Page 121 of Savage Union
She's breathtaking. The lace dress she chose hugs her figure before flowing into an elegant train, the veil cascading behind her like captured moonlight. Her mother walks beside her, replacing the father who should have performed this duty. The symbolism isn't lost on anyone present—I killed her father, now I claim her as wife.
But it's her expression that holds me transfixed. Beneath the veil, her features are composed into a mask of serene dignity that would fool anyone who hasn't studied her as I have. I see the anger in the set of her jaw, the slight tension around her eyes. She's furious with me, and perhaps with reason.
I haven't spoken to her since last night's confrontation in the kitchen. After discovering her connection to the Irish, after claiming her body in anger and possession, I've maintained distance. Necessary distance, while I arranged security, while I ensured the cathedral was protected, while I prepared for the inevitable Irish response to today's ceremony.
But she doesn't know that. She knows only my absence, my silence. My apparent dismissal.
As she draws nearer, I catch the exact moment she fully sees me waiting at the altar. Something flashes in her eyes—a complicated emotion too swift to name. Her chin lifts slightly in that gesture of defiance that has become familiar, even endearing in its predictability.
She's angry, yes. But she's here. Walking toward me of her own volition, no one physically forcing her steps.
Her mother places Caterina's hand in mine when they reach the altar, the traditional giving of the bride. The moment our skin touches, I feel a jolt of awareness race through me. Her fingers are cool against mine, but they don't tremble. Whatever Caterina feels about this ceremony, fear isn't part of it.
"Dearly beloved," Father Alessandro begins, his voice echoing in the vaulted space.
I should be focusing entirely on our surroundings, on the security positions, on potential threats. Instead, I find my attention repeatedly drawn to the woman beside me. She stands straight-backed and regal, every inch the donna she is about to become. The veil obscures her profile from my angle, but the tension in her posture tells me everything about her emotional state.
The ceremony proceeds with traditional rhythms, words that have united couples for centuries flowing over us. Movement near the western entrance catches my eye. One of the guards has shifted position, creating a blind spot in our security coverage. The lapse is subtle—nothing that would alarm an ordinary observer—but to my trained senses, it's a flashing red warning.
I catch Marco's eye, a slight inclination of my head directing his attention to the problem. He nods almost imperceptibly, hand moving to his jacket where I know his weapon waits. Across the cathedral, I see Dante notice the same issue from his position in the shadowed alcove, his posture shifting to compensate.
"The couple will now exchange vows," Father Alessandro announces, drawing my attention reluctantly back to the ceremony.
Caterina turns to face me fully, the veil no longer hiding her expression. The anger remains, but it's tempered now with something else—a determination, a resolve that I recognize all too well. Whatever happens after this ceremony, she won't bea passive participant in our marriage. The realization brings unexpected satisfaction.
"I, Vittore Rosso," I begin, repeating the priest's words, "take you, Caterina Gallo, to be my lawfully wedded wife."
The traditional vows continue, flowing from my lips with mechanical precision while part of my mind remains on the security lapse by the western entrance. I promise to love, honor, and cherish—standard phrases that take on strange weight in our circumstances.
"In sickness and in health," I continue, "for better or worse, for richer or poorer..."
Caterina's eyes never leave mine as I speak, their blue depths challenging me to mean the words I'm saying. The intensity of her gaze is disarming, demanding a sincerity I hadn't planned to invest in this political ceremony.
"Till death do us part." The final phrase lands with particular significance in our world, where death comes suddenly and often violently.
Father Alessandro nods to Caterina, who begins her own vows with a steadiness that impresses even me.
"I, Caterina Gallo, take you, Vittore Rosso, to be my lawfully wedded husband."
Her voice is clear, carrying through the cathedral without wavering. These are the first words she's spoken directly to me today, delivered with a formality that belies the passion and anger we shared last night.
As she continues through the traditional vows, I note a subtle change in the positioning of the guards by the western entrance. The gap in coverage has widened. Something is wrong. Marco has noticed too; his hand now rests openly on his weapon, no longer bothering with concealment.
"For better or worse," Caterina continues, seemingly oblivious to the rising tension in our security team, "for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health..."
I should interrupt the ceremony. Should signal to Father Alessandro to pause while we address the security breach. But something keeps me rooted in place—perhaps the knowledge that stopping now would only create more vulnerability, perhaps the unwillingness to shatter this moment that binds Caterina to me officially and permanently.
"Till death do us part." She finishes with quiet intensity, the words hanging between us like both promise and challenge.
"The rings, please," Father Alessandro intones.
Marco steps forward, producing the beautiful diamond band I selected for Caterina. I take it from him, then reach for Caterina's left hand. Her fingers are steadier now, warmer against mine as I slide the ring into place.
"With this ring, I thee wed," I recite, the diamonds gleaming as they settle against her finger.
She accepts my wedding band from her mother, then takes my left hand. Her touch is deliberate, almost possessive as she slides the ring onto my finger.
"With this ring, I thee wed," she repeats, her eyes never leaving mine.
