CHAPTER TEN
Darkly, delicately.
Maxsim
I stand near the altar, the weight of the moment pressing down.
Everything about the wedding has been curated to send the right message—an unshakable alliance, a power move. But beneath the surface, it’s a battlefield, and I’m hyper-aware of every detail.
The wind carries a slight chill as it rustles through the garden, brushing against the white roses lining the aisle. Marble statues of angels stand vigil at the edges, their stone eyes cold and indifferent, as if they can sense the tension in the air.
I quickly survey the crowd, taking in the key players seated in rows. Allies, enemies, and those still undecided. Members of the Cosa Nostra and the Bratva sit side by side, their expressions carefully controlled, with just the right amount of tension rippling beneath the surface.
I can almost hear their minds ticking, analyzing, calculating the implications of this marriage—just as I am.
And then I see him.
Salvatore Santoro is seated near the back, his presence a dark menace. He’s watching everything with cold, calculated eyes, the vendetta he’s intent on pursuing evident in his gaze.
The soft murmur of the crowd quiets as the first note of music is played. All eyes shift, and I hear the rustle of fabric as everyone turns to see her.
Arianna.
My bride.
She stands as still as the statues, and for a moment, I feel a rare spark of uncertainty run through me. The sun catches the lace of her dress, making it shimmer.
It’s not the kind of dress I expected—no soft, bridal nonsense. No, it’s sleek, modern, and powerful. It clings to her curves like armor, the silk and lace somehow both feminine and fierce.
Chin high, shoulders back, she takes her first steps toward me—this isn’t a woman being led to the altar. This is a woman walking straight into battle, ready to face whatever comes next.
Defiant, unyielding, and completely captivating.
For a split second, I forget about the game we’re playing, the power moves and strategies, and see only her. My wife-to-be.
She’s not afraid. I see it in her eyes as she moves closer—no hesitation, no fear. Only determination. The weight of her will and defiance is unmistakable.
I keep my expression neutral, but inside, something shifts. She’s not a pawn in this game. She’s a queen. And damn if that doesn’t make her even more compelling.
She reaches the altar, stopping just inches away, and for a moment, we’re locked in place. Her eyes meet mine—clear, unflinching—and the space between us crackles with unspoken tension.
And the thing we have yet to acknowledge.
Snapping myself back to attention, I see Enzo nod before he steps back and vaguely hear the officiant begin to speak. The words barely register. Ari’s expression is cool and controlled, but her eyes… there’s a wariness that tells me she’s expecting a red wedding.
The officiant’s voice rises slightly, signaling it’s time for the vows. I recite mine first, my voice steady and my words deliberate. Each sentence is carefully crafted, not just for Ari but for the audience.
A carefully arched brow tells me she’s tracking the subtext of the promises of protection. I’m staking my claim, not just to her but to the power the marriage represents.
I slide the wedding band onto her finger, my hand steady. The diamonds gleam and deep satisfaction settles in my chest.
Ari’s eyes never leave mine. There’s no softness in her gaze, no hint of submission. She’s holding her ground, making it clear that this ring doesn’t mean ownership.
She recites her vows next in a clear, steady voice. There’s an edge to the words falling from her lips. A warning. Or a declaration that she won’t be easily controlled.
Good for her. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I watch her slide the heavy gold band onto my finger and notice that the crowd, once silent, begins to hum with energy.
I glance out at the sea of faces. Some are relieved, and some are suspicious. My grip on Ari’s hand tightens. This is our moment, and I won’t let anyone doubt the union.
The officiant’s voice rings out, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Ari’s hand is warm in mine, her pulse steady beneath my fingers. She might not want this, but she’s not backing down either.
The officiant’s voice fades into the background, the words “husband and wife” still hanging in the air. It’s done. The marriage is sealed and now comes the final gesture. The crowd waits for it, the tension palpable.
I step forward, closing the distance between us. The warmth of her body brushes against me, and my heart does something it’s never done. There’s the faintest hitch in her breath as I tilt her chin with a firm but gentle hand.
The kiss is meant to be nothing more than a statement—a mark. But the moment our lips meet, there’s a heat I only suspected was possible.
And for a second, I want more than the power this marriage brings.
Ari holds still, her lips unmoving at first, but then I feel the slightest shift. She kisses me back. Probably not because she wants to, but because she refuses to be the one to break first.
Something cracks open and when I pull back, the world snaps back into focus. The crowd erupts into polite applause, a ripple of approval sweeps through the guests. But I’m not listening to them. I’m watching her. Her chest rises and falls faster than before, and her lips are still parted, flushed from the kiss.
I slide her arm through mine. It’s a symbolic gesture that makes it clear to everyone watching—she’s mine now.
Ari shifts closer, and I notice she’s looking directly at the men. She’s not bothering with the demure Mafia princess act. No way. My wife is looking the monsters in the eye, so they know she won’t go down without a fight.
I lead her down the aisle, feeling her grip on my arm tighten. The sea breeze carries the scent of salt and flowers, but beneath it all, I feel the pulse of the power dynamics shifting.
This isn’t just a wedding. This is a declaration.