The Don's Dept

CHAPTER FOUR

MARCO'S POV

The wedding was a cold, efficient affair.

Father Domenico stood at the altar of the small private chapel on my estate, his weathered hands holding the prayer book. Twenty people filled the pews, Luca and six of my men on one side, Sofia's sister and a handful of business associates who needed to witness this on the other.

Sofia stood beside me in a cream-colored dress that Rosa had chosen. Simple, elegant, appropriate. Her hair was styled in soft waves, her makeup minimal. She looked exactly like what I needed her to look like, a respectable woman becoming a respectable wife.

Her hands were ice cold when I took them.

Father Domenico began the ceremony, his voice echoing in the small space. I barely listened to the words. I'd heard them before at other weddings, watched other men promise love and devotion and fidelity. I wasn't promising any of those things. I was signing a contract that happened to involve religious ceremony.

"Do you, Marco Valentino, take Sofia Romano to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do."

The words meant nothing. Two syllables, one legal transaction.

Father Domenico turned to Sofia. "Do you, Sofia Romano, take Marco Valentino to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

She hesitated. Just for a second, but I felt it. Saw the moment where she almost said no, almost walked away from this altar and chose the uncertainty of debt over the certainty of this cage.

Then her eyes found her sister in the front pew. Elena was crying, still believing this was real, still thinking her sister had found love instead of selling herself.

"I do," Sofia whispered.

"Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife." Father Domenico's voice was sad. He knew what this was. "You may kiss the bride."

I turned to Sofia. She looked up at me with those brown eyes, fear and resignation mixing in equal measure. I put one hand on her waist, the other on her jaw, feeling her flinch slightly at the contact.

Then I kissed her.

Three seconds. Long enough to look real, short enough to mean nothing. Her lips were soft and unresponsive against mine, her body rigid. When I pulled away, she looked like she might be sick.

"Congratulations," Father Domenico said quietly, and I wasn't sure if he was talking to us or offering condolences.

*******************

The reception was held in the mansion's main hall. Catered food, champagne, a small string quartet playing background music. My men stood in clusters, talking business and watching Sofia like she was a curiosity. The new wife. The library girl who'd somehow landed Marco Valentino.

I watched her navigate the room, Elena at her side. She smiled when appropriate, accepted congratulations graciously, played her part perfectly. No one would guess that six hours ago she'd moved into this house with three suitcases and the look of someone entering a prison.

"She's pretty," Luca said, appearing beside me with a glass of whiskey. "Seems smart too."

"She is."

"You really not going to touch her?"

I took a drink. "That's not what this is about."

"Still." Luca shrugged. "Seems like a waste."

I didn't answer. I'd told Sofia I wouldn't touch her unless she wanted it, and she never would. That was fine. I didn't need or want that kind of connection. I'd had women before, brief, meaningless encounters that satisfied physical needs and nothing more. This arrangement was cleaner. No expectations, no complications.

Across the room, Sofia laughed at something one of my associates said. The sound was hollow, but most people wouldn't notice. She was good at pretending. I wondered how long she could keep it up.

"Boss," Luca said, his tone shifting. "Carlo Rossi is here. He wasn't on the guest list."

I turned. Carlo stood near the entrance, flanked by two of his men. He was smiling, but his eyes were calculating. Carlo Rossi ran the north side territory and had been pushing against my boundaries for months. He was ambitious, dangerous, and showing up uninvited to my wedding was a message.

"Stay with Sofia," I told Luca. "Keep her away from him."

I crossed the room, intercepting Carlo before he could get deeper into my home.

"Carlo. I don't remember inviting you."

"Marco." He spread his hands in mock apology. "I heard about the wedding and couldn't resist offering my congratulations. You finally took a wife. I never thought I'd see the day."

"You've offered them. Now leave."

"So unwelcoming to an old friend." Carlo's smile widened. "I just wanted to meet her. The woman who tamed Marco Valentino. She must be something special."

"She's none of your concern."

"Everything in this city is my concern." Carlo's voice dropped, losing its friendly veneer. "You know that, Marco. We have territories to discuss, arrangements to renegotiate. Your father understood the importance of cooperation."

"My father is dead." I stepped closer, letting him see exactly what he was dealing with. "And I'm not him. The territories stay as they are. The arrangements don't change. If you have a problem with that, we can discuss it somewhere other than my wedding."

Carlo's jaw tightened. For a moment, I thought he might push it, might say something that would force me to act here and now. Then he glanced past me to where Sofia stood talking to Elena, and his expression shifted.

"She's very young," he said thoughtfully. "Very innocent-looking. Does she know what you are, Marco? What you do?"

"That's not your concern either."

"No, I suppose not." Carlo buttoned his jacket, preparing to leave. "Congratulations again on your marriage. I hope it brings you everything you're looking for. And I hope nothing... unfortunate happens to disrupt your newfound domestic bliss."

The threat was clear. He left before I could respond, his men following behind.

Luca appeared at my shoulder. "Want me to handle that?"

"Not yet." I watched Carlo's car pull away from the mansion. "But have someone watch him. If he makes a move toward Sofia or her sister, I want to know immediately."

"You think he'd actually try something?"

"I think he's looking for weakness, and he thinks a wife is one." I turned back to the reception, finding Sofia in the crowd. She was pale, her smile strained. Playing the role but barely holding it together. "He's wrong, but he doesn't know that yet."

The reception ended at nine. The guests filtered out, offering final congratulations and veiled curiosity about my sudden marriage. Elena hugged her sister tightly before leaving, whispering something I couldn't hear.

Then it was just Sofia and me in the massive house, married but strangers, legally bound but emotionally distant.

"Your room is on the east wing," I said, loosening my tie. "Third floor, last door on the left. Rosa already moved your things there this afternoon."

Sofia nodded, not meeting my eyes. She looked exhausted, drained from hours of pretending.

"The gala is next Saturday," I continued. "We'll go over your role before then. For now, settle in. Get used to the house. Most of the staff knows to leave you alone unless you ask for something."

"Okay."

She started to walk away, then stopped.

"Marco?"

I turned. She was standing at the base of the grand staircase, one hand on the railing, looking small and lost in her wedding dress.

"That man who came. Carlo. He threatened me, didn't he?"

I could have lied. Could have told her it was nothing, just business posturing. But I'd promised her honesty.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because hurting you would hurt me. Or at least, that's what he thinks." I walked closer, making sure she understood. "You're my wife now, Sofia. That makes you a target. People will try to use you to get to me. They'll threaten you, maybe try to turn you against me. You need to be prepared for that."

Her face went even paler. "What do I do if someone approaches me?"

"You tell me immediately. You don't engage, don't negotiate, don't try to handle it yourself." I stopped a few feet away from her. "And you remember that as long as you're under my protection, anyone who touches you dies. That's not a comfort or a threat. It's just a fact."