Chapter 7
599words
Inside Trinity Church, sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows.
I stood beside Julian in an ivory-white gown, holding a bouquet of white roses.
The pews were filled with the heads of Chicago's families. My parents and Leo were in the front row.
Everyone was smiling.
"Elara Rossi," the priest began, "do you take Julian Moretti to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for as long as you both shall live?"
I looked into Julian's gentle eyes, about to answer.
BAM—
The heavy doors slammed against the stone walls with a deafening crash.
Everyone gasped and turned around.
Damien stormed in with a dozen of his men, his face a mask of pure desperation. Madness.
"She doesn't!" he roared, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "She doesn't want to marry him!"
Guests screamed and scattered. The church erupted into chaos.
I clutched my bouquet, watching this madman march toward the altar.
In four years, I had never seen him so out of control.
"Elara!" Damien reached the altar, his eyes bloodshot. "Come with me. You can't marry him."
Julian immediately stepped in front of me. "Volkov," his voice was cold steel. "This is a church. Not your playground."
"A church?" Damien laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "She's my woman! For four years, she's been mine! Her body, her soul—it all belongs to me!"
A collective gasp went through the crowd.
Leo shot up from his seat, his face turning purple with rage. "What did you say?"
"That's right!" Damien turned to Leo, his eyes wild. "Four years ago, you asked me to protect her. Well, I did more than protect her! Every single night, she was in my bed! Screaming my name!"
"You bastard!" Leo lunged forward and slammed his fist into Damien's face.
Damien crumpled to the floor, blood trickling from his lip.
He didn't fight back. He just stayed on his knees, looking up at me.
"Elara, tell them!" His voice was pleading. "Tell them you love me! Tell them you don't want to marry him!"
I stared down at the man on the floor.
The king of Chicago's underworld. Now, just a dog on his knees.
"Who are you to me?" I asked. My voice was so calm it surprised even me.
Damien stared, confused.
"Are you my husband?" I held up my left hand. The Moretti diamond glittered in the light. "Did you ever promise me anything? Did you ever protect me?"
"I..." Damien was speechless.
"Then why should I be angry with you?" I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "What right does a whore have to be angry with her john?"
The words hit him like a physical blow. The color drained from his face.
"No, Elara, I love you..."
"Love me?" I cut him off. I threw his own words back in his face. "Making a scene like this… it's just pathetic, Damien."
He looked like he’d been struck by lightning. His eyes were wide with shock.
Just then, Julian stepped to my side, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"Gentlemen, this is my wife." His voice was iron, full of protection. "No one will disrupt her wedding."
My wife.
He looked at us, standing so close together. The light in his eyes died completely.
"Elara..." he whispered my name, one last, desperate attempt.
I didn't answer. I just held Julian's hand tighter.
Julian glanced at the chaos, then at Damien on the floor.
He gave a slight nod to his men.
"Capo."
"Escort Mr. Volkov out."
