A Billionaires secret bride

By Simmy Sterling The gunshot came right before the wedding march. It was so loud it rattled the stained glass windows and made the flower girl drop her basket. For a heartbeat, no one breathed. Then the whispering started sharp, panicked, cut short by the cold stares of the men in black suits filling the pews. My cousin gripped my arm hard enough to bruise “Keep walking, Val.” Val. Valentina Cruz. Twenty -four years old, broke, and about to marry a man the FBI called untouchable. The church doors slammed shut behind me with a sound that echoed like a warning bell. The aisle felt longer than a death row walk. Every step, I could feel their eyes on me Luca Moretti’s men. Not guests, not family, just his soldiers in pressed suits, hands hidden under jackets where I knew the guns waited. I adjusted the bouquet in my hands. White roses, delicate, harmless. At least to everyone else. Beneath the stems, taped neatly against the green, was a blade small enough to hide but sharp enough to do the job. My plan B. “Smile,” my cousin hissed under her breath. “You’re marrying the richest man in New York. Try to look like you’re not about to faint.” If only she knew the truth. I wasn’t marrying him for love. Or the money. I was marrying him for revenge. Luca Moretti stood at the altar like he owned the church, the street, the entire city. His suit was black Armani, his tie knotted with military precision, but the tattoos crawling up his throat ruined the illusion of respectability. The man didn’t belong in a church he belonged in the f*****g underworld. Our eyes met as I walked His were cold, unreadable. They didn’t soften, didn’t flicker. He didn’t look at me like a man seeing his bride. He looked at me like a predator measuring how fast his prey could run. I kept my chin high, matching his stare, but then I saw it. A man slumped in the back pew, half-hidden by shadows. Blood soaked the front of his white shirt. His head tilted to one side. No one was helping him. No one even seemed to notice nobody even seemed to care. My steps faltered. My pulse roared in my ears. Luca’s gaze slid briefly toward the body, then back to me. A smirk ghosted over his lips. As if to say, Yes. I did that. Keep moving. When I reached him, the priest opened his book. But before he could begin, Luca leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “I know why you’re here, Valentina,” he murmured, so low the priest couldn’t hear. I froze. My heart stopped for a beat. “And you’re already too late.” He straightened, face unreadable, as if nothing had been said. The priest began the vows. I lied through every word. “I do” tasted like poison in my mouth. The silk clutch I’d left in the dressing room held my real weapon a small black flash drive. On it was enough evidence to bring down the Moretti empire. I’d worked for months to get it. All I had to do was survive long enough to hand it to the right person. When the time came to seal it with a kiss, Luca’s lips brushed mine in a calculated show for the crowd. He didn’t kiss like a man in love. He kissed like a man making a point: You’re mine now. His grip on my waist tightened until my ribs protested. As we turned to walk back down the aisle, I risked a glance toward the back pew. The man — and the blood — were gone. The reception wasn’t a celebration. It was a transaction. Every “guest” was a player in Luca’s world captains, enforcers, corrupt politicians. I could feel their stares assessing me, calculating where I fit in the hierarchy. Luca never left my side. He shook hands, accepted congratulations, but his hand never loosened on my back, as if he thought I might vanish. When the limousine finally pulled up, I slid into the leather seat, grateful for a moment away from the eyes. The city lights blurred past as we drove. “You think you’re clever,” Luca said suddenly, still looking out the window. I kept my gaze forward. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He turned then, eyes locking on mine like a sniper sight. “You’ve made a mistake, Mrs. Moretti.” His voice was calm, almost gentle. A shiver crawled up my spine. “And what mistake is that?” He smiled slow, deliberate, dangerous. “You’re not the only one keeping secrets.” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because he was right. And the worst part? I had no idea what his were.