Aurora's POV
The wedding dress was stunning, perfect. But seeing it felt like a hand tightening around my neck.
Every part of me had been washed, waxed, cleaned, dressed to perfection.
My uncle's orders. A little too much effort for a dying old man, if you ask me.
A long time ago, before my world turned dark, I used to look forward to this day. Mum and I talked about the perfect fairytale wedding Dad would plan for me.
Yet here I was, marrying the man who ruined my life.
I pressed my lips together—a reminder of the poison waiting for its victim. I nodded to myself, stood, and walked out.
Uncle Roberto waited at the bottom of the stairs, his cap tilted the way he wore it to events.
He was standing in place of my father. The one who would walk me to the altar.
I felt a kick to my stomach.
He would be the one to give me away. Just like he did the day of the massacre. He had taken me away in a white dress soaked in blood and led me to Don Salvatore Marchetti. He told me I had to pay for my life because there had been an attack: my family murdered, the third House—Deluca—fallen.
He told me like I had not seen it all. Like I had not seen my mother shot in front of me. My father's head bashed with a bat, blood spraying onto my dress as I screamed. Like I had not seen Marco, my older brother, taken away with the other boys and ordered to be slaughtered.
I could almost see him now. His eyes—
"Stop looking so glum!" Uncle Roberto snapped under his breath as the doors opened. "You're the reason your aunt and cousin aren't here! You're lucky it's your wedding day."
He took my stiff hand and hooked it through his arm. We walked.
Important witnesses filled half the pews. Astoria's Mafia elite. Their eyes trailed me as I moved toward the altar.
I avoided looking at the groom until Uncle Roberto gave my hand away and I had no choice.
Fabio grinned. His eyes roamed my body shamelessly. He pretended to adjust my veil and leaned close.
"I can't wait to kiss you."
I scoffed loudly. Whispers rippled through the pews. Fabio's smile tightened, but I turned my attention to the priest.
The wedding dragged. Tiring. Boring. Then, just as I was about to take my oath, a commotion erupted—distant but growing closer.
Uncle Roberto stepped forward.
"Stay calm, everyone. I'll be back." He nodded to us and walked out.
The noise grew and my skin prickled. Something was coming, I could feel it in my bones.
Fabio signaled the guards.
"Sir," they said, bowing.
"Check what's going on out there! Silence anyone who disrupts this wedding!"
If I could roll my eyes.
I was the old man's sixteenth wife, not counting the dead and the escaped. This wedding wasn't special—he didn't even bother to show up.
Then, the church doors burst open.
Guards who had barely reached the middle of the aisle were cut down with bullets and blood splattered as bodies dropped.
Fabio's eyes went wide. He grabbed me, yanked me close, pressed a gun to the priest's head.
"Skip the vows! Marry us now! In the name of my house!"
I turned to him. Maybe I had underestimated Fabio.
"You planned this?"
"I wish." He shoved the gun harder against the priest's temple. "Now shut up!"
He struck the priest with the gun. The old man stumbled but Fabio yanked him back up.
"Marry us—"
The gun was knocked from his hand and he stumbled back.
Suddenly, I was in someone else's hold—long, firm arms wrapped around me like iron.
I looked up.
A man. With a mask. Black silk. He smelled of expensive perfume, leather and gunpowder.
I couldn't see his eyes because he was not looking at me.
He looked like Zoro without the cape and with a gun instead of a sword.
Fabio's screams ripped through the church. I snapped back to the chaos.
I turned toward the pews, not sparing Fabio a glance yet. In the span of minutes, the church had become a slaughterhouse. Bodies everywhere. Survivors huddled together, guarded by masked men. Fabio was on the ground, crying and with a closer look, I saw that his fingers were bent at wrong angles.
Destroyed quite effectively, I noted.
Whoever did that knew what they were doing.
The masked man still held me. Still aimed his gun at Fabio. Still hadn't looked at me.
The air around him cracked with a mixture of command, fear and power.
Blood streaked his shirt, his hands. He looked like he'd dressed for a masquerade ball and gotten in a car wreck on the way. Even his Jaw, his well trimmed beard had blood—
Aurora! Focus! A man is not your priority right now!
The chaos quieted. The survivors had stopped screaming.
"Now!" someone announced.
One of the masked men stepped to the altar. Produced a document. Stamped it.
"I pronounce you husband and wife!"
I watched it happen like the video of a detailed surgical procedure.
And yet, the masked man who had his arm wrapped around me, still hadn't looked at me.
Fabio was begging now. Pleading. Blabbing. "Who are you? He's going to kill you—please—who are you?!"
Silence.
Then he spoke . His voice was quiet—but smooth, clear, impossible to ignore.
"When you get to hell, ask about the devil."
Then the gunshot went off and Fabio's body went still.
One of the masked men stepped forward with a knife. In one motion, he severed Fabio's hand.
Scattered gasps were heard as blood sprayed. Most of it landed on my dress.
I looked at Fabio's body. Broken fingers. Gunshot to the head.
Lucky bastard. He got the easy way out.
I turned back to the man who held me. The man who had just married me. The man who called himself the devil.
For the first time since this began, he was staring directly at me.
Sharp, cold blue eyes that sent goosebumps through my skin.