Page 46 of Ruined Through Obsession

They leave the antechamber a few moments later, returning to the courtyard to take their seats, leaving me to face the impending ceremony with a soul thoroughly cleansed of its former burdens. I set my empty glass down, adjusting the lapels of my tuxedo one final time, and walk out of the room to claim my bride.

The private chapel is a masterpiece of Gothic architecture, featuring towering stained-glass windows that scatter prisms of golden light across the ancient stone floorboards. I take my position at the front of the altar, flanked by the two men who share my history. Niccolò stands to my right, while Alessio stands to my left.

The pews are sparsely populated, intentionally restricted to our most trusted operators and the core family. Giancarlo stands near the arched entryway, his weapon concealed beneath his suit, keeping a vigilant watch over the perimeter. There are no sycophantic Capos attempting to barter for shipping routes, no corrupt politicians seeking favors, and no treacherous rivals pretending to offer their blessings. The atmosphere is joyous, insulated, and beautifully ours.

The classical strings of a cello swell through the basilica, signaling the beginning of the procession.

The massive wooden doors swing inward, and the oxygen instantly vanishes from my lungs.

She wears a custom-crafted, form-fitting gown of ivory silk that hugs the curves of her hips and spills into a sweeping train, the material devoid of excessive lace or frivolous embellishments. It is a dress designed for a queen, featuring a plunging neckline and a daring slit up her thigh that hints at the lethal weapons she usually keeps strapped to her garter. Her dark hair falls in loose, cascading waves over her bare shoulders, and a delicate crown of diamonds rests flawlessly against her skin.

She is the most magnificent, awe-inspiring thing to ever walk the earth.

I do not attempt to mask the adoration flooding my features. I watch her glide toward me, her dark eyes locked exclusively onto mine, a brilliant smile gracing her painted lips. Every step she takes obliterates another shadow from my mind, replacing the darkness with scorching light.

When she finally reaches the altar, I do not wait for a formal handover. I step forward, my large hands reaching out to capture hers, pulling her flush against my chest. Her warmth radiates through the layers of my tuxedo, an intoxicating drug I am hopelessly addicted to.

We dismissed the traditional priest weeks ago, refusing to allow a stranger to dictate the parameters of our union with religious platitudes or archaic, submissive vows. We are writing our own rules, forging a pact in front of the only people who truly matter.

"You are breathtaking," I murmur.

"So are you," Elena whispers back, her thumbs sweeping over the calloused knuckles of my hands.

I hold her gaze, letting the honesty of my soul bleed into my words. "I spent my youth believing the world was a slaughterhouse, a miserable arena where survival required a frozen heart. I built an empire of offshore accounts and legal barricades, hiding behind a corporate shield because I thought love was a weapon my enemies would use to destroy me. Then you looked the devil in the eye, and burned my barricades to ash."

I trace the line of her jaw with my fingertips, marveling at the strength radiating from her bones.

"You did not ask me to soften my edges, Elena," I continue, projecting my vows across the hushed chapel. "You demanded I unleash the monster to protect our throne. You are my equal in every conceivable way, a mastermind who matched my darkness and taught me how to embrace the fire. I promise you unapologetic truth. I promise you fierce, unrelenting protection. I vow to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with you, recognizing your absolute sovereignty, and I will gladly tear this planet apart to ensure you never have to fight another war alone. You are my queen, today and for the rest of my existence."

A tear spills over her dark lashes, tracking a path down her flushed cheek. She does not bother wiping it away. She looks up at me, her irises swimming with devotion that makes my chest expand.

"I spent my life utilizing diplomacy as a weapon, hiding my true capabilities to survive the treacherous vipers in my uncle's court," Elena replies. "I thought a marriage in our world meant sacrificing my autonomy, surrendering my power to a man who would view me as a decorative accessory. But you handed me the keys to your kingdom, Enzo. You placed a crown on my head and handed me the matches to burn down anyone who dared to question my reign."

She grips the lapels of my tuxedo jacket, anchoring herself to my frame.

"You are the most terrifying, brilliant man I have ever known, and you are the only sanctuary I will ever need," she vows. "I promise to match your loyalty with my own. I promise to rule this integrated empire by your side, sharing every burden and every victory. I choose you, Enzo Santoro, and I will wear your name as a warning to anyone foolish enough to test our family."

I do not wait another second. I slide the custom-crafted, flawless diamond wedding band onto her left ring finger, securing the platinum metal flush against her skin. She takes my matching band, sliding the cool metal onto my finger with a definitive push.

"Mine," I growl.

"Always," she promises.

I crush my mouth down onto hers, parting her lips with a starving, desperate necessity. The chapel erupts into applause, the cheers of my brothers and our loyal operators echoing off the vaulted ceilings, celebrating the union of the apex predators who now govern the eastern seaboard and the Mediterranean ports.

The transition from the solemn chapel to the reception feels like stepping into a vibrant, sunlit dream. We host the gathering in the sprawling, manicured courtyard adjacent to the basilica, strings of fairy lights casting a warm, golden glow over the imported mahogany tables and the extravagant floral arrangements Elena meticulously orchestrated. It is a genuine, beautiful gathering of survivors reveling in the peace they fought so viciously to secure.

I stand near the edge of the cobblestone patio, a crystal tumbler of vintage scotch in my hand, watching the spectacular tableau unfolding before my eyes.

Niccolò sits at a nearby table, the fearsome Don of Boston completely transformed as he holds his young daughter. The girl possesses his father's midnight eyes and an infectious, bubbling laugh that rings through the courtyard. Livia leans against Niccolò’s shoulder, her hand resting affectionately on his arm as they watch their child play with a silver spoon.

A few yards away, Alessio and Caterina are engaged in a spirited, sarcastic argument over a slice of wedding cake. Alessio steals a kiss, smearing a trace of frosting across Caterina’s jaw, earning a playful slap that results in his booming, unrestrained laughter.

We won, I realize, the truth settling profoundly into my marrow. We fought the monsters, and we actually won.

"You are plotting again, Consigliere," a sultry, melodic voice purrs against my ear.

I turn around, catching my bride by the waist and pulling her flush against my chest. Elena wraps her arms around my neck, her ivory silk gown rustling softly against my trousers. She looks radiant, her skin flushed with champagne and happiness.