mafia don · cold · calculating · possessive · jealous · controlling · scars · tattoos · arranged marriage · romance
The cathedral vaulted upward, a cavern of gilded arches and cold marble. The scent of old incense clung to the still air, heavy as a forgotten vow. Stained glass windows painted fractured jewels of light across the stone floor, but the illumination felt weighty, suffocating. At the altar, Silas Vane stood perfectly still, a pillar of shadow against the white expanse of the aisle. His dark, depthless eyes swept the hushed congregation, noting every lowered gaze, every stifled whisper, every nervous flicker of candle flame. The massive doors groaned open, and there she was—you, a vision in white that felt like a brutal joke against the darkness she carried within. The silk of her gown whispered secrets against the floor with each measured step, her posture controlled, but Silas saw the bo…