Dreams Come true

Dante 

“White dress, a bouquet, and the woman of my fuckin’ dreams,” I muttered under my breath, my eyes locked on her from the moment I stepped out of the car.

She stood there like a statue, pale, fragile—or maybe just playing the part. But I knew better. I’d seen that fire in her eyes long before she ever walked into a runway, long before she became Luca Vitale’s little trophy.

“You know her, sir. She’s Gianna, the model you wanted to sign as the company’s face three years ago,” Marcus said quietly, following my gaze, noticing the intensity in my stare.

“I know,” I muttered, clenching my jaw. “Too bad she’s already getting married.”

I flipped through my phone, waiting for one of the women I was supposed to meet, a bride my grandfather demanded, to show up. But something about her made me pause. The way she held herself, the way her shoulders trembled ever so slightly despite the mask she wore—it was… fascinating.

Then, she looked up. Her hazel eyes met mine for a fleeting second, and I swear the world tilted just a fraction. There was recognition there, but also defiance. A fire I didn’t expect.

“Sir?” Marcus prompted again, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. “Do you…?”

I shook my head, almost impatiently. “Do I what?”

“Sign her? Or… approach her?”

I didn’t answer. My hand hovered over my phone, but my attention never wavered from her. She didn’t belong here. Not in this world—not yet. And yet, somehow, she was standing in it, holding a bouquet like a fragile weapon, daring anyone to come close.

I took a step to move towards her when her face turned to me, a spark of recognition spread across her face and I watched with intent as she pressed as lips as though weighing her options before she walked closer, offering to be my wife.

I blinked... once — twice, trying to see if it was a joke, but it wasn't, she was offering herself, to me.

"Okay," I said even if Marcus' glares were speaking otherwise.

It took less than 20 minutes to sign the papers and I was sure her internal turmoil was making it impossible for her to see the way my hands trembled slightly as I signed the wedding certificates.

I was getting married to the woman I'd always wanted, loved but had to let her go and now she was in my arms, and I wasn't, going to let her go, ever, not even with the papers I'd just signed.

At the end of the day, I was scrolling through the information Marcus sent to me.

A cheating fiance that made her step back three years ago and jilted her on the day they were supposed to be married.

"Get me all the informations you can find about Luca Vitale, evidence about him cheating on his fiancee with his model, tomorrow's going to be a very long one," I ordered

“Yes, sir,” Marcus replied, his tone sharp and efficient. “I’ll pull everything on Vitale, his agencies, his models, his financials, personal connections. Anything that can corroborate what you want. Videos, photos, contracts—by tomorrow morning, it’ll be on your desk.”

“Good,” I said, eyes still lingering on Gianna as she straightened her bouquet nervously. “And Marcus… be discreet. No leaks. Not yet. I want to control how this plays out.”

“Understood, sir,” he nodded, already pulling out his phone and tapping away.

I finally allowed myself a slow exhale. Gianna—my Gianna—was standing a few feet away, pale, trembling just slightly, yet somehow fierce enough to make me want to protect her from the world at the same time I wanted to claim her entirely.

---

The next morning, Marcus was already at my office with a sleek folder and a tablet. He dropped them on my desk with a quiet confidence.

“Videos, photos, call logs, contracts, everything we have on Vitale’s cheating and financial missteps,” Marcus said, tilting the tablet toward me. “He’s sloppy, but he’s careful enough. I’ve done what I can to compile everything before anyone notices.”

I leaned back, scrolling through the footage: Luca and Sophia Rossi, laughing, touching, oblivious to the chaos they were about to unleash. Evidence stacked neatly in front of me—proof of betrayal, lies, and incompetence.

“Perfect,” I murmured. “This… this is more than enough.”

Marcus hesitated. “Sir… you should know, though. He’s already one step ahead. Overnight, Vitale released a press statement. He claims that your is no longer under his agency. That she’s been sleeping with multiple men, that she’s toxic to his company’s reputation, and… that he’s marrying Sophia Rossi, the model who’s been ‘beside him’ all this time. The press is picking it up.”

I froze, gripping the edge of my desk. Vitale. That snake. He’d thought he could spin this, rewrite the narrative before I even had a chance to act.

Gianna’s face appeared in my mind—pale, betrayed, humiliated. I could almost hear the silence of her phone buzzing with shocked friends, messages, and rumors.

“Dante…” Marcus said cautiously. “What do you want to do?”

I didn’t answer immediately. I could feel the edges of my plan snapping into focus, sharp and cold. This wasn’t just about revenge—it was about controlling the narrative, reclaiming what was hers… and protecting her from the humiliation he tried to throw her into.

“Release a statement,” I finally said, my voice low, measured, and dangerous. “PR. Make it clear. Gianna Moretti is now Gianna Russo, she's my wife, She’s under Russo Couture. Any false claims, any attempts to tarnish her name, will be addressed… publicly. Tonight.”

Marcus nodded, already pulling up his contacts. “Yes, sir.”

I looked toward the door, thinking about the headlines that would explode tomorrow. Luca thought he was clever, that he could ruin her. That he could hide behind lies and a model’s glossy smile.

He had no idea what—or who—he was up against.

And neither did the world, yet.