Vengeance is for the Mafia's Boss Bride

Vows and vendettas

Chapter 4: Vows and Vendettas

“You know who poisoned my father. Why won't you tell me?” I say to Dante, my voice cutting through the jazz band’s sultry notes at the wedding reception. My ivory gown clings like a trap, the ballroom’s gold chandeliers and white roses mocking the burning chaos in my chest.

He’s in a black tux, sharp as a razor, his eyes unreadable. “Not me,” he says, stepping closer, his jaw clenched. “But I know who did. Maybe when you commit to this marriage, fully, I’ll help you find the perpetrators.”

I crush my bouquet, petals falling. “And why should I trust you? You've never given me a reason to,” I snap, Dad’s warning searing—Don’t trust your husband-to-be.

Dante leans in, his voice low, breath warm against my lips. “Because we’re both targets, Ricci. Someone wants us both gone.” His eyes flicker, almost raw, but I’m not fooled. I know how he is.

“Prove it,” I say, my voice sharp.

He shakes his head, glancing at the crowd. “Not here. This is not a place for us to discuss. Later.”

Nico had ordered for the wedding to go on even with Papa's absence. He said that's what papa would've wanted. And Dante made it clear that he wouldn't shift the wedding for anything.

I was still pissed at him for it.

The ceremony was torture. St. Patrick’s Cathedral was a sea of white roses, pews packed with Riccis, Salvatores, and their allies, watching like wolves.

Before the aisle, I visited Dad in the ICU, his monitors beeping, tubes snaking from his pale arms. “I’ll save us,” I whispered into his pillow, my throat tight, his comatose face haunting me.

At the altar, Dante’s gaze was a claim, far from a vow. I forced out my “I do,” each word a lie, my heart pounding as the priest bound us.

Now, at the reception, I play the perfect happy bride, smiling for photos, shaking hands. Luca’s flirting with a bridesmaid, his tie loose around his neck, grinning like it’s a game.

Mom’s on her fifth champagne, slurring to a Salvatore aunt. I watch her for a moment wondering if it was due to the Papa's health or the death of her lover.

Sofia, Dante’s sister, sits in a corner, coughing, looking fragile and pale. She stares at a dancing couple, a small smile stretching her thin lips. Elena’s here too, her red dress looks like a challenge, her glare slicing through the crowd. She’s trouble, and I’m definitely not in the mood for her drama, so I look away.

I suddenly get yanked by someone. Dante pulls me onto the dance floor, his hand firm on my waist as the band plays a slow, haunting melody. The crowd watches, expecting romance. His touch is fire, fingers pressing into my lower back, sending a jolt through me.

“You’re really good at this,” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear, sending a jolt of electricity through me, his voice a low growl that makes my breath hitch. I tilt my head, meeting his eyes, my smile sharp. “Don’t get comfortable, Salvatore.” His grip tightens, pulling me flush against him, our bodies moving as one, heat radiating where we touch.

The air crackles, dangerous and alive. His thumb grazes the curve of my spine, a deliberate tease on his fingers, and my pulse races like a traitor. “You think you can fight this?” he whispers, his gaze dropping to my lips, dark and predatory. I should pull away, or even snack him, but I don’t.

Instead, I lean closer, my voice a hiss, my breath grazing his jaw. “I’m not yours to own.” His eyes flash, challenge and hunger, and he dips his head, lips hovering over mine.

“You lie,” he says, and then he kisses me—slow, searing, a possessive edge that steals the air in my lungs. My hands grip his shoulders, nails digging in, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, his tongue brushing mine, and for a moment, I’m lost, the world fading to just him—his heat, his danger. His hands continue to take iver my body. Suddenly I feel him grab my boobs slightly, his fingers finding the hard nub crying for attention under my dress. I want to moan out loud, give into this lust and desire that have been burning me but instead I break it, gasping, my face flushed, hating the way my body quickly responds to him.

“That’s not in the contract,” I snap, voice shaky.

He smirks, unrepentant. “Well, It is now.”

He pulls me back into the dance, his hand still burning at my waist. “Someone’s watching us,” he says, voice low, shattering the moment. “Don’t look.”

My heart skips a beat, but I nod, my fingers tightening on his arm. “Who?” I whisper. He spins me, eyes scanning the crowd.

“Not sure. But they’re very close. They're watching you.”

We continue to dance and for a moment I forget what we are. His hands trail patterns on my skin as I flow with him, until I'm too tired to stand anymore.

I grab a water from a waiter, my lips still tingling, my hands unsteady. Nico’s by the bar, face tense. I slip over, adjusting my veil to cover our talk. “Anything on the poison?” I ask, voice low.

He shakes his head, his expression solemn, sipping a beer. “Not yet. But those transfers? Tied to Dante’s shell company, Vortex Holdings. Looks like a power grab.” I nod, jaw tight.

“keep it up. And watch Elena—she’s up to something. I don't feel good about her at all.” Nico glances at her, frowning.

“Got it. I’ll call tomorrow,” he tells me.

Don Vincenzo’s toast booms out. “To Dante and Alessandra, our new era!” Glasses clink, the crowd cheering. Dante’s beside me, his arm brushing mine. “To peace,” he says, raising his glass, eyes on me. I clink mine, forcing a smile.

“To truth,” I say, loud enough for him to hear. His lips twitch, but he’s silent, his eyes piercing mine.

Later, I corner him by a balcony, city lights glinting below. “If you know who poisoned Dad, you need to tell me now,” I say, heels clicking as I close the distance.

He leans against the railing, loosening his tie. “I said not here,” he says, his voice is clipped. “But I didn’t do it. And I don’t want your father dead.” His eyes soften, just a moment, suddenly throwing me off.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you even helping me in the first place?” I ask, searching his face.

“This alliance is bigger than us,” he says, liking down at his drunk, his voice low. “And someone’s trying to burn it down.”

I want to push for more answers, but his guard’s up, the crowd too close. “Fine,” I say, turning away. "How do you think we take control."

"Hand over your empire to me. If we join our two__"

Before he can continue what he's saying, I slap him hard in the face.

"So this is what you've been planning? The Vincenzo empire belongs to me!"

He grabs my wrist, gentle but firm, pulling me back. “Good,” he says, voice a whisper. “ And if you want to keep it that way, you'll have to fight off the Sharks coming for it yourself, or you make it easier by joining power with me, erasing any threats that's coming your way, Alessandra."

My name in his mouth sends a shiver through me, one that I despise. I don't want this man's touch on me. I don't want my name on his lips even if they feel too damn good. So I yank free, storming back to the party, my heart racing.

"You'll never be one of us, Salvatore. Never! I'll protect this empire even if I have to take my hands with your blood,"I say and walk out of there.

The reception drags, speeches blurring. Luca catches me by the dessert table, face serious. “You okay, sis?” he asks, stealing a cannoli.

I nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just tired.” He frowns, not buying it. “If that guy screws you over, I’ll—” I cut him off, squeezing his arm. “I’ve got this, Luca. Promise.” He nods, eyes worried.

I want to laugh seeing him being protective but I decide to keep shut.

Finally, we leave, the crowd cheering as we slide into a black limo. Dante’s silent, staring out the window as the city blurs.

“So what now?” I ask, voice flat.

He glances at me, his face unreadable. “Now you see your new world.” My stomach twists as we pull up to his mansion—stone and steel, guards at every gate.

Inside, it’s marble and dark wood, cold despite the luxury. A guard takes my phone, patting down my purse. “What the hell?” I snap, yanking it back.

Dante’s voice is calm and final. “Security. Deal with it.”

I scowl at him but keep shut. I'll deal with him later.

He leads me to a suite—silk drapes, gold fixtures, a massive bed—but the windows are barred, the door guarded. “This is your home,” he says, tone flat.

I spin on him, furious. “This is a cage. No.”

He shrugs, loosening his cufflinks. “Call it protection. You’re a Salvatore now.”

I step closer, voice venomous. “I’m still a Ricci, never a Salvatore, and you don’t own me.” I say, spelling it out.

His eyes flash, but he doesn’t argue, just turns away. “Get some rest,” he says, closing the door. The lock clicks, and my blood runs cold. I’m trapped, a queen in a gilded prison, Dante’s the warden.

That night, I pace the room, my wedding dress in a heap, replaced by a silk robe.

I begin to feel thirsty, so I try the door—locked, no surprise.

“Dante!” I shout, pounding it. No answer. I’m turning to grab a chair, anything to smash it, when the lights die, plunging the room into total darkness. Glass shatters—balcony doors. Footsteps crunch inside, heavy and deliberate.

My heart slams against my ribs as I drop behind the bed. Dante’s there, yanking me down, his body over mine, gun drawn. “Stay down,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear.

Gunfire erupts, bullets tearing through, splintering wood, shattering glass. I cling to him, nails digging into his arm, praying we survive.