Chapter 6 - The Blood-Red AisleSt. Michael’s Cathedral was breathtaking and terrifying.
Massive archways of black obsidian roses and white lilies lined the aisle. Rows of heavy carved oak pews were packed with three hundred of the most dangerous, wealthy, and influential people in the country—senators, syndicate bosses from New York and Vegas, federal judges, and high-society elites.
My father walked beside me down the long velvet carpet, his hands shaking so violently he could barely keep his footing. He was terrifyingly aware that every powerful eye in the room was locked onto us.
I wore a custom ivory lace gown with a dramatic ten-foot train, designed by the top fashion house in Milan—a gift sent directly from Nikolai’s personal estate. A veil of sheer silk covered my face, sparkling with subtle diamond dust.
Sitting in the front row on the left were my mother, Serena, and Julian.
Serena looked miserable. Her face was caked in makeup trying to cover her red, swollen eyes. She wore a simple pastel dress that looked cheap compared to the royal ivory fabric trailing behind me. Beside her, Julian sat with his head bowed, looking like a prisoner awaiting a sentence.
And standing at the altar... stood Nikolai.
He wore a tailored black tuxedo with a crisp white shirt and no tie, radiating a dark, undisputed majesty that commanded the entire cathedral.
When my father reached the altar, he hurriedly placed my hand into Nikolai’s grip, stepping back as if he were afraid of catching fire.
Nikolai reached out, gently lifting the sheer veil from my face.
His storm-gray eyes locked onto mine, a faint, breathless intensity filling his sharp features.
"You are breathtaking, Evelyn," Nikolai murmured, his voice so low only I could hear it.
"You don't look so bad yourself, Don Moretti," I whispered back with a subtle smirk.
The cardinal began the Latin ceremony, his traditional words echoing beneath the soaring stone arches.
When it came time for the vows, Nikolai took my right hand, sliding a flawless, rare blue diamond ring onto my finger—a ring that cost more than my father's entire corporate building.
"I, Nikolai Moretti," he spoke, his powerful voice reverberating through the silent cathedral, "take you, Evelyn Hart, to be my wife, my partner, and my sovereign. I place my life, my empire, and my loyalty in your hands, from this day until my final breath."
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming power of his words. This wasn't a fake business transaction anymore. The heat in his eyes was real. The promise in his voice was absolute.
"I, Evelyn Hart," I spoke clearly, looking directly into his soul, "take you, Nikolai Moretti, to be my husband, my shield, and my home. Where you stand, I will stand. Your enemies will be my enemies, and your empire will be my legacy."
"By the authority vested in me," the cardinal declared, "I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
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Nikolai didn't hesitate. He wrapped his broad arms around my waist, lifting me slightly as he pulled me into a deep, possessive, and lingering kiss that shattered every doubt remaining in the world.
The cathedral erupted into thunderous, roaring applause.
