touch the floor. When to close my eyes. When to bow my head.
This isn’t my world yet I’m treating it with more respect than anything I’ve ever known.
Because this is hers.
The rituals begin slowly, deliberately. A prayer for peace. One for union. One for protection. The pandit ties a sacred thread around my wrist, his fingers steady.
“Patience,” he says gently, as if reading my mind. “The bride will come at the right moment.”
I nod.
But my gaze keeps drifting toward the entrance.
Every soft footstep makes my spine straighten. Every whisper of fabric makes my heart stutter. Time stretches, then folds in on itself.
Alexander leans toward me. “Relax,” he mutters. “You look like you’re about to face a firing squad.”
I don’t look at him. “If you speak again, I’ll make you.”
My grandfather laughs quietly under his breath.
The pandit continues chanting, the sound of bells punctuating the air. I offer flowers into the fire when asked, watching the flames curl upward bright, alive.
And then—
The chanting pauses.
The bells ring again, this time louder.
I look up.
The entrance is still empty.
But my chest knows before my eyes do.
She’s close.
I inhale slowly, grounding myself, fingers curling into the fabric of my kurta.
I’ve faced enemies without fear.
I’ve walked into darkness without hesitation.
But waiting for Ruhi
This is the most terrifying, beautiful moment of my life.
The bells ring again.
This time—everything stops.
The pandit rises slowly, turning toward the entrance. My grandfather follows. So does Alexander.
I do too.
And then—
She steps inside.
For a second, my lungs forget their job.
The world narrows to her.
Ruhi is draped in red and gold, fabric catching the light like it was woven from fire itself. The dupatta frames her face, softening the sharp strength I know so well—yet her eyes… her eyes are steady, fearless, searching.
Searching for me.
When they find me, the air finally crashes back into my chest.
I inhale sharply, like I’ve been drowning for years and only now surfaced.
My hands curl into fists, not from anger—but from the sheer force of want. Of awe. Of something dangerously close to worship.
She takes another step forward.
I swear the ground bows beneath her feet.
“Dio mio,” Alexander murmurs beside me. “Close your mouth before the flies move in.”
I don’t hear him.
Or maybe I do—and I don’t care.
My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure the pandit can hear it over the chants. Over the bells.. Over the fire.
Ruhi reaches the mandap.
The pandit gestures for her to sit across from me.
Across from me.
As if that distance doesn’t feel like torture.
Alexander leans in again, smirking. “You look like you’re seeing a ghost.”
I don’t tear my eyes away from her. Not even for a second.
“No,” I murmur, voice rough. “A goddess.”
Alexander chokes.
My grandfather laughs—full, proud, completely unbothered.
Ruhi’s lips twitch. Just slightly. Like she heard me.
Like she felt it.
She lowers herself gracefully, hands folded in her lap, bangles chiming softly. The pandit resumes chanting, the fire crackling between us.
But all I can see—
Is her.
Not the bride.
Not the ceremony.
Just Ruhi.
The woman who broke me open and rebuilt me without even trying.
The woman I would kneel for in any temple, in any world.
And as the sacred fire burns brighter—
I realize something terrifying and beautiful at the same time.
This isn’t the beginning.
This is forever.
The fire burns warm between us.
Not threatening. Not loud.
Just steady like the man sitting across from me.
Lorenzo’s hands brush mine as the pandit guides us through the rituals. His touch is careful, reverent, as if I’m something sacred he’s afraid to break. I focus on that warmth when my nerves threaten to spill over.
We offer rice to the fire together.
We pray together.
We breathe together.
When he leans forward to apply the sindoor, time slows.
The red settles into the parting of my hair, and in that moment, something ancient clicks into place. Not possession. Not ownership.
Belonging.
His fingers tremble just a little.
I smile.
The pandit instructs us to rise for the pheras. Lorenzo stands first, then reaches for me without hesitation. His grip is firm now, grounding. Each round around the fire feels like a vow carved deeper than words promise after promise spoken without sound.
I don’t count the steps.
I count the way he keeps glancing back at me, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he looks away too long.
Then we sit again.
The pandit’s voice softens.
“Now… Kanya daan.”
My chest tightens.
Silence stretches.
This ritual needs family. A father. A guardian.
I lower my eyes, the old ache stirring memories I’ve buried deep. I don’t belong to them anymore. I chose my dreams over blood, and blood never forgave me for it.
For a second, I wonder if this moment will break.
Then—
Footsteps.
I look up.
Alexander steps forward.
Still in his kurta. Still smiling but not his usual teasing smile. This one is gentle. Certain.
He looks at the pandit. “I’ll do it.”
The pandit studies him. Then Lorenzo’s grandfather nods, once.
That’s all it takes.
Alexander kneels beside me, placing his hand over mine and Lorenzo’s with surprising steadiness.
“I give her with pride,” he says softly. “Not because she belongs to anyone but because she chooses him.”
My eyes burn.
Lorenzo’s breath hitches.
Alexander squeezes my hand and grins, voice lighter now. “Take care of her. Or I’ll haunt you.”
A soft laugh ripples through the mandap.
The pandit chants again. The ritual completes.
And somehow this feels right.
When it’s over, Lorenzo turns to me, eyes dark, reverent, unshaken.
He leans close, forehead touching mine.
“You were never alone,” he whispers. “You just hadn’t found your people yet.”
I blink hard.
The fire crackles.
The bells ring.
And for the first time
My past doesn’t hurt.
Because my future is sitting right in front of me, holding my hand like he always will.
"Welcome to the Family, Mrs.Romano" Lorenzo mumbled against my ear and my lips automatically smiles.