The Wedding
1535 Words
Chapter 2
The wedding
The civil office on via Dante smelled like old paper and nervous sweat.
Lisa has never been inside a courthouse before. She'd imagine it colder, more imposing. Instead it was small, functional, and aggressively beige. The kind of place where lives change without anyone noticing.
She wore black. Not a wedding dress. A tailored blazer, dark slacks, low heels. No lace, no veil, no illusion. Luca hadn't asked her to pretend. He’d said, “Wear what you wear to a negotiation.
So she did.
He was already there when she arrived standing by the registrar's desk with two witnesses she didn't know. One was his lawyer. The other was a man with scar across his knuckles and the posture of a soldier.
Luca wore a black suit, no tie, shirt open at the collar. He looked out of place and dangerous in a room built for paperwork.
When he saw her, he didn't smile. Because he didn't have to do so. His eyes did a quick sweep assessment, approval, nothing more.
“You're on time,” he said.
“So are you.” She stopped in front of him. “Is this legal?”
“Fully,” his lawyer answers immediately before Luca will say a word.
Signed contract, with esses, registrar. It will be held in any court in Italy. And outside it.
Lisa nodded. That was the point. If it doesn't hold, her shop will be burned down to ashes.
The ceremony took seven minutes.
“Do you, Luca Moretti, take Lisa Romano as your wife?”
“I do.”
“Do you, Lisa Romano, take Luca Moretti as your husband?”
“I do.”
No ring exchange, no kiss. The registrar stamped the paper, slid it across the desk, and said, “Congratulations to you both.
You are now husband and wife.”
Just like that. Thirty seconds of signature and she is now Moretti.
Luca’s hand brushed hers as they left the office. Not holding. Not claiming. Just contact me. A reminder that she wasn't walking out alone.
The car's waiting,” he said. “We have a photo proof in twenty minutes.”
“A photo proof?”
“ My father wants proof.”
Of course he does.
The car was black, armored, and silent. No conversation on the drive. Luca reviewed emails on his phone. Lisa watched Milan pass by, trying to memorize the normal parts of the city before they disappeared.
They stopped at a small studio off Corso Como. Photographer, lightning, a backdrop that looked expensive and fake.
“Stand here,” the photographer said, pointing. “Closer. Smile.”
Lisa smiled. It hurt.
Luca stood a half step behind her, hand resting lightly on the small of her back. Not possessive. Not intimate. Just positioning. The photo would say united. The space between them says not yet.
“One more,” the photographer said. “Mr Moretti, look at your wife.”
Luca did.
Lisa caught the shift in his gaze. It wasn't for the camera. For half a second, he wasn't calculating. He was just looking.
The flash went off.
“Perfect,” the photographer said. “That’s going to be on every site by noon.”
Luca's hand left her back. “Send the files to Romano, Unedited.
They left before the photographer could respond.
Palazzo Moretti - 1:30PM.
The palazzo was quieter than it had been yesterday. Servants moved through the halls like shadows, efficient and unseen.
Luca led her to a suit on the west wing. Two rooms, a sitting area, a door connecting to his bedroom.
“Your space,” he said, opening the door. “If you want changes, tell Marco. He runs the household.”
“Marco?”
“Head steward. He won't ask questions. He won't gossip. He’s been with my family for twenty years.”
Lisa stepped inside the room, it was large, minimalist, and cold. No personal touches
No sign anymore you will live here.
“It's temporary,” Luca said, as if he is reading her mind. “For thirty days.”
She set her bag down. “What happened now?”
“Now, you learn the rules.”
He didn't sit. He stood by the window, looking out over the courtyard.
“Rule one: never contradict me in public. If you disagree, we will discuss it privately.”
Rule two: if someone asks about marriage, you say it's private. No details.
Rule three: if you are in danger, you call me. Not the police. Not your father. But me only.
“And if I break the rules?”
“Then the contract ends early,” he said. “And your shop loses protection.”
Fair. Cold, but fair.
“What do I get in return for all this?” She asked.
“Access,” he said. To my name, my security, my resources. You can keep running Romano Auto. No interference. No demands. Just don't embarrass me.
She just laughed. “That's it?”
“That is enough.”
He turned to leave, then paused.
“Dinner tonight. Seven o'clock. Family dinner. My father will be there so don't be late.”
“Family dinner,” she repeated. “With the man who threatened to burn down my shop?”
“He didn't threaten it,” Luca said. “He authorized it. There is a difference.”
The door closed behind him
Lisa spent the next four hours walking the palazzo like it was a foreign country. She learned the kitchens, the security desk, the routes to the exits. Old habits from running a shop with late night drop offs and customers who didn't always pay.
Marco found her in the library at 6:45.
“Signora,” he said, bowing slightly. Dinner is in fifteen minutes. Your gown is in the room.”
“I'm not wearing a gown.”
“It's expected,” Marco said quietly. “For the first dinner.”
She looked at him. He wasn't warning her. He was telling her how to survive.
“Fine,” she said.
The gown was black silk, simple, no jewelry. It fit perfectly. Someone has measured her without asking.
Luca was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when she came down. He stopped talking to a guard mid sentence and looked at her.
For the second time today, he didn't speak. But his expression changed.
“Don't speak unless spoken to,” he said finally. “And don't eat the fish. It's bad.”
“Noted.”
The dining room was long, oak, and full of people she didn't know. Twelve place set. Only five were occupied.
Vittorio Moretti sat at the head of the table. Seventy years old sharp eyes and a smile that never reaches them.
He stood when she entered.
“So”, he said, studying her. “This is a Romano girl.”
Lisa met his gaze. “Signor Moretti.”
“Luca tells me you ‘re efficient. So we will see then.” He gestured to the seat on Luca's right. “Sit. Eat. Then we will talk about your shop debt.
Luca's jaw tightened. “The debts are frozen. That was the agreement.”
“Agreement change,” Vittorio said. “When circumstances change.”
Lisa sat. Luca sat beside her, closed enough that their shoulders nearly touched.
The meal started. Small talk about business, politics, the weather. Of it coded. Nothing said directly.
Half way through, Vittorio set his fork down.
“Lisa,” he said. “Your brother. Marco, right? How is his recovery?”
Her spine went rigid. No one outside the family knew Marco’s name. No one should.
“Fine,” she said carefully.
“Good,” Vittorio said. “It would be a shame if complications arose. Now that you are a family, we want to make sure he is well cared for.”
The threat was quiet. Precise. Wrapped in concern.
Luca's hands finds her under the table. A warning. A promise.
Before she could answer, the dining room doors burst open.
A guard stumbled in blood on his shirt and he was breathing hard.
“Signor,” he said to Luca. “ We have a problem with Romano Auto. It's on fire now.”
The table went silent.
Lisa stood. Her chair scraped against the floor.
“You said it was frozen,” she said to Luca.
“Yes it was,” he said, already moving. “Unless someone overruled me.”
Vittorio didn't flinch. He just watched her.
“Go,” Luca said to her.” Now. I will meet you there.
Lisa didn't wait. She ran.
Behind her, she heard Vittorio’s voice calm and final.
“Tell her husband to hurry up. If the shop burns before he arrives, the contract is void.”
The car was already pulling out of the gates as Isabella reached the county yard.
Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
She answered.
“Signora Romano,” a distorted voice said. “We kept the deadline. Almost.”
The line went off.
Out the window, smoke Rose over Milan.
And Luca's car was thirty minutes away.
- Writer
