Chapter 4
1316 Words
The black dress hung in the closet like a beautiful threat.
Serena stared at it through the open doors, her coffee growing cold in her hands. She'd woken to find Dante gone and breakfast waiting—perfectly prepared eggs Benedict and coffee exactly how she liked it. Along with a note in elegant handwriting: *Wear the dress. The ceremony is at sunset.*
"It's gorgeous, isn't it?"
She spun around to find an older woman with silver hair and kind eyes standing in the doorway.
"I'm Maria, Mr. Valentino's housekeeper. Well, your housekeeper now, I suppose." The woman smiled warmly. "I've been with the family for twenty years."
"Family?"
"The Valentinos. Dante's mother hired me when he was just a boy." Maria moved to the closet, running her fingers over the dress's silk fabric. "She would have loved this dress. Black was always her favorite."
"I'm not wearing it."
"Oh, but you must! It's custom made, imported silk, hand-sewn beading." Maria lifted the dress from its hanger. "Besides, Mr. Valentino specifically requested it."
"Mr. Valentino can request all he wants. I'm not marrying him."
Maria's laugh was gentle but knowing. "My dear, when a Valentino man decides he wants something, heaven and earth move to make it happen. Might as well look beautiful while it does."
Two hours later, Serena stood before a full-length mirror and barely recognized herself.
The dress was stunning—black silk that hugged every curve before flowing into a dramatic train. The neckline was modest but the back plunged dangerously low. Delicate beading caught the light like scattered stars.
"You look like a queen," Maria said, fastening a diamond necklace around Serena's throat. "His mother's necklace. He insisted."
"I feel like I'm going to my own funeral."
"Weddings and funerals," Maria mused, adjusting the veil. "Both are about endings and beginnings, aren't they?"
A knock interrupted them. "It's time," came Dante's voice through the door.
Maria squeezed Serena's hands. "Remember, cara, sometimes what feels like a cage is actually a sanctuary."
The ceremony was held in the penthouse's main room, which had been transformed with hundreds of white roses and flickering candles. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city sunset, painting everything in shades of gold and crimson.
Dante stood at the far end wearing a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. The mask was still in place, but something about his posture radiated possession and pride as she walked toward him.
The officiant was a small, nervous man who kept glancing at the intimidating figures stationed around the room—clearly Dante's security.
"Dearly beloved," he began, his voice shaking slightly, "we are gathered here today—"
"Skip to the vows," Dante interrupted, his eyes never leaving Serena's face.
"Of course, Mr. Valentino." The officiant fumbled with his papers. "Do you, Dante Valentino, take Serena to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do." The words were firm, final. A statement of absolute certainty.
"And do you, Serena, take Dante to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
Serena opened her mouth, but no words came. The room felt like it was spinning.
"Serena." Dante's voice was soft, meant only for her. "Look at me."
She met his eyes behind the mask. Dark, intense, completely focused on her.
"Say yes," he whispered.
"Why?" she whispered back.
"Because I'm the only thing standing between you and a very dangerous world."
"That's not a reason to marry someone."
"No," he agreed. "But this is."
He stepped closer, his hand cupping her face. Even through the mask, she could feel the heat of his breath.
"I will protect you with my life. I will give you everything you've ever wanted. I will worship the ground you walk on." His thumb traced her cheek. "And I will never, ever let anyone hurt you again."
The words hit her like a physical blow. When was the last time someone had promised to protect her? When was the last time someone had looked at her like she was precious?
"I..." she started.
"Mrs. Blackthorne?" The officiant prompted nervously.
"Valentino," Dante corrected firmly. "Mrs. Valentino."
Serena stared into his eyes for a long moment. Then she took a shaky breath.
"I do."
"Excellent! You may now kiss the—"
Dante was already moving. His hands framed her face as he leaned down, and she saw him reach up to adjust the mask, lifting it just enough to free his mouth.
The kiss was devastating.
His lips were warm and firm and achingly familiar. He kissed her like she was air and he'd been drowning. Her hands fisted in his jacket as her knees went weak.
When they broke apart, she was breathless.
"Mine," he whispered against her lips.
"Congratulations!" The officiant beamed with relief. "I now pronounce you husband and wife!"
Applause echoed through the room, but Serena barely heard it. Her body was still humming from the kiss, her lips tingling.
"Time for the reception," Dante said, offering her his arm.
The reception was elegant and intimate. Dante's men mingled with a few women who looked like they could kill someone with their stilettos. The champagne was expensive, the music was soft, and everyone treated Serena like she was already the queen of something.
Dante never left her side, his hand possessive on her lower back as he introduced her to various people. She was starting to relax when she noticed the large screen mounted on the wall.
"What's that for?" she asked.
"A special guest wants to congratulate us." Dante's voice held dark satisfaction.
The screen flickered to life, revealing a small, stark room. And there, looking haggard and desperate, was Marcus.
"Hello, darling," he said, his voice crackling through the speakers.
Serena's champagne glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the marble floor.
"Marcus." The name came out as a whisper.
"You look beautiful. Black suits you." His smile was bitter. "I hope you're happy with your new husband."
"Marcus, where are you?"
"Somewhere safe. For now." His eyes found Dante in the crowd. "Taking good care of my wife, I see."
"Ex-wife," Dante corrected, his arm tightening around Serena's waist. "And yes, I'm taking very good care of her."
"I bet you are." Marcus's laugh was hollow. "Enjoy the honeymoon, Serena. You've earned it."
The screen went black.
Serena turned to Dante, questions burning in her throat, but he was already guiding her toward the windows.
"Don't let him ruin this night," he murmured in her ear.
"How did you—"
"Later." His lips brushed her temple. "Tonight is about us."
The music shifted to something slow and romantic. Dante pulled her into his arms for their first dance as husband and wife.
"You're shaking," he observed, his voice gentle.
"This is all too much. The wedding, the dress, Marcus..." She looked up at him. "I don't even know who you really are."
"You know enough."
"Do I?"
"You know I'll protect you. You know I want you. You know you're safe with me." His hand pressed against her lower back, pulling her closer. "What else matters?"
As they swayed together, Serena found herself relaxing into his embrace. He was warm and solid and surprisingly gentle for someone so dangerous.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?"
"The necklace. Maria said it was your mother's."
"She would have wanted you to have it." His voice was soft, almost vulnerable. "She always said that jewelry should be worn by someone beautiful enough to do it justice."
Something in his tone made her look up sharply. The mask was still in place, but there was something about the way he'd said it...
"Dante?"
"Yes?"
But it wasn't what he said—it was how he said it. Clear, unfiltered by the mask's positioning. And suddenly, impossibly, his voice was achingly, devastatingly familiar.
Serena's breath caught in her throat as her world tilted on its axis.
That voice. She knew that voice.
- Writer
