Vows of desire and betrayal

**Chapter 3**

The atmosphere during the church rehearsal was anything but the sacred experience one might expect. Instead, it had devolved into something more akin to a tense hostage negotiation, a scenario where every glance felt weighted and the air crackled with unspoken words. Holy Name Cathedral loomed impressively above the dreary gray streets of Chicago, its stately stone walls bearing silent witness to far worse transgressions than the forced union that was about to unfold within its sacred space. The weak glow of the afternoon light seemed to emphasize the cold indifference of the structure as Emily found herself standing near the altar, clad in a simple gray coat with her arms tightly crossed over her chest. Meanwhile, the priest, with a patience that felt frustratingly endless, went through the vows for what felt like the third time. She avoided making eye contact with Adrian, who was merely a couple of feet away and appeared profoundly uninterested, nearly wishing himself to be anywhere else but here.

“Repeat after me,” the priest prompted, his tone steady yet patient. “I, Adrian, take you, Emily…”

Adrian’s voice emerged flat and lifeless, lacking the emotional weight one might hope to hear during such a momentous occasion. “I, Adrian, take you, Emily…”

Emily mirrored his sentiment in her own response, the words slipping from her lips like dry, tasteless bread; devoid of any warmth or sincerity. Seated in the pews were their families—her own Rusellos on one side and the Mincinis on the other—creating an invisible divide between them that felt sharper than any blade. Her father's eyes were narrowed with scrutiny, a hawk watching its prey. Though Vincenzo appeared half-asleep, she was well aware that the old man missed nothing. In the front row, Aiden sat casually with one ankle crossed over his knee, providing her with small yet encouraging nods whenever their gazes met. Silas, on the other hand, paced near the back like a caged animal—anxiety palpable in his mutterings aimed at his phone.

Once the priest finally dismissed them, the groups logically dispersed into clusters for what they called "mingling." In reality, it was merely a euphemism for evaluating one another without resorting to violence in the hallowed confines of a church. Grateful for a breath of fresh air, Emily stepped outside onto the stone steps, feeling the cold wind whip through her hair. It wasn’t long before Adrian joined her, appearing almost hesitant, with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders hunched against the biting chill.

“You sounded thrilled in there,” she commented, still not shifting her focus from the bustling streets below.

He halted beside her, maintaining a proximity so close that their arms nearly brushed against one another. “Well, reciting lies in front of a priest tends to do that to a man. You didn’t exactly pour your soul into it either.”

At that, she pivoted to face him, and in the daylight, the weariness etched on his face became more evident. Shadows hovered beneath his eyes, and the scar on his jaw was accentuated, its pale hue stark against his skin. “This whole situation is nothing but a lie. Let’s not kid ourselves. We recite the words, sign a few papers, and then we do whatever it takes to ensure our families survive. After that…"

“After that, we retreat to our corners,” he interjected, his gaze unwavering and inscrutable. “Until the next time someone decides to torch our casinos.”

A fleeting silence stretched between them, filled only by the din of the city rising from below—horns honking, distant sirens wailing, the ever-pulsating rhythm of Chicago that remained utterly unconcerned with mafia weddings or age-old blood feuds. The weight of their reality pressed down on her, the undeniable truth that in just nine days, she would walk down that very aisle, bearing his ring and adopting his last name like an unshakeable link of chain binding her to a life she never chose.

Before she could formulate a response, the tranquility shattered.

A sharp bang erupted in the air—certainly not thunder.

A gunshot.

The noise resonated from the street below, echoing violently against the towering buildings surrounding them. Instinctively, Emily dropped to the ground, years of training coursing through her as she yanked Adrian down beside her, seeking refuge behind the stone balustrade. Inside the church chaos erupted. Shouts filled the space, and panicked footsteps pounded against the floor. Another shot rang out, closer now, as glass shattered above them, raining down like lethal confetti.

“Stay down!” Adrian barked, his body sliding protectively over hers as he scanned the rooftops across the street for signs of danger. His hand rested firmly on her shoulder, a gesture that felt too genuine for two people who were supposed to detest each other.

She shoved him off just enough to retrieve the compact pistol she kept tightly secured to her thigh underneath her coat. “Not a chance. I’m not some damsel in distress.”

Without premeditation, they moved in unison, low and hurried, seeking cover behind a pillar. Bullets ricocheted, chipping the stone perilously close to their feet. The air was thick with screams from within—the guests diving for shelter, her mother shouting orders like a general commanding troops. In the distance, she caught a shadowy figure on a rooftop, dark clothing grazing the skyline, a glint of a scope catching the waning light.

“There are two shooters,” Adrian remarked tersely, voice steady despite the adrenaline racing through him. “One up high on the roof, the other down on the street. They’re working in tandem.”

Emily met his gaze, her heart racing but her mind strikingly lucid. With a firm grip on her weapon, she fired a shot toward the rooftop assailant, the sharp crack of her gun cutting through the chaos. In tandem, Adrian returned fire, aiming toward the street-level threat. Their allies streamed out of the church, armed and ready to confront the sudden violence, the air filled with the bedlam of their frantic exchanges as the tranquil afternoon devolved into a scene reminiscent of a war zone.

Suddenly, a sharp sting shot through Adrian’s left arm.

He grunted, staggering slightly under the unexpected weight of pain, blood blossoming darkly against his sleeve. Emily witnessed it in agonizing slow motion—the abrupt jerk of his body, the flash of discomfort etched across his face before he buried it under a layer of stoicism.

“Adrian!” The name escaped her lips instinctively before she had the chance to temper her concern.

He pressed a hand tightly against the wound, the crimson liquid seeping ominously between his fingers. “It’s nothing more than a flesh wound. Keep firing,” he commanded, though the stiffness in his posture told her it was much more serious than he was letting on.

She could see the way he began to favor the injured arm, his movements tightening as they exchanged fire amidst the tumult. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the chaos, as she laid down cover for both their teams, the fighters mingling in the disorder while sirens wailed in the encroaching distance. The assailants melted away like shadows between flickering lights—skilled and efficient, disappearing before the law enforcement could enact any semblance of order.

At last, the gunfire subsided, and the steps of Holy Name Cathedral bore the marks of a battlefield—stone chipped, glass shards glittering like dangerous jewels, and shouts clamoring through the chilly air as everyone assessed the aftermath. Thank goodness, there were no fatalities. Just a room full of shaken souls and wounded pride.

Turning her attention back to Adrian, she found him leaning against the pillar, his complexion pale, yet his jaw was set in determination. Blood had soaked his sleeve, trickling down to the cuff, wrapping him in an unmistakable reminder of their reality. Without a second thought, she seized his unaffected arm and maneuvered him toward the side entrance leading to their cars. “Come on. We need to take care of that before the police descend on this place.”

His lack of protest told her all she needed to know about the level of pain he was enduring. They slipped inside the back of a Rusello SUV, where Aiden had already settled, efficiently directing the driver with quiet authority. Silas occupied the front seat, barking orders into his phone with a sense of urgency about locking down the casino and ensuring no further threats lingered.

Within the moving vehicle, Emily retrieved a small knife from her purse and tore open the sleeve of Adrian’s shirt. The graze was unsightly—deep enough to require stitches and yet still not life-threatening. She pressed a clean handkerchief from her pocket firmly against the wound, her hands steady even though her heart raced. Their faces hovered just inches apart in the poorly lit backseat, and she could feel the warmth of Adrian’s breath against her cheek.

“Why did you cover me like that?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine and the distant rattle of the city’s heartbeat.

His dark, intense eyes met hers, and a flicker of emotions danced across his features—pain, frustration, and an unexpected spark that she had yet to recognize. “Instinct. The same reason you’re patching me up instead of allowing me to bleed out.”

The SUV hit a bump in the road, and he flinched, making her instinctively adjust her grip on the makeshift bandage, her fingers grazing against his skin. The tension in the air became palpable, something thick and alien growing between them. His free hand reached out, fingers brushing against her wrist where she held the cloth, not pulling away but simply… remaining there.

Aiden glanced back from the front seat, his expression inscrutable. “We’ll get you stitched at the safe house. Silas, call the doctor.”

Silas grunted in acknowledgment, still visibly shaken. “This was clearly a message. They’re testing us. The wedding’s too public; they want us rattled.”

Emily held Adrian's gaze, determined to maintain that connection amidst the chaos. Outside, the city blurred past them, its sirens echoing closer behind. She finished tying the cloth around his arm, her fingers more composed than her racing heart could have suggested. Though the immediate injury was tended to, she felt the deeper wounds beginning to surface—something shifting in that fragile space between them that no bullet could ever heal.

As the SUV sped toward the safe house on the outskirts of the Loop, Emily stared out the window, thoughts swirling with the remnants of gunfire, the crimson blossoming on Adrian’s sleeve, and the lingering sensation of his touch on her skin, even after he dropped his hand.

She told herself it was merely the rush of adrenaline that fueled her racing heart and heightened senses—but deep down, she knew it was something beyond that. Something inevitable. Something they could no longer ignore.