2.Mrs. Ezran Omar Vitale
1105 Words
~CATALINA~
"Look at me."
My breath caught. My body, which had been shaking moments ago, turned to stone.
Ezran Vitale. The man I am supposed to marry. No—the man I am marrying, in place of my sister. The Don himself.
“Look at me,” he repeated, slower this time. The deep timbre of his voice reverberated through my chest, heavy and deliberate, like a weight pressing down on my ribcage. My fingers tightened around the bouquet on their own, nails digging into the stems, my knuckles whitening.
I forced my eyes up, and the moment they met his… a chill crawled along my spine, freezing my blood. Even behind the veil, he was all-consuming. Every inch of him radiated control, danger, power—and something darker. Something that made my stomach twist like a knife and my heart hammer against my ribs, as if warning me to run. Only there was no place on this earth where I could run from him.
His emerald-green eyes were sharp, predatory, yet unreadable. I could feel him dissecting me, measuring my fear, my hesitation, every tiny tremor in my soul.
“Do you… accept me?” he asked, and the question fell into the air like a blade. Not the priest’s ceremonial do you take him, but him—Ezran Vitale himself—asking me.
My throat closed, words sticking like stones.
I couldn’t answer yet. My mind screamed at me: Say it. Just say it. You promised. You have to protect your family.
But the fear crawling through my veins felt like fire, consuming every ounce of courage.
“Is anyone forcing you?” he asked, voice low, smooth, but edged with a hint of irritation.
I wanted to scream yes. Point at my father, my sister, everyone in this room. I wanted to point at him and tell him he was the monster who had thrown my life into chaos. But my mouth refused to move.
His jaw clenched, muscles taut, before he signaled to his men.
My stomach dropped. No… no, what have I done?
“I do!”
“I take Ezran Omar Vitale as my husband.”
The words spilled from me, trembling and raw, like a confession I never wanted to make.
Ezran tilted his head, studying me. His eyes, dark and endless, pierced straight through me. Then… the faintest smirk ghosted at the corner of his lips. A shiver ran from my neck down to my toes.
Does that mean we would live?
When he stepped back, assuming his proper position, a small, fragile hope flickered in me: yes, we will.
“Do you, Ezran Omar Vitale, take Camila Morales as your lawfully wedded wife?” the priest asked, his voice echoing in the cavernous hall.
For a moment, nothing. I held my breath, fear clawing at my chest. Then curiosity overtook me. I raised my eyes—only to find him already staring at me. His gaze was fixed, unyielding.
My heart lurched violently. Why does that scare me more than anything else in my life?
Without taking his eyes off me, he said, “I, Ezran Omar Vitale, take you as my lawfully wedded wife.”
A gasp escaped my lips. Those were simple words—yet somehow, it felt like a promise from him.
The priest then brought in our rings. His ring reflected himself—cold, heavy, unyielding.
My fingers shook violently as I took the small velvet box, struggling to steady my racing heart and trembling hands.
Once I managed to get some control, I took a step forward. And he raised his hands before me. My eyes nearly fell out as I took in his hands.
God… his hands are huge. Like, really huge. Suddenly the ring looked almost fragile in comparison.
The priest cleared his throat, and somehow I managed to slide the ring onto his finger.
The next second, he took my hand and slid the ring onto my finger smoothly, his thumb brushing against my knuckles as his eyes stayed locked on my hands. My skin burned at the contact, but I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look away.
The diamond in my ring was blinding. I wasn’t even sure it was wearable… maybe I should take it off. Later.
“You may now sign the marriage documents.”
A pen was pressed into my sweaty hand, and I barely managed to hold it steady. Though shaky, I produced the most perfect signature
I had ever made for Camila—years of practice finally paying off.
Ezran’s signature followed, neat and commanding. His hand brushed mine once more as he passed the pen back. Each touch sent sparks racing up my arm. My pulse thundered so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
Finally, the priest announced, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
The words echoed through the room, but my mind was a storm of fear, adrenaline, and disbelief.
I belong to Ezran Vitale now.
I belong to him.
“Now you may kiss the bride.”
What?!
I snapped my head toward the priest, eyes wide in shock.
Well, what did you expect, Cathy? Some sweetcorn?
Ezran stepped closer, so close I could feel the heat radiating from him, which made my pulse spike. Among these cold winds, that felt almost inviting. Almost.
Then his hand brushed aside the delicate lace of my veil, revealing my face. The first thing that hit me was his eyes again. A distinct shade of green I had never seen before, catching the sunlight and looking exactly like emeralds.
Before I could blink, his lips were on mine. Slow, deliberate, and electrifying. The world around me vanished—the flowers, the priest, the whispers, the gasps—all gone. My knees threatened to buckle, and I felt his hands on my waist, steadying me, as his tongue swept along the outline of my lips. My mind was caught between panic and a bewildering flutter of sensation in my stomach.
Well, there goes, my first kiss.
The kiss ended almost as suddenly as it began, leaving a burn along my lips and a wild thunder in my chest. The cold winds instantly hit me, and I visibly shivered. His hands, still resting on my waist, slid up along my arms, providing the warmth he didn’t know I desperately needed.
Ezran leaned in, his breath fanning across my cheek. A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold—or fear.
“You’re finally mine. Mrs. Ezran Omar Vitale.”
- Writer
