Chapter 6 - The Gown and the Gun
With forty days left until Valyria Varlli’s seventieth birthday, the wedding preparations moved at the speed of a military campaign. There was no grand cathedral, no society photographers, and no guest list filled with fake friends.
The ceremony took place at dawn in the private chapel of the Varlli estate in upstate New York. High stone walls, iron gates, and forty armed guards secured the perimeter.
Lena stood before the antique mirror in the master dressing room, smoothing the skirt of a minimalist ivory silk gown that hugged her curves like liquid light. There was no veil, only a string of vintage pearls that had belonged to Dante’s grandmother—the very woman whose empty chair had started this entire war.
The door clicked open, and Dante stepped inside. He wore a simple black tuxedo, his tie slightly loosened, looking more like an exhausted king than a criminal overlord. He stopped dead in his tracks, his dark eyes sweeping over her from head to toe.
"You look..." Dante started, his voice catching in his throat.
"Dangerous?" Lena supplied with a small, knowing smile.
"Permanent," Dante corrected, crossing the room in three long strides. He didn't kiss her lips; instead, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his arms wrapping around her waist with a fierce, possessive grip that left no room for doubt. "If you try to divorce me tomorrow, Lena, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth."
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"Good thing I charge a lifetime retainer," she whispered, resting her hands against his chest, feeling the steady, heavy beat of his heart.
Ten minutes later, they stood before a quiet civil magistrate in front of Mateo, two loyal guards, and no one else. When the rings were slipped onto their fingers, Lena felt the strange, intoxicating thrill of a trap snapping shut—not to cage her, but to keep her safe inside the only fortress that mattered.
