Chapter 7
983 Words
A Wedding Drenched in Blood and Vows
The cathedral was drowned in gold and crimson.
Candles flickered against the high-arched ceilings, casting long shadows over the pews filled with powerful men and their wives—an audience of wolves dressed in silk.
Alessia stood at the entrance, her pulse hammering beneath the weight of her wedding gown. The corset dug into her ribs, lace and satin suffocating her like a funeral shroud.
Because this wasn’t a wedding.
It was a sentencing.
And Luca DeLuca was waiting at the altar.
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A Procession of Power
The heavy wooden doors groaned open.
All eyes turned to her.
She could feel their stares—sharp, hungry.
The men assessed her as a prized possession. The women, draped in jewels and quiet resentment, barely concealed their pity.
But Alessia lifted her chin.
She would not be a victim.
Not today.
Her father, his grip like an iron on her wrist, led her down the aisle. Each step felt like chains tightening around her ankles.
And then—
Her gaze locked onto Luca.
He stood at the altar, dressed in a tailored black suit, the stark white of his shirt an illusion of purity.
But there was nothing pure about him.
Nothing gentle in the way his dark eyes devoured her.
She should have hated him.
Should have feared him.
But all she felt was a dangerous, simmering awareness.
A reminder of the night before.
Of his touch—barely there, yet seared into her skin.
Of the way he had walked away, leaving her wanting.
Luca DeLuca was a bastard.
And he was about to be her bastard.
The priest’s voice droned on.
Alessia barely heard the words.
She was too focused on Luca—the way he stood so still, so utterly in control.
Until his fingers brushed against hers.
A deliberate touch. A warning.
Her breath hitched.
His lips barely moved, but she caught the whisper. "Still think I’m all talk, bella?"
Heat curled low in her stomach.
But before she could respond, the doors at the back of the cathedral slammed open.
A gunshot rang out.
Screams erupted as chaos fractured the air.
Luca’s hand was on her waist in an instant, shoving her behind him.
Alessia’s heart pounded.
This wasn’t just a wedding.
This was war.
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The wedding had become a war zone.
Gunfire cracked through the cathedral, shattering stained-glass and sending guests scrambling for cover. The scent of gunpowder
clashed with the heady aroma of roses, the contrast making Alessia’s stomach churn.
Luca shoved her behind a marble column, his body a living shield.
"Stay down," he ordered, his voice razor-sharp.
She barely had time to process what was happening before he was gone—moving with lethal precision, drawing his gun in one
smooth motion.
Alessia's pulse pounded in her throat as she peered around the column.
Luca didn’t hesitate.
He fired.
A man crumpled to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.
Alessia's breath hitched.
She had seen violence before—had grown up in a world ruled by it. But this…
This was something else.
Luca was something else.
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Chaos reigned.
More shots rang out. The guards stationed at the cathedral fought back, but the attack had been planned—coordinated.
Alessia’s father had vanished. The guests who weren’t dead or injured had fled.
And then she saw him.
The man was standing in the ruined doorway, watching the c*****e with a smirk.
Matteo Ricci.
A rival boss. A man who had wanted Alessia for himself—and who would rather see her dead than in Luca’s hands.
He lifted his gun, aiming straight at her.
She had no time to think.
She moved—diving to the side as the bullet shattered the column where her head had been.
Pain flared in her shoulder as she hit the floor, the breath knocked from her lungs.
Luca’s roar split the air.
Then he was there, his hands gripping her arms, his eyes scanning her for injuries.
"Are you hit?" His voice was a deadly growl.
"I—no, just—" she gasped. "He’s here." Ricci’s here."
Luca’s expression turned to ice.
He spun, his gun raised—
But Matteo was gone.
A ghost slipping into the night.
Luca swore viciously, then turned back to her.
"We need to move now!”
They left bodies behind as they fled.
Blood soaked the cathedral floor.
The car was waiting outside, tires screeching as Luca shoved her inside, barking orders to his men.
Alessia’s hands trembled as she looked down at her ruined wedding gown.
What was supposed to have been a ceremony of power had turned into a m******e.
Luca’s jaw was clenched so tight she thought it might c***k.
She had never seen him this furious.
And then his gaze snapped towards hers.
"You almost died." His voice was low, lethal.
"You think I don’t know that?" She shot back, her own fear morphing into anger. "You think I wanted this?"
Luca exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
Then, before she could react, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his lap.
Her breath caught.
His touch wasn’t gentle—it was possessive.
"This was supposed to be our wedding night, bella," he murmured, his fingers tracing the torn fabric of her dress. "Instead, someone
tried to take you from me."
Her pulse pounded.
There was something dark in his gaze. Something unhinged.
And yet…
She wasn’t afraid.
"You don’t own me, Luca," she whispered.
His grip tightened.
"Don’t I?"
Their lips were inches apart.
His breath was warm against her skin.
And for a moment—just a moment—she forgot everything.
The blood. The danger. The war brewing between their families.
There was only him.
Only this intoxicating, impossible pull.
Then the car jerked to a stop.
And reality crashed back in.
- Writer
