Chapter Six #3
“I, Dante De Luca…” He paused, his gaze never leaving mine. “Take you, Caterina Lombardi…”
The words continued. Traditional vows about honor and respect and love.
Dante spoke them clearly, his voice carrying to every corner of the ballroom.
But underneath the formal words, his hand at my back communicated a different message entirely.
His thumb traced patterns against my skin -- circles and lines and shapes that felt almost like he was writing something. Branding something.
Claiming something.
Then it was my turn.
“I, Caterina Lombardi…” My voice came out steadier than I felt. Small victory. “Take you, Dante De Luca…”
Each word felt weighted. Not with romance or love or any of the things wedding vows were supposed to carry. With finality. With the understanding that this was legally binding, that walking away after this would require lawyers and paperwork and Papa’s approval, which I’d never get.
“To have and to hold, from this day forward…”
Dante’s expression shifted slightly. Satisfaction, maybe. Or hunger. His hand moved from my back to my waist, his grip firm enough that I felt the strength in his fingers, the controlled violence in the way he held me.
“As long as we both shall live.”
The words hung in the air. Five years, the contract said. But the vows said forever. The contradiction wasn’t lost on either of us.
“The rings, please.”
Papa stood from his seat, retrieved the ring pillow from the small table beside the altar, and handed it to Dante without comment. His expression remained carefully blank, but I caught the tightness around his mouth. The disapproval he couldn’t quite hide.
Dante took the pillow, selected the band meant for me -- platinum with diamonds that caught the light like trapped fire -- and set the pillow aside. He lifted my left hand, the one already wearing his massive engagement ring, and held it between us.
“This ring,” the priest intoned, “is a symbol of eternal love and commitment --”
Dante ignored him. Instead, he looked at me, his expression intense enough to make my breath catch.
Then, with movements that were deliberately, almost obscenely slow, he slid the band onto my finger.
The metal was cool against my skin. He pushed it past my knuckle with precision, making sure I felt every millimeter of progress, turning what should have been a simple gesture into something else entirely. A claiming. A marking. A reminder that I’d agreed to wear his ring, his name, his ownership.
When the band finally settled into place, he lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. The gesture looked romantic. Chivalrous, even.
But his eyes promised something else entirely.
“Your turn,” he said softly, handing me his ring.
My fingers trembled as I took the heavy platinum band. Masculine. Substantial. The kind of ring that would mark him as married to anyone who saw it.
I reached for his hand. He gave it to me, but not without resistance. Letting me know that he could stop me at any moment if he chose.
I slid the ring onto his finger, my movements nowhere near as controlled as his had been. The band caught slightly at his knuckle, and I had to push harder to get it past. He let me struggle for a moment before finally relaxing his hand enough to let the ring slide home.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
The words echoed in the ballroom. Final. Binding. Sealing whatever I’d just done to myself.
From the left side of the room, I heard someone shifting. Glanced over to find Luca half out of his seat, his expression tight with something between concern and panic.
Antonio leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he studied us with clinical interest. He was probably trying to figure out what else he could gain from this alliance to help the Lombardi family.
The De Lucas looked satisfied. Several of them were smiling -- not warm, friendly smiles, but the kind predators showed when a hunt went well. Francesca’s expression had shifted from assessment to approval, like I’d passed some test I hadn’t known I was taking.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Dante’s hand came up to cup the back of my neck. Not gently. His fingers threaded through my hair, gripping just hard enough to make it clear I wasn’t going anywhere. His other hand tightened at my waist, pulling me flush against him.
“Smile for our guests, princess,” he murmured. “And then open your mouth for me.”
Before I could respond -- before I could process the command or decide whether to obey -- he kissed me.
This wasn’t the gentle, romantic first kiss of newlyweds.
This was possession. Pure and simple. His mouth covered mine with an intensity that stole my breath, his tongue demanding entrance I hadn’t given permission for.
The hand at my neck held me in place when I instinctively tried to pull back, kept me exactly where he wanted me.
I heard applause starting somewhere in the audience. Heard someone whistle -- probably one of the De Luca cousins. Heard the general rustle of movement and approval that signaled the guests’ satisfaction with the display.
But all of that was distant. Background noise to the reality of Dante’s mouth on mine, his hands holding me captive, his body pressed against me in a way that made it clear this was just the beginning.
When he finally released me, I was dizzy. Breathless. My lips felt swollen and my heart was racing so fast I thought everyone in the room must be able to hear it.
Dante studied me for a moment, his expression satisfied. Like he’d just confirmed something he’d suspected.
Then he turned us to face the audience, keeping one arm locked around my waist.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the priest announced, his voice carrying over the continued applause, “I present to you Mr. and Mrs. De Luca.”
The applause grew louder. People stood. The photographer moved forward to capture the moment.
I’d bound myself to a man who’d told me in explicit terms he owned me now. The contract didn’t matter to Dante. I’d been so proud of myself for negotiating with him, and now I simply felt foolish.
His hand tightened at my waist as if he could read my thoughts. Probably could, actually. The panic must have been visible on my face despite my attempts to hide it.
“Too late for second thoughts,” he murmured against my ear as the photographer directed us into position. “You’re mine now, Caterina. Legally, publicly, and” -- his breath was hot against my neck --”soon, physically.”
My knees wanted to give out. I locked them, using every bit of control I had to stay upright.
The photographer counted down. “Three, two, one --”
The flash went off, capturing us in that moment. Dante looking satisfied and possessive. Me looking like a bride.
Looking like prey that had just realized the trap had closed.