Page 10 of His Bride

“And do you, Adriana Moretti, take Dante Rossi to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the priest turns to me.

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. Panic claws at my throat. I can feel the eyes of everyone in the church boring into me, waiting.

Dante’s eyes narrow, just slightly. A warning.

The weight of my family’s future rests on my shoulders. With a deep breath, I seal my fate:

“I do.”

The words hang in the air, irrevocable.

Dante’s lips curve into a triumphant smile.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” the priest announces.

My heart leaps into my throat. This is it.

Dante cups my face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. He leans in, his breath warm against my lips.

“Mine,” he says so quietly I almost miss it.

Then his mouth is on mine, and the world explodes into sensation. His kiss is demanding, possessive, claiming me in front of God and everyone.

I respond despite myself, my hands fisting the lapels of his jacket. It’s like being caught in a storm, swept away by a force of nature. When we finally break apart, I’m breathless and dizzy.

The guests erupt into applause, but it sounds distant, muffled. All I can focus on is Dante’s face, the hunger and satisfaction warring in his eyes.

“Come, wife,” he says, offering his arm. “We have a reception to attend.”

I take it, feeling the solid strength of him beneath my fingers. As we walk back down the aisle, I catch glimpses of the faces around us. Some smile, some look worried. Others, I notice with a chill, watch us with calculating eyes.

This is my life now. A world of shadows and secrets, of power plays and hidden agendas. I’m no longer just Adriana Moretti, a webtoon artist. I’m Adriana Rossi, wife of one of the most dangerous men in the city.

The sunlight hits us as we exit the church, momentarily blinding me. When my vision clears, I see the luxurious car waiting for us, flanked by men in dark suits.

Dante helps me into the backseat, then slides in beside me. As the car pulls away from the curb, he takes my hand again, bringing it to his lips.

“You did well in there,” he says, his voice a low purr. “I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

I look at him, trying to reconcile the man who just kissed me so passionately with the ruthless crime lord I know him to be.

“What happens now?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.

Dante’s smile is both reassuring and predatory. “Now, my dear, we celebrate. And then… then I show you exactly what it means to be my wife.”

A shiver courses through me - fear or anticipation, I’m not sure anymore. As the car speeds towards our future, I’m once again forced to remember that my old life is over.

I swallow hard, my heart pounding as I process Dante’s words. The car’s interior feels suffocating, his presence overwhelming. I turn to gaze out the window, seeking a moment of respite from his intense stare.

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” I say, more to myself than to him.

Dante’s hand tightens on mine. “You don’t have a choice, cara mia. You’re mine now.”

His words makes me pale. The car slows, and I realize we’ve arrived at the reception venue. Dante steps out first, then offers me his hand. As I emerge, the sounds of applause and cheers wash over me.

I paste on a smile, trying to look every bit the blushing bride. But beneath the facade, my mind is racing. I scan the crowd, noting the mix of genuine well-wishers and those whose smiles don’t quite reach their eyes.

“Wave to them, tesoro,” Dante whispers in my ear, his hand possessive on my waist. “Let them see how happy we are.”

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