Seraphina's POV
"Seraphina," Father Enzo says, snapping me out of my head. "Do you take Luca Vitale to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
My throat's so dry I can barely swallow. I want to scream, to bolt out of here, to tell everyone I'm not some chess piece to be traded for a truce. But my father's stare burns into me from the front pew. Don Vittorio Calabrese doesn't do weakness, especially not from me, his only daughter. I force my lips to move, hating every syllable. "I do."
Luca's up next. He steps closer, and I catch a whiff of his cologne, cedar, maybe, crisp and way too fancy for this grim little show. "I, Luca Vitale, take you, Seraphina Calabrese, to be my lawfully wedded wife," he says, voice smooth as whiskey, lips curling into a smile that doesn't touch his eyes. He's acting, same as me. But why? What's his angle?
Father Enzo raises his hands like he's blessing a battlefield. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
My stomach does a flip, and not the good kind. Luca leans in, and I freeze like a deer in headlights. His hand grazes my waist, light, but with enough grip to say he's in control. His lips brush mine for, like, half a second, but it's enough to feel like I just signed my life away in blood. The chapel claps, all polite and fake, like the sound of empty wine glasses clinking at a funeral.
We turn to face the crowd. The pews are stuffed with faces, some I know, some I don't. My father stands ramrod straight, silver hair glinting under the chandelier, his smile tighter than a drum. My cousin Dante's next to him, shifting in his seat, grey eyes shooting daggers at Luca. Over on the Vitale side, Luca's sister Natalia's got her arms crossed, red hair glowing like a warning flare. Bodyguards line the walls, hands hovering near their guns, ready to turn this wedding into a war zone. Let's be real, this isn't a marriage. It's a ceasefire, and every single person in here knows it.
Luca grabs my hand, his grip warm but not exactly comforting. "You ready, Mrs. Vitale?" he murmurs, just for me.
I plaster on a smile, teeth gritted. "Don't call me that 'til we're outta this hellhole," I hiss back.
He chuckles, and it's annoyingly charming, like he's enjoying this. "Fair enough, princess. Let's survive the reception first, yeah?"
We walk down the aisle, my heels clicking on the stone floor like gunshots. The crowd parts, but their stares cut like razors. I catch a glimpse of a guy in the back row, tall, lean, silver streaks in his hair, dark suit. He's watching us, no, watching Luca, like a hawk. I don't know him, but something about him makes my skin crawl. Luca's hand tightens on mine for a split second, and I'm betting he clocked the guy too.
The reception's in the estate's ballroom, all gaudy gold chandeliers and marble floors that scream old money. Tables are loaded with roast lamb, pasta, tiramisu, the works, but nobody's eating. They're too busy eyeing each other like it's a poker game with guns. I'm stuck at the head table with Luca, my father on my left, and Luca's mom, Sofia Vitale, on his right. She's got Luca's green eyes and a vibe that says she'd rather be anywhere else. She hasn't said a word to me all day, and honestly, I'm fine with that.
"Seraphina," my father says, leaning in close, his voice low like we're plotting a hit. "You did good today. This alliance keeps us untouchable."
I nod, but my chest feels like it's caving in. Untouchable for who? Him? The family? Sure as hell not me. "I know, Papa," I say, 'cause it's what he expects.
He pats my hand, his rings cold as ice. "Good girl. Keep an eye on Luca. He's slicker than oil."
I glance at Luca, who's chatting up some Vitale cousin across the table. He laughs, but it's fake, like he's counting every word. Slick. Papa's not wrong about that.
A woman walks up to our table, curly brown hair tucked behind her ears, glasses perched on her nose. She's dressed plain, not like the rest of these peacocks drowning in Gucci. "Mr. Vitale," she says to Luca, holding out a small envelope. "This came for you."
Luca takes it, flashing that perfect smile. "Thanks, Isla." He slips the envelope into his jacket like it's no big deal. "Seraphina, meet Isla Romano, my assistant. She's the only reason my life doesn't implode."
Isla's eyes flick to mine, and there's something in them, sharp, like she's peeling me apart. "Congrats, Mrs. Vitale," she says, all polite, but there's no warmth there.
"Thanks," I shoot back, matching her vibe. I don't know why, but she gives me the creeps. Maybe it's how she stands, too still, like she's got secrets stuffed in her pockets.
She nods and melts into the crowd. Luca's watching her go, fingers tapping the table like he's got a beat in his head. I lean in. "What's in the envelope, huh?"
He raises an eyebrow, smirking like I'm a kid asking for candy. "Nosy already? Just business, Seraphina."
"Business at our wedding?" I keep my tone light, but I'm not playing.
He leans closer, breath warm against my ear. "In our world, business doesn't take a day off. You know how it is."
I pull back, jaw tight. He's right, but I hate how he just brushes me off like I'm some clueless arm candy. Before I can push, Dante stands up a few tables away, glass raised. The room goes quiet, like someone hit pause.
"To the happy couple," he says, voice booming but laced with something sour. "Here's to peace… or at least fewer body bags." A couple people laugh, but it's shaky. Dante's grey eyes lock on Luca, and it's like he's throwing down a gauntlet.
Luca raises his glass, smile sharp as a blade. "To peace," he says, but it sounds like he's daring Dante to try something.
My father stands, and the room shuts up fast. "To the Calabrese and Vitale families," he says, voice heavy like a gavel. "Together, we're unstoppable." It's not a toast. It's a warning.
Glasses clink, but the air's still thick with tension. I sip my wine, scanning the room. Natalia's whispering to a Vitale cousin, her face too serious for a party. Sofia Vitale's watching my father like she's memorizing his every twitch. And then I see him again, the silver-haired guy from the chapel. He's by the bar now, nursing a whiskey, not talking to anyone. Just watching. I nudge Luca. "Who's that guy?"
Luca follows my gaze, and for a hot second, something hard flashes in his eyes. "Just a guest," he says, too fast. "Don't sweat it."
But I'm sweating it. That guy's trouble, I can feel it in my bones.
Later, Luca and I get dragged onto the dance floor for our first dance. The band's playing some slow, sappy tune, and the crowd's watching us like we're a reality show. Luca's hand's on my waist, the other holding mine, and we're moving, but it's stiff, like we're both waiting for the other to trip.
"You're not bad at this," he says, voice low. "They teach you to dance like that in mafia princess boot camp?"
I snort, caught off guard. "Yeah, right after 'how to smile through a death threat.' You? They teach you to be this smooth in mafia prince academy?"
He grins, and for a second, it almost feels real. "Nah, I was born with the charm. Rest is just practice."
I tilt my head, sizing him up. "You're good, Luca. Real good at making people like you. But I'm not falling for it."
His grin fades, but his eyes don't leave mine. "I don't want you to fall, Seraphina. I want you to stand. With me."
My heart does a stupid little flip, and I hate it. I don't trust him, not with that mystery envelope, not with how he dodged my question about the silver-haired guy. But his hand's steady on my waist, and his eyes are digging PHP: digging into mine like he's trying to find something. I don't know what he's after.
The song ends, and we step apart. The crowd claps, but I'm barely listening. I'm still watching Luca, trying to crack his code. He offers me his arm, and I take it, 'cause I've got no choice. We head back to the head table, but I glance at the bar. The silver-haired guy's gone.
The night drags on, and I'm so done with fake smiles and small talk. I slip out of the ballroom, desperate for air. The estate's garden is quiet, roses glowing under the moonlight like they're mocking me. I plop onto a stone bench, my gown spilling around me like a puddle. For the first time all day, I let myself breathe.
Footsteps crunch on the gravel, and I tense. It's just Dante, looming over me, tattoos peeking out from his rolled-up sleeves. "You good, Sera?" he asks, softer than I'm used to.
I nod, but it's a lie. "Just needed a minute. You?"
He sits next to me, shoulders hunched like he's carrying the world. "I don't like this. Him. The Vitales. It's all wrong."
I look at him, his grey eyes stormy. Dante's always been my shield, but tonight, there's something raw in his voice. "We don't get to pick, Dante. Papa made the call."
He snorts. "Papa makes a lotta calls. Doesn't mean they're right."
I don't know what to say. He's not wrong, but I can't let myself go there. Not now. "Just… watch my back, okay? For me."
He nods, jaw tight. "Always."
We sit there, quiet, until Luca's voice cuts through, calling my name. I stand, brushing out my gown. "Duty's yelling," I mutter.
Dante grabs my wrist, gentle but firm. "Be careful, Sera. He's not who you think."
I pull away, my chest heavy. "I know."