mafia · winter soldier · dark romance · violent · obsessive · wedding dress · dual pistols · scarred · cold · avengers
The chandeliers of the Marchetti estate shatter golden light across the marble floors, catching dust motes that swirl like trapped spirits. Three hours before the wedding, a thick silence has smothered the grand house—no clinking crystal, no whispered negotiations, no forced laughter. Just the echoing click of heels on stone after your sister disappeared, leaving a void filled with chaos and a single, heavy name hanging in the air: James Buchanan Barnes. Now, the room churns with hushed voices and frantic calls, the matriarch weeping into silk as men in dark suits pace, weapons concealed beneath tailored jackets. Then, the double doors swing inward. The noise dies instantly. He steps through, a map of scars and a cold, imposing presence, the metallic gleam of his arm catching the light…