The Savage Bride

The day was supposed to be perfect. I stood at the altar, my heart full and my hand tightly clutching Ethan’s. His boyish grin, the way his brown eyes crinkled when he looked at me—it was everything I had ever dreamed of. Around us, the sun dipped below the Las Vegas skyline, casting golden hues over the vineyard-turned-wedding venue. My father, stoic as ever, stood in the front row, his hands clasped behind his back, while my mother dabbed at happy tears with a lace handkerchief. For the first time in years, the world felt safe. Whole. “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the pastor said, and Ethan leaned down, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that made my knees weak. Applause erupted from our guests, a chorus of joy surrounding us. And then, it stopped. The silence hit like a blow, so sudden and unnatural that it sent a chill up my spine. At first, I thought I’d imagined it. Then whispers rippled through the crowd, low and urgent. My smile faltered as I followed their gazes. That’s when I saw him. Rafael DeLuca. He stood at the edge of the courtyard, flanked by six men in tailored suits, their presence a chilling contrast to the warmth of the occasion. His arrival hit me like a punch to the gut—commanding, unnervingly calm, and utterly out of place. He wasn’t invited. My father stiffened beside me, his jaw tightening. I saw his hand inch toward his pocket. “What the hell is he doing here?” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and dangerous. “Dad,” I whispered, my throat tightening. “Who is that?” Rafael stepped forward, his polished Italian shoes crunching on the gravel. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as he approached the altar, his dark eyes locked on mine. I couldn’t look away, trapped by the weight of his stare. His suit was charcoal gray, perfectly tailored to his tall, lean frame, and his raven-black hair was slicked back, exposing sharp cheekbones and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. “Azalea Moretti,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, tinged with an accent that carried both elegance and menace. “You look beautiful.” Ethan stepped in front of me, his shoulders squared. “Who are you, and what do you want?” Rafael didn’t even glance at him. His gaze remained fixed on me, unyielding. “I came to offer my congratulations. A union like this—it’s a rare thing in our world, isn’t it?” His words were laced with mockery, and something about his tone made my skin crawl. “Leave,” my father barked, stepping forward. His tone was sharp, his body taut like a coiled spring. “This is private property, DeLuca. You have no right to be here.” Rafael raised a single eyebrow, amusement flickering across his face. “Always so quick to anger, Maximillian. Perhaps you should have considered that before you crossed me.” He turned to me again, his lips curling into a faint smile. “You shouldn’t have said no.” His gaze shifted briefly to my father, and his smile widened. “You could have avoided all of this.” The first shot rang out like a thunderclap. Deafening. Merciless. I froze, the sound shattering the golden glow of my wedding like broken glass. Screams erupted around me as guests scrambled for cover, but I couldn’t move. I could only watch as my father stumbled back, clutching his chest, crimson blooming across his pristine white shirt. “Dad!” I screamed, my voice raw with panic. He fell to his knees, his face twisted in pain. Beside him, my mother crumpled to the ground, her lace handkerchief still clutched in her hand. Her wide, unseeing eyes stared up at the sky. Time fractured. The world around me became a blur of chaos and blood. “Azalea, run!” Ethan’s voice cut through the noise as he grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the edge of the courtyard. But we didn’t make it far. Rafael’s men were on us in seconds, disarming Ethan and ripping me from his grasp. I thrashed against their iron grip, my heart pounding as I turned back to him. “Ethan!” I screamed as he lunged toward me, his face etched with desperation. A gunshot silenced him, the sound tearing through the air and through me. His body jerked violently before collapsing to the ground. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the gravel. “No!” I screamed, my voice breaking. My knees buckled, and I would have fallen if not for the men holding me. Rafael appeared before me, calm and composed amidst the c*****e. He crouched down to meet my tear-filled gaze, his dark eyes studying me with unnerving intensity. “You don’t belong to him anymore,” he said softly, almost tenderly. His hand reached out, his thumb brushing away a tear from my cheek. “You belong to me.” I tried to spit at him, but my voice was gone, choked by grief and rage. He straightened, his towering presence casting a shadow over me. “You’ll learn, Azalea,” he said, his tone disturbingly gentle. “This world isn’t what you think it is. But don’t worry. I’ll teach you.” As his men dragged me away from the ruins of my wedding, my heart shattered into pieces. The man who had just destroyed everything I loved didn’t even flinch. But I made a silent vow as I was pulled into the darkness: I would never belong to him. No matter what it took, no matter how long it took, I would destroy him for what he’d done. And Rafael DeLuca would regret the day he ever laid eyes on me.