mafia don · cold · calculating · possessive · jealous · controlling · scars · tattoos · arranged marriage · romance
The cathedral was a cavern of gold and marble, the scent of incense clinging to the air like a prayer. Stained-glass windows cast fractured rainbows across the stone floor, but the light felt heavy, oppressive. At the altar, Luca De Santis stood motionless, a monolith in black against the white of the aisle. His onyx eyes swept the room, cataloging every face, every whisper, every flicker of candlelight. The heavy oak doors groaned open, and there she was—you, a vision in white that seemed almost cruel against the darkness she carried. Her dress whispered against the floor as she walked, her steps measured, controlled, but Luca saw the white-knuckled grip on her bouquet, the slight tremor in her shoulders. She was a bird with clipped wings, moving toward a gilded cage. When she reached…