Elena sat motionless in front of the mirror, her reflection staring back at her like a stranger.
The red wedding gown draped over her body was breathtaking, layers of silk and lace hugging her frame perfectly, the deep crimson fabric glowing softly under the chandelier's light. Any other woman would have felt beautiful, powerful, chosen. But Elena felt like she was being buried alive.
Her hands trembled as they clutched onto the heavy fabric resting on her lap. Her heartbeat raced wildly, pounding against her ribs, loud enough that she could hear it echo in the quiet room.
Tears filled her eyes, blurring her reflection. She tried to blink them away, but it's not working, one tear slipped free, then another, and they were rolling down her cheeks uncontrollably. A soft, broken sob escaped her lips before she could stop it.
She brought a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but the grief was too heavy, too overwhelming.
"I love Leonardo…" she whispered hoarsely, her voice cracking. "I don't want to marry him."
Leonardo and Elena had been together since high school—through stolen kisses behind classrooms, through late-night phone calls whispered under blankets, through promises made with hopeful smiles and naïve certainty. He was her first love, her safe place, the man who knew her laughter and her fears, the man she had imagined a future with.
But love meant nothing in her father's world. Leonardo wasn't Russian. He didn't belong to their city, their bloodline, their rules. And that alone was enough for her father to erase him from her life as if he had never existed.
Now she is here dressed as a bride, about to be handed over to a man she barely knew. A man whose name she had heard whispered with respect and fear but never spoken with love.
Her fingers curled into the gown again, gripping it desperately as another tear fell onto her lap. Her lips trembled as she bit down on them, trying to suppress the sobs, but the pain was unbearable. How was she supposed to stand beside a stranger and vow her life to him when her heart already belonged to someone else?
Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside the room.
Elena froze for a moment.
The door opened slowly, and her mother stepped inside.
Viva looked radiant in her elegant dress, her hair perfectly styled, a warm smile lighting up her face. She walked toward Elena quietly and wrapped her arms around her daughter from behind, resting her chin on Elena's shoulder as she admired their reflection in the mirror.
"I'm so happy my baby is getting married," Viva said softly, joy evident in her voice.
The words shattered something inside Elena.
Her sobs grew louder as she leaned forward, breaking free from her mother's embrace. She turned to face her, her eyes red and swollen, tears dropping on her flushed cheeks. Despite the flawless makeup, her freckles still dotted her skin, standing out against the paleness of her face.
"I don't want to marry him, Mom," Elena confessed, her voice trembling. "I don't want this."
Viva's smile faltered, but only for a moment.
"Mom," Elena continued desperately, stepping closer and clutching her mother's hands. "You always told me to be with the man I love. You said love matters more than anything. So why… why are you doing this to me?"
Viva sighed, her expression softening as she pulled Elena into her arms again. She kissed her daughter's forehead gently, the way she used to when Elena was a child, and wiped the tears from her cheeks with careful fingers.
"My dear," she murmured, forcing a reassuring smile. "I'm your mother. I would never lead you astray. Trust me when I say this—Dante Moretti is your destiny."
Elena shook her head immediately, her curls brushing against her mother's shoulder.
"No," she whispered, then louder, "he's not my destiny, that man...No!He can't be."
"I know you don't know him yet," Viva continued calmly, as if Elena hadn't spoken. "But he is the one meant for you. Everything happens for a reason, besides you cannot marry a man that's not a russian, you should feel lucky to be marrying the youngest Mafia in the city."
"He's not my destiny, Mom!" Elena cried, pulling away. "How do you expect me to be in a marriage when I..."
"Enough!"
The sharp yell thundered through the room, cutting her off completely and the door slammed open.
Rossi stood in the doorway.
He was dressed in a tailored black suit, his broad shoulders filling the frame. A black hat sat low on his head, casting a shadow over his cold, unforgiving eyes. His presence alone sucked the air from the room, and it's suffocating and terrifying.
Elena froze.
Viva stood beside her.
"Father," she whispered.
Rossi's gaze flicked between his wife and daughter before settling on Elena,disgust flashed in his eyes.
"I don't want to get married," Elena said quickly, panic surging through her. She rushed toward him, her hands trembling as she reached out. "Please, Father. I don't want to marry anyone. I'll do anything, anything you want. Please call off the wedding."
Rossi's jaw clenched.
"Wipe your goddamn tears," he barked suddenly. "Wipe them right now!"
Elena flinched violently, startled by the force of his voice. Her breath caught in her throat as fresh tears fell from her eyes making his expression darken further.
Rossi turned sharply to his wife.
"Viva," he snapped. "You can't even do one thing right."
Viva's lips trembled as tears welled up in her eyes. She looked down, her shoulders shaking.
"Please," she whispered. "Give me a minute."
But Rossi had no patience.
"Father, please," Elena sobbed again, stepping closer.
Before she could react, Rossi grabbed her shoulder roughly, his grip painfully tight.
"You're getting married," he said coldly. "Right now."
He began dragging her toward the door.
"Rossi!" Viva cried out, rushing after them. "Be careful, you'll hurt her!"
Elena cried out as she stumbled, the heavy gown tangling around her legs.
"Father, please!" she screamed, desperation pouring out of her. "I don't want to marry him! Please!"
But Rossi didn't slow down.
---
The music in the grand hall rose in a slow, ceremonial swell—deep violins and low cellos vibrating through marble floors polished to perfection. Crystal chandeliers glowed overhead, their light scattering across gold-trimmed walls and expensive faces. Men in tailored suits and women draped in jewels filled the space, murmuring softly, sipping champagne, smiling as if this were a celebration instead of a transaction.
And at the altar Dante was standing there, his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders straight, posture relaxed yet impossibly commanding. He's wearing a black suit tailored, no unnecessary accessories,no visible jewelry, just clean lines, dark fabric, and quiet dominance.
His face looks so unexpectedly calm, I mean, who'll think he'd be calm and dangerous at the same time. Young ladies in the hall was staring admiringly at him, he looks handsome, but at the same time cold which girls love, Cold guys with the hot look, is who they admire.
Then the door flew open, Rossi entered, his grip tightened on Elena's shoulder as he dragged her straight to the altar before releasing her roughly that she almost fell. But Dante caught her before she could fall.
Elena looked up breathing heavily, his eyes traced from her wet eyes, her clumped lashes to her trembling lips.
He pulled her up carefully, though he was glaring at her, he wasn't smiling at all, and that alone gives Elena goosebumps.
Dante glared at Rossi and he glared back.
Nothing pisses Dante than the fact that he hurt his soon to be bride but he looked away, he'll get back to him.
Dante's hands slipped from her shoulder and Elena wiped her tears. It's over, nothing will happen at this point, it's time she accepts her fate and get married.
"Shall we begin." The officiant asked before bowing at them.
"Yes," Rossi replied and moved back, to stand beside Viva.
Elena swallowed, she's praying inwardly for a miracle. Infact she felt like the ground should swallow her in a whole. She doesn't want to marry Dante at all.
The officiant began speaking—words about unity, honor, tradition—but they washed over Dante like meaningless noise. His attention was fixed entirely on the woman beside him, though his expression was unreadable.
"Elena Rossi," the man said. "Do you take Dante Moretti to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
"It's not my wish but Yes I do." Elena said with a sniff and murmurs filled the air but just a glare from Rossi, the hall became silent.
Dante was shocked but didn't show it, her audacity to say that.
The officiant faced him.
"Do you take Elena Rossi as your lawfully wedded wife?" He wouldn't dare mention Dante's name.
"Yes..." Dante looked at Elena and smirked. "I do!"
"I pronounce you as husband and wife, you may kiss your bride."
The beating of drum started, it's their tradition after a wedding is being sealed.
Elena stood there, her body trembling. She watched him move closer and closer to him, pulled her waist which led out a sharp gasp from her.
Before she could blink twice, he kissed her right cheek, and his breath brushed her ear.
"Wifey, through you, your father will pay for the sins he committed." He whispered in her ear.