Chapter Twenty-Five SANTINO
The small chapel smelled of incense, polished wood, and fresh roses.
Golden morning light filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the stone floor.
I knelt alone in the confessional booth, the wooden lattice separating me from the priest the only barrier between my sins and absolution.
It was my wedding day.
I hadn’t planned to come here. But something pulled me in before I stood at that altar again, this time willingly, with her waiting for me.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” I said, voice low and rough. “It has been many years since my last confession.”
The priest waited in silence.
“I have taken lives,” I continued. “Some in war. Some in revenge. One man in particular… I destroyed him not just with a bullet, but with everything that followed. I took the woman he was meant to marry. I broke him. Turned him into something monstrous. And when he came back for her, mad and ruined, I watched him die without mercy. I don’t regret protecting what is mine.
But I see the cost. The blood. The ghosts. ”
The priest was quiet for a long moment before speaking, his voice deep and steady, carrying the weight of countless confessions.
“Love and loss are forged from the same fire, my son. You have known profound loss. That pain has shaped you into a man who takes instead of asks. Who destroys before he can be destroyed. The man you speak of… he became a mirror of your own darkness. A warning of what obsession without grace can create.”
I closed my eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on me.
The priest continued, his words cutting deeper than any blade.
“But today is not a day of death. Today you stand on the threshold of something new. A woman has chosen you, not out of fear, but out of love. She carries new life within her. That is grace. Do not let the shadows of the past poison the future you are building. Love is not only possession. It is protection. It is sacrifice. It is choosing, every single day, to be better than the devil the world expects you to be.”
I swallowed hard, throat tight.
“Ego te absolvo,” the priest murmured. “Go in peace, my son. And may the Lord give you the strength to walk forward with an open heart on this day of new beginnings.”
I rose from the kneeler, chest heavy but lighter than it had been in years. As I stepped out of the confessional, the morning light felt warmer. Cleaner.
The chapel was filled with soft light and the quiet murmur of guests. Roses and white lilies decorated the altar, their scent mixing with incense and polished wood. My heart pounded harder than it had during any gunfight or street war. This was different. This was everything.
I stood at the front of the aisle in a black suit, red tie the only splash of color. Marco stood beside me as best man, silent and watchful. Behind us, a small gathering of carefully chosen faces watched, some from my world, some from hers. But my eyes were fixed on the end of the aisle.
When the music swelled and Aurora appeared on Matteo’s arm, the world narrowed to just her.
She was breathtaking. The white dress flowed around her like liquid silk and lace, the subtle gold embroidery catching the light.
Her dark hair was pinned elegantly, a delicate veil framing her face.
One hand rested lightly on her stomach, the other holding a bouquet of white roses.
Our eyes met, and that familiar spark, the one that had started everything in a dimly lit club, ignited between us again.
She smiled.
I couldn’t breathe.
Matteo walked her down the aisle with quiet pride, then placed her hand in mine. His grip lingered for a second, a silent promise between brothers now. I nodded once. He stepped back.
The priest began the ceremony, his voice warm and steady. Vows were exchanged. Promises made. I spoke mine with a voice that only slightly betrayed the storm inside me.
Then came the moment.
“If anyone here has any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
The words hit me like a bullet.
For one frozen second, I was back in that blood-soaked cathedral. White dress. Sergio standing beside her. My gun in my hand. Blood on marble.
My entire body tensed. My jaw locked. My hand tightened around Aurora’s. She felt it and squeezed back, grounding me.
Silence stretched.
No objections. No chaos. No gunfire.
Just peace.
The priest smiled gently. “Then, by the power vested in me…”
I didn’t wait.
I pulled Aurora into my arms and kissed her, deep, possessive, and full of every emotion I had been holding back.
She melted against me, one hand fisting my suit jacket as the other rested on my chest. The kiss was not gentle.
It was a claim. A promise. A declaration in front of God and everyone that she was mine and I was hers.
A few gasps and soft chuckles rippled through the guests. The priest cleared his throat, clearly amused but trying to maintain decorum.
“…I now pronounce you husband and wife,” he finished, a hint of laughter in his voice. “You may now kiss the bride, though it appears you’ve already taken care of that.”
I pulled back just enough to rest my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard, smiling like fools.
“You couldn’t wait, could you?” she whispered, eyes sparkling.
“Never could with you,” I murmured, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “Not then. Not now. Not ever.”
The reception spilled out into the estate gardens under strings of golden lights and a canopy of stars.
Laughter, soft music, and the clink of glasses filled the warm evening air.
White roses and candles decorated every table, and the scent of fresh food and champagne drifted on the breeze.
For once, there were no armed guards on high alert. Just family. Just peace.
I stood with my arm wrapped possessively around Aurora’s waist, her head resting against my shoulder as we watched the scene. My wife. The word still felt like a victory I didn’t entirely deserve.
Matteo approached first, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a rare, genuine smile on his face. Angelo’s watch glinted on his wrist, catching the light.
“You clean up nice, Devil,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Didn’t think I’d live to see the day you looked this… domesticated.”
Aurora laughed softly. “Careful. He’s still dangerous.”
“Only for her,” I replied, pressing a kiss to her temple.
Sienna appeared next, dragging a reluctant but amused Chiara and Leo behind her. The twins, Bruno and Luca, trailed after their parents like tiny hurricanes in miniature suits, already sticky with cake.
“You two look disgustingly happy,” Sienna declared, hugging Aurora tightly. “I approve. Mostly because I get to call him ‘brother-in-law’ now and annoy him forever.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You can try.”
“Oh, I will,” she grinned.
Chiara stepped forward, eyes shining as she pulled Aurora into a warm embrace. “You’re glowing,” she whispered. “I’m so happy for you. Both of you.”
Leo stood a step behind her, nodding once in my direction. There was respect there now. A fragile but real truce.
“Congratulations,” he said simply. “Take care of her.”
“I plan to,” I answered, meeting his gaze. “Every day.”
Bruno tugged on Aurora’s dress, looking up with wide eyes. “Auntie Aurora, does this mean you’re gonna have a baby like Mommy did?”
The entire group burst into laughter. Aurora’s cheeks flushed as she crouched down to ruffle his hair.
“Maybe someday soon,” she said softly, glancing up at me with a secret smile.
Luca chimed in. “Can we teach him how to throw breadsticks?”
“Or her,” Sienna corrected, smirking.
Matteo shook his head, chuckling. “God help us all.”
The night continued with dancing, toasts, and stories.
Chiara and Leo watched their boys run around the garden with fond exasperation.
Sienna dragged Matteo onto the dance floor despite his protests.
At one point, I pulled Aurora close during a slow song, my hand resting over the gentle swell of her stomach.
“You’re mine now,” I murmured against her ear. “Officially. Legally. In every way that matters.”
She tilted her head back to look at me, eyes sparkling. “I was yours the night I chased you across that club. This is just paperwork.”
I kissed her deeply, not caring who was watching. When we broke apart, she was breathless and smiling.
“Best bad decision I ever made,” she whispered.
“Best decision I ever forced,” I replied, grinning.
The door to our bedroom had barely clicked shut before I had her pressed against it, my mouth claiming hers in a deep, filthy kiss that left no room for doubt.
My wife.
The word burned through my veins like liquid fire as I devoured her lips, my tongue fucking her mouth the way I intended to ruin her cunt in the next few minutes.
Aurora moaned desperately into the kiss, her small hands fisting the front of my shirt like she was afraid I might disappear.
I pulled back just enough to growl against her swollen lips, voice already rough with need.
“On the bed. Now. Arms above your head. Don’t you dare move them.”
She obeyed, eyes already dark and glassy with lust as she crawled onto the massive silk-covered bed and stretched her arms high above her head. I took a moment to drink her in, my beautiful bride, still in her white wedding dress, chest heaving, thighs pressed together in anticipation.
I reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out the black leather devil mask. The same one I’d worn the night I first claimed her taste. I slid it over my face slowly, letting the familiar weight settle. The world narrowed through the eye holes, everything sharper, darker, more primal.
Aurora’s breath hitched audibly when she saw me. “Santino…”
“Quiet,” I ordered, voice low and commanding through the mask. “You speak only when I allow it tonight, wife.”