Salvatore
CHAPTER THIRTY
Idon't check the time.
I don't need to.
The weight of the air presses down. The church is packed, bodies filling every pew, voices low and controlled, conversations bleeding into a dull hum that never quite reaches me.
Everyone who's anyone from the five families is here. Her mother sits in the front row next to Rosa. As it turned out, they'd once had a friendship they lost—now they're making up for lost time.
Everything looks perfect. Everyone seems happy to be a part of this union. A debt, finally being paid, a bride finally being delivered. Many wanted Marco dead, but have accepted a replacement bride as collateral. They wait, watching.
None of it matters.
My focus stays locked on one place.
The door.
If she walks through it, she chose me.
If she doesn't… I don't allow the thought to finish.
I stand at the front, shoulders relaxed, hands loose at my sides, every inch of me composed in a way that's been built and refined over years. To anyone watching, I'm exactly what I've always been. Calm, controlled, and untouchable.
But beneath that stillness, every muscle is coiled tight, locked like a wire pulled to its breaking point.
For the first time in my life, the outcome of something this important isn't in my hands.
It's in hers.
Raffaele stands a few feet behind me, silent and watchful.
My brothers are scattered throughout the room, blending into the crowd with the ease of men who've learned to disappear in plain sight, their presence felt even when unseen.
Everything is in place. Every angle covered. Every possible threat accounted for.
Everything, except her.
A chair shifts somewhere in the crowd. A quiet cough breaks the silence, then vanishes just as quickly. The officiant glances at me, cautious, like he's unsure whether to begin or wait.
I don't look at him.
I don't look at anyone.
I keep my eyes on the door.
Because that's the only thing that matters.
Seconds stretch. Time becomes elastic, warping around each heartbeat.
Then the music begins.
Soft at first, barely a whisper of sound, then swelling to fill the space, wrapping around the room and settling into something undeniable, something inevitable.
My lungs constrict.
Because now…
There's no more waiting.
Either she's here or I'm about to find out she isn't.
The day we met in the library, the way her body went still when I stepped into her space.
The way her words failed her, like even her voice understood who I was.
What we were. The way her eyes kept finding me, betraying her long before she ever said a word.
The way she smiled… soft, unaware… like she didn't realize she was already mine.
We were never a coincidence, Valentina.
From the moment I saw you, it was decided.
Now I just wait…
and see how long you make me stand here before you finally stop running from what belongs to me.
"Sir?" the wedding officiant whispers, and then…
The doors open.
And for a moment, the entire world ceases to exist.
Valentina.
She stands there, framed in the doorway, backlit by the late afternoon sun streaming through the stained glass behind her, turning her into something almost unreal.
The tension locked in my body releases in a slow, controlled exhale, something deep inside me settling in a way I rarely allow myself to feel. She came. She's here.
She chose me.
And for the first time since this began, I don't have to guess… I know.
She begins to walk toward me, her steps even, her posture steady despite the weight of every eye in the room on her. Her hand rests in her father's, and Marco walks beside her, composed, his expression unreadable to anyone who doesn't know him.
I do.
His gaze meets mine briefly as they approach, something passing between us without a word.
Respect and understanding. Then my attention shifts back to her.
Because the moment she notices, everything changes.
Her gaze lifts, scanning the space, and then she stills, just slightly, her steps faltering for a fraction of a second before she recovers.
The flowers.
Soft blue woven through everything, subtle but intentional. Except the heart of flowers exactly where we're standing, just like in her drawing.
Forget-me-nots.
Exactly the way she once described them.
Her fingers tighten around her father's arm, and when she looks at me again, her eyes are bright, emotion breaking through her composure.
When she reaches me, her breath is uneven, her control slipping just enough.
"How did you know?" she whispers.
I glance past her, just slightly, my chin dipping toward Marco.
"I had help."
A quiet sound leaves her, something between a laugh and a breath, and she shakes her head like she still can't quite believe it.
Then she looks at me, and everything else disappears.
"You're here," I say, my voice low enough that only she hears it.
Her lips part slightly, her eyes locked on mine.
"I chose you."
The words crack something open in me, something I didn't know was locked. Every carefully built wall, every layer of control I've wrapped around myself for years… and she dismantles it with three words.
My hand comes to her waist, firm, steady, pulling her just slightly closer than necessary, grounding myself in the reality of her.
She's here. My Valentina is fucking here. Choosing to be my wife.
Her breath catches softly, her body responding to mine without hesitation, pressing just slightly into me before she steadies herself again.
"You just had to make this difficult," she murmurs.
"You like difficult," I reply quietly.
The corner of her mouth lifts just slightly, and for a moment, the world narrows down to just this.
Just us.
Then movement breaks at the edge of my vision.
Sofia stumbles, her heel catching against the floor as she steps forward, her balance shifting dangerously.
Before she can fall, a man steps in, catching her effortlessly.
Arturo.
His hand wraps around her waist, steadying her, pulling her upright in one smooth motion. For a moment, they don't move, their eyes locked. His thumb presses just slightly against her ribs before he releases her. Not fast, not slow. Deliberate.
Sofia straightens quickly, smoothing her dress, but her chest rises and falls just a little too fast.
The ceremony moves forward.
Vows are spoken. Promises are sealed. Valentina's fingers tighten around mine, just slightly, but I feel it. The way she looks at me…like she knows exactly what she's stepping into, and she's choosing it anyway.
When I slide the ring onto her finger, my hand lingers there, my thumb brushing lightly against her skin.
When she places mine, her touch is softer, but no less certain.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."
The debt is paid.
When I kiss her, it's controlled at first, restrained, but there's nothing restrained about the way she responds. Her hand comes to my tie, gripping lightly, grounding herself, and for a moment, I forget where we are.
I forget who's watching. I forget everything except her.
When I open my eyes, I realize Raffaele is not positioned, which means something's wrong.
The first shot rings out.
The sound cracks through the room, sharp and violent, shattering everything in an instant.
My body moves before my mind catches up.
I pull her down, turning, shielding her with my body as chaos erupts around us. Screams break through the air, chairs scraping, people scrambling. My Beretta is in my hand, but the shooter's position is unclear. The dons and their right hands are here. Who the fuck is firing at my wedding?
Another shot.
Then another.
"Stay down," I snap, my hand firm against the back of her head, keeping her pressed against me as I shift, scanning the room.
My men react instantly, weapons drawn, returning fire with precision, controlled, and lethal.
And then Marco jerks.
The impact hits him before the sound fully registers, his body staggering back, shoulders twisting as the bullet tears through him.
"Daddy!" Valentina screams, her voice breaking as she tries to move.
I tighten my grip on her, holding her in place.
"No."
Because I can't lose her, too.
Not now.
Not like this.
Gunfire cracks. Screams ricochet. The families scatter, old truces forgotten in seconds.
And in the middle of it all is Marco.
The man who just gave me his daughter collapses to the floor.
"I swear you have nine lives."
One shot, clean placement, shoulder, not center mass. Whoever fired it knew precisely where to aim and precisely where not to. This was not an attempt to kill. This was a message, delivered with a bullet, sent to me.
No trace. No vehicle. Just the entry point. A window on the east side, third floor of the adjacent building, and a shell casing left behind like a calling card.
Not an oversight. A signature.
Valentina is with her mother and Sofia in a private room the hospital has given us. When she sees me, she walks out. "Any idea who's behind this?"
"Not yet, but we're on it." She presses her forehead to my shoulder, looks me in the eyes, and says, "Find out what happened and then come back to me."
I have never been more certain that I chose correctly.
I kiss her, hard, and then I go do what I do.
Matteo stands three feet away, arms crossed, watching me with the expression he wears when he already knows what I'm about to confirm and wishes he didn't. Raffaele is outside Marco's hospital room. Elio is by the waiting room door, silent.
I dial the number.
It rings twice.
He picks up.
"Shadow." I keep my voice even. This is not the moment for emotion. Emotion is a liability I cannot afford right now.
The pause on the other end is short.
"Brother." His voice is the same as it always has been, low, precise, stripped of everything that isn't necessary. Dante has never wasted a syllable in his life. "Nice flowers, by the way."
He was watching. Of course he was watching.
"I have declared Marco Marino safe," I declare. Measured. Absolute. "No harm will come to him. That is the word of your Don. Do I make myself clear?"
Another pause. Longer this time.