Chapter 3
Luca
The scent of ancient wood and lingering incense hung heavy in the chapel air as Father Salvatore arranged his worn prayer book on the small altar.
Shadows from flickering candles danced across stone walls that had witnessed generations of Romano marriages—most of them just as calculating as this one.
But none quite like this.
I straightened my onyx cufflinks, the weight of my family ring pressing against my finger like a promise. Or a warning.
The Romano family chapel hadn't been used for a wedding since my cousin's union five years ago. That one had ended with her husband in a shallow grave after he'd been caught skimming money. Not the most promising precedent.
Outside, rain had started to fall, drops tapping against stained glass windows like impatient fingers. The storm had rolled in suddenly, matching my mood—dark, electric, unpredictable.
My second-in-command, Marco, stood silently near the door, his hand never straying far from the gun concealed beneath his jacket. Trust nothing, no one. That was how we'd survived this long.
"Everything is prepared, Prince Romano," Father Salvatore said, his weathered face carefully blank.
The old priest had served the Romano family for decades. He'd heard confessions that would send lesser men running to the cops. He knew better than to ask questions about this hasty ceremony.
"Good." I checked my watch—two minutes until she was due to arrive. "Remember what I said. Short. Efficient. No unnecessary flourishes."
"Yes, Prince Romano." The priest nodded, eyes downcast. "Though I must remind you, even a marriage performed under... unusual circumstances is still binding in the eyes of God."
I scoffed. God had nothing to do with this arrangement.
The heavy wooden doors creaked open, and every muscle in my body tensed. I didn't turn around immediately. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
But when I did, my breath caught.
Sienna Moretti stood in the doorway, a vision in white that made my hands itch to claim her.
Her dress was simple—not the elaborate gown she'd abandoned last night. This one hugged every delicious curve before falling to the floor in a whisper of silk. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, and those stormy gray eyes promised violence.
My cock hardened instantly.
Now, that memory clashed violently with the present—with Sienna walking toward me, hatred burning in those gray eyes.
She walked down the short aisle alone. No escort, no flowers. Just raw fury wrapped in white silk.
Behind her, a handful of witnesses—my most trusted men, her father's lieutenant. Enough to make it official. Enough to spread the word that Sienna Moretti now belonged to me.
Her father hadn't even bothered to show up. He'd sent his right-hand man instead—Vito Caruso, a stone-faced killer whose eyes tracked every movement in the room. He'd known Sienna since she was a child, and the tension in his jaw told me exactly how he felt about this arrangement.
Too bad. The deal was done.
"Don't look so pleased with yourself," she hissed when she reached my side.
I couldn't help the smirk that crossed my face. "Considering I caught a runaway bride and secured a treaty with the Moretti family in one day, I'd say I've earned it."
"This isn't real," she whispered, venom lacing every syllable. "None of this means anything."
"That's where you're wrong, principessa." I leaned closer, inhaling her scent—vanilla and citrus and something uniquely her. "The documents we're signing are very real. The protection my name gives you is very real."
Her eyes flashed. "Your protection is the last thing I want."
"And yet here you are."
Father Salvatore cleared his throat. "Shall we begin?"
The ceremony was a blur of Italian and English, vows that meant nothing and everything at once. Sienna's voice was ice when she spoke, but her hand trembled when I slid the ring onto her finger—my grandmother's diamond, reset for this occasion.
I'd made sure it couldn't be removed easily.
"Io, Luca Romano, prendo te, Sienna Moretti, come mia sposa..." I spoke the traditional words, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me.
The weight of my family's expectations pressed down on me as I repeated ancient promises. Loyalty. Honor. Protection. Words that had lost meaning in our world of broken vows and bloody betrayals.
When Sienna spoke her part, her Italian was flawless but frigid. "Io, Sienna Moretti, prendo te, Luca Romano...". Each syllable dripped with barely contained rage.
For a fleeting second, her mask slipped. Something vulnerable flashed across her face—a glimpse of the woman beneath the fury, the one who'd been traded like property her entire life. A woman who'd tried to run, only to be caught and caged once again.
The moment passed so quickly I almost thought I'd imagined it.
Throughout it all, I couldn't take my eyes off her. The defiant tilt of her chin. The pulse hammering in her throat. The way her chest rose and fell with each angry breath.
Mine. The word echoed through my head with primitive satisfaction.
My hand moved unconsciously to my jacket pocket, feeling the small worn box I'd carried for eight years. My mother's ring—the only thing of hers my father hadn't destroyed in his rage after her death. White gold, simple and elegant, with a single diamond that caught light like her smile used to.
I'd brought it today. Some foolish impulse, some half-formed thought that maybe—
But no. This wasn't that kind of marriage. Sienna was a strategic acquisition, not a love match. She deserved the ornate Romano family ring I'd placed on her finger during the ceremony—the one that screamed wealth and power and dynasty. The one that meant nothing.
My mother's ring meant everything. And I couldn't give something so precious to a woman who looked at me with barely concealed hatred.
I left the box in my pocket, the weight of it a reminder of sentiment I couldn't afford.
She may have hated this arrangement, but in the eyes of our world, she belonged to me now. No other man would touch her.
The thought made something dark and possessive unfurl in my chest.
Thunder cracked outside, closer now. The storm's fury echoed my own—violent, primal, barely contained.
"You may kiss the bride," Father Salvatore announced.
Before I could move, Father Salvatore cleared his throat. "The traditional blessing," he said, producing a thin gold chain from his vestments. "Your grandmother's, Prince Romano?"
I nodded curtly as the priest draped the chain—holding a small gold cross and saint's medal—around both our joined hands.
"San Giuseppe, protettore della famiglia," Father Salvatore intoned. "Che questa unione sia benedetta con figli forti e fedeltà eterna." Saint Joseph, protector of the family. May this union be blessed with strong children and eternal loyalty.
Several of the men crossed themselves. I caught Vito Caruso whispering what sounded like a prayer.
Sienna's eyes widened. We hadn't discussed this part.
I had intended to keep it chaste—a brief press of lips for appearance's sake. But when I cupped her face in my hands, something shifted.
Her skin was soft under my rough palms. Her lips parted in surprise, and I saw the flicker of something besides hatred in her eyes.
I captured her mouth with mine.
The kiss was meant to be brief. Clinical.
It became neither.
Her body stiffened against mine, then—for just a heartbeat—yielded. Her lips were soft, warm, and tasted faintly of cinnamon. Something primal roared to life inside me, demanding more.
I deepened the kiss, one hand sliding to her waist, pulling her closer until I could feel every inch of her against me. I traced the seam of her lips with my tongue, and to my surprise—and satisfaction—she gasped, her mouth opening just enough for me to claim her more thoroughly.
For one blazing second, she kissed me back. Her hands clutched at my jacket, whether to push me away or pull me closer, I couldn't tell.
Then reality crashed back down.
She wrenched away, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, breathing hard.
Her pupils were blown, lips kiss-swollen, and her chest heaved with more than anger.
Fury and confusion warred on her face, but beneath it all, I saw it—that flicker of awareness.
That same spark I’d seen when I first caught her running in the dark.
She felt it too.
No matter how much she wanted to pretend otherwise.
I smiled slowly, possessively. Let her see exactly what I was thinking. Let her feel the heat between us that had nothing to do with our arrangement and everything to do with the chemistry that had simmered since the moment I caught her.
"Well done, Mrs. Romano," I murmured, voice rough with desire. "Almost convincing."
If looks could kill, I'd have been bleeding out on the chapel floor.
"Go to hell," she whispered, her voice shaking.
"Only if you're coming with me, principessa."
Father Salvatore's brows had risen nearly to his hairline. He cleared his throat, his gaze flicking nervously between us. His hands trembled slightly as he adjusted the edge of his prayer book—an unspoken confession of the discomfort he dared not voice. Years of working for my family had taught him how to keep silent, but even he couldn’t hide the tension in the room.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," he said, crossing himself almost reflexively.
The witnesses shifted uncomfortably, sensing the charged atmosphere. Marco's face remained impassive, but his eyes held a warning. Don't let her distract you. Don't let this become real.
Too late.
Vito's expression had darkened to something dangerous. His loyalty to the Moretti family ran deep. I made a mental note to watch him closely in the coming weeks.
"La famiglia è tutto," Vito murmured as we passed—family is everything. A reminder of where her true loyalties should lie.
"La sua famiglia è la mia ora," I replied smoothly. Her family is mine now.
I placed my hand on the small of Sienna's back, feeling her stiffen at my touch. The skin-to-skin contact sent electricity shooting up my arm. I wondered if she felt it too—this wild, unwanted current between us.
"Time to go, wife," I said, savoring the word on my tongue.
Sienna's jaw clenched so hard I thought she might crack a tooth. But she allowed me to guide her down the aisle, her spine rigid, her movements stiff.
As we walked, I fought to bring myself under control. This wasn't part of the plan. Wanting her wasn't part of the plan. She was a means to an end—a political alliance, a way to strengthen my position against enemies closing in.
I had promised myself no one would ever have power over me again. Not after prison. Not after betrayal. But this wasn't about power over me. This was about power with me. Sienna didn't diminish my strength—she amplified it.
And yet, one kiss from Sienna Moretti had nearly broken my control.
Dangerous. She was dangerous.
We reached the chapel doors, preparing to step out into the night where my car waited to take us to the reception at my club. A small gathering—just enough to sell the story.
The rain had intensified, beating against the stone steps like angry fists. My driver stood ready with an umbrella, his eyes scanning for threats even here, on Romano territory.
Just before we crossed the threshold, I leaned down, my breath warming the curve of her neck as her body instinctively leaned away.
She was trembling. Whether from cold, fury, or something more primal, I didn’t know. But I felt it. The charge. The wildfire we'd barely managed to contain inside that chapel.
"You should know something, Sienna," I murmured, low enough that only she could hear.
She tried to pull away, but my grip on her waist tightened.
"Whatever game you think we're playing," I continued, "whatever temporary arrangement you've convinced yourself this is—you're wrong."
Her breathing hitched, her pulse visible at the delicate hollow of her throat.
"You're mine now," I said, each word a brand. "Whether you realize it or not."
Her nails dug into my forearm through my suit jacket, five points of exquisite pain.
"I will never be yours," she whispered fiercely, eyes blazing with promised retribution.
I smiled, slow and dangerous, letting her see the predator beneath the expensive suit and cold control.
"We'll see about that."
We stepped out into the night, husband and wife in name only.
But as I helped her into the waiting car, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd set something in motion that neither of us could stop—something that would either save us both or burn us to the ground.
And God help me, I wasn't sure which I wanted more.