Episode 9 _ The Cold Wedding
1159 Words
Snow fell lightly over the city, turning everything white except the cold truth beneath it.
The Romano estate glowed that morning — chandeliers burning, servants bustling, the air thick with perfume and pretense. Gold ribbons were draped across marble banisters. Guests arrived in sleek black cars, faces half-hidden behind designer masks of civility.
The Mafia never celebrated love. They celebrated power. And today, Elara was the price of that power.
She stood before a mirror in her room, pale against the ivory lace of her gown. The dress fit perfectly — off-shoulder, delicate embroidery tracing her skin like secrets. Adriana had done her hair, soft curls falling gently over her shoulders, but her eyes held the same storm as before.
“Breathe,” Adriana whispered behind her, fastening the final pearl at the back of her dress.
Elara forced a shaky exhale.
“How does one breathe,” she murmured, “when it feels like she’s being buried alive in silk?”
Adriana froze, her reflection meeting Elara’s in the mirror.
“You’re stronger than you think.”
Elara managed a sad smile. “I wish I believed that.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. It wasn’t Dante — the knock was too polite. It was Matteo, Dante’s right-hand man. Sharp suit, sharp eyes, every inch of him efficient and cold.
“Signora,” he said with a curt nod. “It’s time.”
Elara’s stomach dropped. Her heart began to pound so hard she thought it would shatter her ribs.
As she walked through the long hallway, everything felt muted — the sound of the orchestra downstairs, the scent of roses and expensive wine, even the hum of conversations blurred. She felt detached, like watching herself from afar.
Then she saw him.
Dante stood at the altar beneath a grand chandelier, dressed in an immaculate black suit. He looked every inch the man the world feared — unreadable, unbreakable. His gaze found hers instantly, and something flickered behind those steel-gray eyes.
Not love.
Something darker. Possession, maybe. Or protection disguised as dominance.
The officiator’s voice echoed softly through the hall as she approached. The vows were simple, brief, and almost cruel in their precision — words stripped of romance, leaving only duty.
When it was time to exchange rings, Dante took hers gently, sliding the gold band onto her trembling finger.
His hand brushed hers — warm, controlled — and she looked up, unable to breathe.
He held her gaze. “I, Dante Romano, take you, Elara Moretti, as my wife.”
The words felt like a promise wrapped in a curse.
Her voice shook as she repeated the vow. “I… I take you, Dante Romano, as my husband.”
When the officiator announced them husband and wife, Dante didn’t move immediately. The silence that followed was deafening — everyone watching, waiting for the kiss that sealed the contract.
He finally leaned in.
His hand cupped her jaw, firm but not cruel. His lips brushed hers softly — not tender, but deliberate.
The touch was brief, electric, unsettling. A warning and a claim all at once.
The hall erupted in applause. Glasses clinked. People smiled. But Elara only felt the weight of invisible chains wrapping tighter around her soul.
---
Hours later, the celebration blurred into noise and smoke. Laughter. Toasts. Men in suits whispering deals over champagne. Women watching her with envy or pity — she couldn’t tell which.
Elara sat at the long table beside Dante, her hands folded neatly on her lap. She barely touched her food.
“Eat something,” Dante said quietly, not looking at her.
She turned to him, voice low. “I’m not hungry.”
He glanced at her — a flicker of something human beneath the ice. “You’ll need your strength.”
“For what?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. He simply took a sip of his wine and said, “The world I live in doesn’t allow weakness, amore. Not even for brides.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “Do you ever stop being the Mafia boss?”
He finally looked at her, eyes hard but honest.
“No. That man died a long time ago.”
Their conversation ended when Matteo approached, whispering something in Dante’s ear. Dante’s expression darkened, and he stood abruptly.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
She watched him disappear into the corridor, his figure swallowed by shadows. The guests noticed but said nothing. Everyone in that hall knew better than to ask questions when the Don moved.
Minutes turned into an hour before Dante returned. He looked colder, his jaw tight.
“What happened?” she asked softly when they were alone.
“Business,” he replied curtly. “You don’t need to worry about it.”
“I’m your wife now, aren’t I?” Her voice trembled with a quiet defiance. “Doesn’t that make me part of your world?”
He turned to her then, his gaze sharp and unreadable. “You’re part of my world, yes. But not of my wars.”
She swallowed hard. “Then what am I, Dante?”
For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Then he stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“You’re the peace I don’t deserve.”
Her breath caught. The words shouldn’t have meant anything — and yet, they burned.
---
Later that night, the mansion was silent again. The guests had left. The lights were dim.
Elara stood before the massive window of their shared bedroom, staring at the moon. Her wedding gown was gone, replaced by a silk robe that whispered against her skin.
She didn’t hear him enter, but she felt him — the air shifted when Dante walked in.
“You should rest,” he said softly.
She turned to face him, heart pounding. “You’re still wearing your ring.”
He looked down at his hand. “It’s a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“That I made a promise I can’t undo.”
He took a step closer. Then another.
Her pulse raced, but she didn’t move away.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” she whispered.
His eyes softened, just a little. “Neither do I.”
Silence stretched between them — thick, charged, unspoken.
Then he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. His touch lingered — not demanding, just... there. And for a fleeting second, Elara forgot everything: the contract, the fear, the past.
She only felt his warmth.
But the moment passed quickly, like smoke vanishing in wind.
“Good night, Mrs. Romano,” he said quietly, stepping back.
When the door closed behind him, Elara let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
And in that silence, she realized something terrifying —
It wasn’t the darkness that scared her anymore.
It was the light she saw in him… because it felt real.
- Writer
