CHAPTER 6: THE WEDDING
1475 Words
The moment the car arrived, I felt my stomach drop.
Not because I was nervous.
Not because I was excited.
But because something about this moment felt… final.
The deep, guttural roar of a Bugatti La Voiture Noire filled the air, the sleek black beast pulling up to our rented villa with the grace of a panther. Worth $18 million dollars, this wasn’t just a car—it was a statement.
Veronica gasped, pressing a manicured hand to her chest. “Oh my God.”
I, on the other hand, barely breathed.
The doors opened, and two men stepped out—bodyguards. Towering, silent, and exuding a kind of quiet menace that made my skin crawl. They opened the back door.
And out stepped him.
Lorenzo De Luca.
The man who owned half of Italy.
Dressed in a custom-made black Armani suit, he looked every inch the untouchable billionaire. His dark, neatly styled hair, his sharp-cut jawline, and those cold, assessing eyes that seemed to strip the world bare with a single glance.
I wanted to look away. I should have looked away.
But I couldn’t.
His gaze landed on my mother first. She beamed like a woman who had won something—like this was the greatest achievement of her life. She looked beautiful, no doubt. Her champagne-colored dress hugged her body perfectly, diamonds glittering at her throat, her makeup flawless.
And me?
I wasn’t supposed to be trying to impress anyone. But when I caught Lorenzo’s gaze flicker to me, for just a second longer than necessary, I felt something tighten in my chest.
I knew what he saw.
A girl dressed in a blood-red satin gown, the silk clinging to every curve, my caramel skin glowing under the soft evening light. My long hair, curled and cascading down my back, my lips painted a sinful shade of deep red.
I wasn’t supposed to look at him like this.
He wasn’t supposed to look at me like that either.
But he did.
And something inside me shifted.
“Shall we?” His voice was smooth, commanding, sending a shiver down my spine.
Veronica looped her arm through his, grinning. “Of course, mi amor.”
And just like that, we were on our way to the wedding.
---
A Wedding Fit for the Untouchable
The venue was… unexpected.
No grand cathedral. No over-the-top ballroom.
Instead, the wedding was set on the rooftop of one of Lorenzo’s hotels, overlooking the glittering cityscape of Milan. The night air was crisp, the stars scattered across the sky like diamonds, and the setting was deceptively simple—white roses, soft golden candlelight, and an intimacy that felt almost… calculated.
The guests were few, but each one held an aura of quiet power.
Men in sharp suits, their eyes too keen, their postures too guarded.
Women draped in expensive gowns, their beauty almost inhuman.
I didn't recognize anyone, but something in my gut told me they weren’t just ordinary people.
Veronica, of course, looked like she was on top of the world. As she stood before Lorenzo, her hand resting in his, she practically vibrated with excitement.
The officiant—a man who looked more like a business partner than a priest—began the ceremony.
And I…
I should have been watching them.
Instead, I was watching him.
Lorenzo barely looked at my mother. He held her hand, recited his vows, but there was a cold detachment in his gaze. A man simply going through the motions.
But the moment his eyes flickered to me?
It was different.
I could feel it in my bones.
And then—
The ring.
A Cartier diamond, so massive it could blind someone, slipped onto my mother’s finger like a shackle made of gold.
And then—
The kiss.
It was a simple brush of lips, elegant, restrained. No passion. No fire.
And yet…
My stomach twisted.
Because I felt something I shouldn’t.
Jealousy.
The moment Lorenzo pulled away, his gaze slid to me again.
A flicker of something dangerous. Something I couldn’t name.
And I knew.
I was in so much trouble.
The party was elegant, understated—exactly what you’d expect from a man like Lorenzo De Luca.
There was no drunken revelry, no loud music, no over-the-top celebration.
Instead, the air buzzed with something more… dangerous.
The kind of atmosphere where every conversation was a negotiation, where every glance meant more than words.
Men in finely tailored suits leaned against marble pillars, their voices low, their eyes sharp. Women in sleek, shimmering dresses moved like shadows, their laughter like whispers of secrets.
And I?
I felt out of place.
I wasn’t a part of this world.
Not really.
I wandered away from the main gathering, stepping out onto the terrace where the cool night air wrapped around me like a second skin. The city stretched out below, golden lights twinkling like fallen stars.
And that’s when he approached.
Tall, blond, expensive-looking.
I didn’t know his name. Didn’t care.
“Not enjoying the party?” His voice was smooth, European—French, maybe.
I shrugged, turning my gaze back to the city. “Not my kind of crowd.”
He chuckled, stepping closer. “And what is your kind of crowd, then?”
I glanced at him, arching a brow. “People who don’t talk in riddles.”
His smile widened. “Ah, but riddles make life interesting, no?”
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t interested in flirting.
But before I could step away, a presence shifted behind me.
The air changed.
It became colder.
More dangerous.
I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
Lorenzo.
He stood a few feet away, leaning casually against the terrace railing, a cigarette between his fingers, his phone still pressed to his ear. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes—his cold, golden eyes—were fixed on me.
The man beside me tensed.
Lorenzo said something into his phone, then ended the call with a slow, deliberate motion.
Silence.
The kind that suffocates.
I swallowed.
Lorenzo finally spoke. His voice was calm, smooth, unreadable—but there was something beneath it.
Something that made my stomach twist.
“Go back inside, piccola.”
My breath hitched.
That name again.
Little one.
I forced a smirk. “I was just getting some fresh air.”
Lorenzo didn’t blink. “Inside. Now.”
A command. Not a request.
The blond man cleared his throat, offering a tense smile. “We were just talking.”
Lorenzo turned his head slightly, as if acknowledging his existence for the first time.
“Were you?” His tone was so polite. So empty.
The man shifted uncomfortably. “Yes. Just conversation.”
Lorenzo exhaled a slow breath, the cigarette smoke curling through the air like a ghost. Then, with an eerie kind of detached amusement, he murmured,
“Then it won’t be a problem if she leaves, will it?”
The man opened his mouth, then closed it.
I wasn’t stupid.
I felt the shift. The silent warning beneath Lorenzo’s words.
I turned back to him, scowling. “I don’t take orders from you.”
He held my gaze. Unshaken. Unmoved.
“No,” he agreed. “But you’re under my responsibility now. And out here? With people like him?” His gaze flickered to the man beside me, then back to me, ice cold. “That’s dangerous.”
My heart pounded.
Not at his words.
At the way he said them.
That possessive, effortless authority.
I wasn’t his.
But somehow, he made it feel like I was.
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to scoff, to play it off. “I can handle myself.”
Lorenzo let out a slow, quiet chuckle.
It wasn’t warm.
It wasn’t kind.
It was the kind of laugh that made my skin prickle.
And then, he stepped closer—so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
He leaned in just enough to murmur, low and deliberate,
“You think that.”
A pause.
“But you don’t know the world you’ve stepped into, piccola.”
Something about the way he said it made my throat go dry.
And then—just like that—he stepped back.
“Inside.”
I should have fought back.
Should have rolled my eyes, scoffed, walked away.
But I didn’t.
Because the look in his eyes told me that if I pushed this further, I wouldn’t like what happened next.
So, I did what I hated most.
I obeyed.
I walked past him, back inside, feeling his gaze burning into my back.
And I told myself it was just admiration.
I told myself I was only drawn to his power.
I told myself he didn’t matter.
But deep down?
I knew that was a lie.
---
- Writer
