Chapter 5 #2
“May this union become more than the joining of two souls. May it stand as a bridge between two proud families, binding not only hearts but generations, replacing conflict with peace and suspicion with trust.”
The irony almost made me laugh.
Peace.
There was precious little of it beneath this roof.
The priest looked at me with gentle encouragement.
“Juliet,” he said softly, “repeat after me.”
I drew a slow breath, willing my voice not to betray the storm raging inside me.
A discreet microphone hovered nearby, ensuring every vow reached the handful of invited guests—family elders, trusted allies, and heavily armed guards standing like silent statues along the walls.
“I, Juliet,” I began, surprised by how steady I sounded, “take you, Romeo, to be my husband.”
The words echoed through the church.
“To stand beside you in shadow and in light... through blood and through bond... in sickness and in health... for whatever time God grants us.”
My fingers tightened around my bouquet.
“I vow my loyalty without hesitation, my fidelity without question, and the unwavering strength of my Bratva heart.”
For the briefest moment after the final word left my lips, complete silence settled over the church.
The priest inclined his head solemnly before turning toward Romeo.
“And now,” he said, his calm voice echoing through the ancient church, “Romeo, repeat your vows.”
One of the attendants adjusted the microphone closer to Romeo’s mouth. The movement was almost hesitant, as though even he sensed the dangerous current simmering beneath the groom’s composed exterior.
Romeo never looked away from me.
Those piercing green eyes remained fixed on mine, cold enough to freeze fire itself.
When he finally spoke, his voice emerged low and measured, every syllable wrapped in that unmistakable Irish lilt that somehow made even the simplest words sound like commands.
“I, Romeo, take you, Juliet, to be my wife.”
His tone was devoid of tenderness.
“To protect what is mine... to honor the debts between our families... through every trial and every triumph.”
A faint muscle twitched along his jaw.
“For two years, we remain bound by blood... by duty... and by our own will.”
His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
“My loyalty will remain unbroken.”
Silence settled over the sanctuary.
The words lingered between us, heavy with meanings no outsider could possibly understand.
Two years.
That single clause had been written into our grandparents’ wills decades ago, carefully crafted as both a chain and a key.
If we remained married for two years, the inheritance would finally be released, our obligations fulfilled, and our futures would once again become our own.
It was the only thought keeping me upright.
Only two years.
I repeated the words silently inside my head like a prayer.
Only two years...
Then we could walk away.
At least that was the lie I kept telling myself.
The priest smiled with quiet satisfaction, believing he had just witnessed two willing souls pledge themselves before God.
If only he knew.
This marriage wasn’t born from love.
It had been negotiated with contracts and sealed with threats.
Yet despite everything...
Despite the resentment standing only inches away from me...
Some fragile, reckless part of my heart still believed this moment meant more.
Perhaps because I’d spent years loving him in silence.
The priest opened the leather-bound Bible once more, preparing to continue the ceremony.
Before he could speak another word, Romeo moved.
It was subtle.
So subtle that most of the congregation didn’t notice at first.
His jaw hardened.
A muscle pulsed beneath the sharp line of his cheek.
Without warning, he lifted one hand and firmly pushed the microphone several inches away from his face.
The priest frowned.
“Mr. Flynn...”
His protest died before it fully formed.
Romeo reached inside his suit jacket with deliberate calm.
Every guard in the church stiffened.
My pulse lurched.
For one terrifying second, I thought he was reaching for a gun.
Instead, he withdrew a dagger.
The blade was exquisitely crafted, its polished steel catching fragments of crimson, sapphire, and emerald light pouring through the stained-glass windows.
Ancient Celtic engravings spiraled along the hilt, transforming the weapon into something almost ceremonial.
There was nothing ceremonial about the look in Romeo’s eyes.
The church fell into absolute silence.
Even the organist stopped playing.
Without the slightest hesitation, Romeo turned the blade toward himself.
Before anyone could react, he stretched out his left hand.
Then, with one swift, practiced motion—
He dragged the knife across his palm.
The sound was soft.
Almost delicate.
But it echoed through the church like thunder.
A thin crimson line appeared before splitting open.
Blood welled instantly, bright against his pale skin, spilling over his fingers before falling onto the pristine white marble beneath our feet.
One drop.
Then another.
Then another.
Each one struck the floor with a sickening rhythm that seemed impossibly loud inside the hushed sanctuary.
Gasps rippled through the guests.
Several Bratva soldiers instinctively reached for concealed weapons before realizing Romeo wasn’t attacking anyone.
Not yet.
The priest stared in stunned disbelief.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
Romeo ignored him completely.
His eyes never left mine.
The hatred burning within them stole the breath from my lungs.
It wasn’t the sudden anger of a wounded man.
It was something older.
Something that had been festering for years.
When he finally spoke, his voice was almost quiet.
That somehow made it infinitely more terrifying.
“You selfish, worthless little thief.”
Every word landed with brutal precision.
The microphone, though no longer directly before him, still caught enough of his voice for every person in the church to hear.
“You are the reason that I cannot marry the woman who stood beside me while the rest of the world buried me.”
His chest rose sharply.
“The woman who carried me through the darkest years of my life. The woman who gave me a reason to survive prison.”
A painful knot formed in my throat.
He thought...
He still believed Yarina had been the one writing back to him while he was in prison.
She never read a single letter.
Not one.
Every envelope bearing Romeo Flynn’s unmistakable handwriting had arrived at the estate only to be tossed onto Yarina’s dresser without so much as a glance, as though it were another useless bill demanding attention.
When the house fell asleep, I’d slip into her room.
My hands always trembled.
I’d steal another envelope, ease the seal open beneath the moonlight, and lose myself in the life he’d been forced to survive.
Nights spent sleeping in his coat because the blankets were too thin to keep the cold from settling into his bones.
Men sharpening stolen scraps of metal beneath their bunks, waiting for someone careless enough to turn his back.
A guard who locked him naked in an isolation cell for days with nothing but a bucket of freezing water, laughing each time he begged for another blanket.
The morning he wrapped a bedsheet around his neck...
...and stopped only because he refused to let Yarina spend the rest of her life believing he’d abandoned her.
“If I make it out,” he’d written once, “I’ll find you exactly where I left you.”
I cried over those words.
Not once.
Not twice.
Almost every night.
Because every page bled loneliness.
Because I could hear his voice in every sentence.
Because the woman he loved would never read a single word.
I couldn’t bear it.
So...
I answered.
As Yarina.
Every lie tasted like poison.
‘Stay alive for us.’
‘We’re counting the days until you come home.’
‘Don’t let those walls take you from me.’
I became the woman he believed he still had.
I filled page after page with stories from home—the changing seasons, harmless Bratva gossip, sunsets over the estate, anything that reminded him there was still a world waiting beyond those prison walls.
Anything to give him a reason to survive.
For two years, we wrote to each other.
Then...
The letters stopped.
Maybe prison had finally broken him.
Maybe he’d realized the woman writing back wasn’t the woman he’d fallen in love with.
Or maybe...
He’d simply run out of hope.
But every letter I exchanged with Romeo while pretending to be Yarina drew me closer to a man who never truly knew me.
Every reply carried another piece of my heart, hidden between ink and paper.
I knew it was wrong. I knew it was a betrayal. Yet those letters became the closest I’d ever come to knowing him.
Yarina had been certain Romeo Flynn would die behind those prison walls.
After all, he’d been sentenced to life.
She never waited for him. She never mourned him.
Before long, she’d moved on... to his own brother.
Their relationship became the talk of the mafia, while Romeo rotted in a prison cell believing the woman he loved was still waiting for him.
Looking back now, I wasn’t sure Yarina had ever truly loved either of them.
She loved power.
Status.
The security that came with standing beside the most powerful man in the room.
And now...
The very man whose letters I’d cherished for two years stood only a few feet away, looking at me with disgust.
To him, I was nothing more than a selfish thief.
The woman who had stolen the life that should’ve belonged to Yarina.
If only he knew the truth.
Yarina never cared enough to read a single one of his letters.
She never wrote back. She never gave him hope.
Never stayed awake wondering whether he’d survive another night.
She never gave him a reason to keep fighting.
I did.
Romeo closed the remaining distance between us.
Blood continued flowing from his wounded hand, running along his wrist before dripping steadily onto the marble.
He was so close now that I could smell the unmistakable metallic scent of fresh blood.
I instinctively held my breath.
“From this day forward,” he snarled, his voice ringing through the church with terrifying clarity, “I vow to make your life a living hell.”