Chapter 2 The wedding

Sienna's POV

I had imagined my wedding day a hundred different ways. But never like this.

Never in a gilded cage, never with chains disguised as lace.

The mirror in front of me reflected a stranger dressed in delicate white silk, her face carved from stone. The dress fit perfectly, tailored to perfection, but it felt like a noose tightening around my ribs.

I lifted my hands, staring at the diamond-studded engagement ring on my finger. It was beautiful, flawless, and expensive everything a girl should want. But on me, it felt like a shackle.

I tried to breathe, but the walls of the bridal suite seemed to be closing in. The chandelier overhead, the velvet curtains, and the ornate gold-framed mirrors they were suffocating. This was not a wedding, this was a funeral. My funeral.

A knock at the door made my stomach twist.

I didn't turn as it opened, but I felt his presence before he spoke.

It's time.

My father's voice was smooth and calculated. I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat.

You're making a mistake, I said, my voice cold.

He chuckled softly, stepping inside. I could see his reflection in the mirror, his sharp suit perfectly pressed, and his face unreadable. You'll thank me for it one day.

I turned to face him, my chin lifted. I'll never thank you for this.

He stepped closer, his dark eyes gleaming. Luca is a powerful man. You will be his wife, his queen. He paused, don't embarrass me.

My nails dug into my palms. I'd rather burn in hell. A slow, cruel smile spread across his lips.

Then you'll fit right in with your husband.

I held my ground as he walked past me, pausing at the door. Now smile, figlia mia he murmured you're about to become a Valentino.

The door shut behind him with a quiet click. And I was alone.

Luca's POV

The church was a cathedral of gold and blood. Candlelight flickered against the high ceilings, illuminating the faces of men who had built their empires on power and violence. The pews were filled with enemies dressed as allies, each of them watching, waiting, and waiting to see if Sienna Alejandro would break.

I stood at the altar, my hands folded in front of me, exuding the calm of a man who had already won, because I had.

The Alejandro princess was about to belong to me.

Dante stood at my side, his stance relaxed but his eyes sharp as they swept the room. She's late, he murmured. She's stalling, I replied.

Dante let out a quiet chuckle. Think she'll run? I smirked, she wouldn't get far.

The murmur of voices hushed as the heavy church doors groaned open.

My gaze lifted, and there she was, Sienna Alejandro.

She stepped forward, her father at her side, a vision of ice and fire. Her white silk dress clung to her curves, delicate yet lethal, like a blade hidden beneath lace. Dark waves of hair cascaded down her back, her face unreadable beneath the sheer veil.

But it was her eyes that caught me. Emerald green, burning with fury.

She didn't look at me.

She held herself with quiet defiance, her fingers clutching the bouquet like she wanted to crush it. There was no trembling, no tears, and no sign of submission, only anger.

My lips curled, well.

She reached the altar, and her father placed her hand in mine. Her skin was ice-cold, but her grip was strong.

She finally met my gaze, and for a moment, the world around us faded.

If you expect me to kneel, Il Diavolo, she whispered, voice laced with venom, you'll be waiting forever.

I tightened my grip on her fingers, leaning in slightly.

Careful, dolcezza I murmured back, my voice a dark promise hell has room for two.

She didn't flinch.

The priest cleared his throat, beginning the ceremony.

But I didn't take my eyes off her.

By the end of today, Sienna Alejandro would be my wife.

And there was no way out.