Chapter 2 - Vows in the Shadow of the MountainThe private chapel of the Moretti estate looked like a cathedral carved directly out of the mountain's living rock. Towering stained-glass windows depicted dark, historic Italian crests, casting fractured pools of ruby and sapphire light across the ancient stone floor. Candles flickered in massive iron sconces, throwing long, dancing shadows against the vaulted ceilings.
At the altar stood Father Thomas, an elderly priest whose hands shook slightly as he adjusted his spectacles, casting nervous glances up at the towering figure standing beside him.
Luca Moretti looked like a titan carved out of granite. In his tailored dark-gray wedding suit, his immense size was even more striking. He stood with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, his posture rigid, his dark gaze fixed not on the priest, nor on the flickering candles, but on the heavy oak doors at the back of the chapel.
He was waiting for her to run. Every instinct in his syndicate-honed brain told him that the spark of defiance Sophia had shown in the foyer was just an adrenaline response—that the moment the heavy doors closed and the reality of wedding a man of his terrifying proportions set in, she would break down, hyperventilate, and demand to be let out.
Then the heavy oak doors creaked open.
Sophia walked down the stone aisle alone. She hadn't changed into a white silk gown—there hadn't been time, and honestly, her simple, elegant emerald-green midi dress felt right for a mountain wedding born out of a mafia debt. Her dark curls were half-pinned back, though a few stray strands framed her face, catching the amber candlelight.
As she walked, her suitcase wheel clicked softly against the stone floor—she had refused to let Marco take her luggage upstairs before the ceremony, insisting she unpacked after she became a wife.
A faint, involuntary twitch broke across the corner of Luca’s mouth. A sound that was half-chuckle, half-sigh rumbled in his chest.
Sophia reached the altar, stopping just two feet away from him. Even in her three-inch heels, the top of her head barely reached his chest. The physical disparity between them was staggering—she looked like a delicate porcelain figurine standing beside a monolith of raw power.
"You didn't run," Luca murmured, his voice so low that only she could hear it over the crackling of the altar candles.
"I told you," Sophia replied, her chin lifting defiantly as she met his dark, intense gaze. "I make wedding cakes for a living. I know how important a ceremony is. I'm not about to ruin a good party over a little bit of altitude."
Father Thomas cleared his throat, opening his worn leather-bound bible. "We are gathered here tonight in the sight of God and this quiet mountain to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."
The words of the ceremony washed over the stone room, ancient and heavy. But Sophia didn't hear the Latin-infused prayers. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, replaying Elena’s terrifying warning in the foyer. The men who killed your father didn't vanish. They're coming here tonight.
She glanced sideways out the high stained-glass window. Beyond the thick glass, the dark, sweeping forests of Lake Como rustled violently in the midnight wind. The estate looked peaceful, bathed in moonlight, but Sophia knew better. Somewhere out there in the dark, shadows were moving.
Yet, standing beside Luca, feeling the radiating heat of his massive body, a strange, inexplicable calm settled over her. He didn't know she was a target. He thought she was just an orphan whose father's blood debt had landed her in his lap. If the killers came for her tonight, they would assume she was a helpless civilian. They had no idea what kind of monster they were walking in on.
"Do you, Luca Moretti, take this woman, Sophia Bennett, to be your lawfully wedded wife?" Father Thomas asked, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
Luca turned fully toward her. His massive hand reached out, his warm, calloused fingers gently taking her small hand in his. His grip was firm, protective, yet so careful—as if he were afraid that pressing too hard would shatter her bones.
"I do," Luca said, his voice deep, resonant, and absolute. The words carried the weight of a vow written in stone and blood.
Father Thomas turned his gaze to her. "Do you, Sophia Bennett, take this man, Luca Moretti, to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
Sophia looked up into Luca’s dark, guarded eyes. She saw the years of rejection, the loneliness of a man too large for the world around him, and the fierce, burning loyalty he was ready to offer a woman who hadn't run away.
"I do," Sophia said, her voice ringing clear and steady through the chapel.
Luca slid a heavy, platinum band encrusted with dark diamonds onto her finger. It was cold at first, then warmed quickly against her skin. When it was her turn, she took his ring—a massive, heavy band that looked like it belonged to a king from a medieval saga—and slid it onto his large, powerful finger. It fit snugly over his knuckle.
"I pronounce you husband and wife," Father Thomas said, making the sign of the cross in the air. "Luca, you may kiss your bride."
Luca hesitated for a fraction of a second. He towered over her so completely that bending down required a deliberate, vulnerable shift in his posture. Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild animal that might bolt, he cupped her cheek with his massive palm. His skin was warm, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheekbone.
When his lips met hers, it wasn't a tentative, polite peck. It was deep, possessive, and utterly starving—a kiss that tasted of dark espresso, old whiskey, and a lifetime of being unwanted, suddenly finding a home. Sophia let out a soft gasp, her hands sliding up his chest to grip the lapels of his jacket, pulling him down, anchoring herself to his solid, immovable frame.
Clapping echoed from the back of the chapel.
Elena stood by the heavy oak doors, her expression unreadable, clapping alone in the vast stone room. Beside her, Marco stood with his hands folded neatly over his black suit, watching the altar with the sharp, watchful eyes of a hawk.
Luca pulled back slowly, his dark eyes burning down into hers, his chest heaving slightly under his tailored suit.
"You're mine now, Sophia," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly promise. "And nobody on this earth takes what is mine."
May you like
Before Sophia could answer, a sharp, metallic screech echoed from the main gates down the mountain road, followed instantly by the dull, rhythmic thud of heavy boots hitting the gravel courtyard outside.
The wedding night had officially begun. And the wolves had arrived at the door.
