Press Release

Gianna 

That evening the estate held a reception—an arrangement more for appearance than celebration.

 The press circled like vultures, darting questions I didn’t answer. Dante intercepted some, his baritone voice firm and smooth. When one reporter asked, bluntly, “Is this a merger of convenience?” Dante’s jaw hardened. “It’s a union,” he said. “And unions are private.” His words came like a shield, and suddenly the pressing, hungry crowd fell back.

My chest was throbbing with the thought of one question, and just one thing I dreaded them asking.

"Mrs Russo, weren't you just engaged to Luca Vitale, the owner of a modeling agency?"

The words sliced through the noise like glass shattering on marble. My stomach sank, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. Cameras flashed in my face, dozens of them, capturing every twitch of my expression.

Dante didn’t flinch. He shifted slightly, his arm brushing mine—not affection, but possession. His presence loomed, commanding silence without even lifting a hand.

“My wife’s past,” Dante said, his voice slow, deliberate, like a blade being unsheathed, “isn’t for public consumption. You’ll keep your questions about this marriage, or you’ll leave with nothing at all.”

The reporter swallowed, visibly shaken, and lowered her mic.

But the damage was already done. My pulse pounded in my ears, heat crawling up my neck. I could almost feel the headlines writing themselves—Fiancée turns bride overnight. Scandal or strategy?

I forced my lips into the faintest curve, a mask that didn’t reach my eyes, while the cameras drank it in. My chest ached with the truth I couldn’t say aloud.

I wasn’t just Mrs. Russo now. I was the woman everyone would pick apart until there was nothing left of me.

And the man at my side—the devil I’d married—looked as though he’d planned for every single piece of it.

Dante held my hands away from the crowd, and I let him drag me behind me with my phone buzzing violently against the pockets of my pants.

"I need to check my phone sir..." I dragged, wriggling my arms out of his grips.

40 missed calls from Luca, and another 20 from Valentina.

I moved to pocket the phone back when another call from Luca rang through.

"Pick it up," Dante said, moving closer.

"I don't have to talk to him, he's just..."

"I know who he is and I hopefully don't have to remind you about who you are, Mrs Rossi," He dragged with heat crawling down my spine.

I dragged the call button to green and Luca's barks coursed through the phone.

"What the fuck are you doing Gianna, I hope all the new of you getting married to someone else must have been a fake news, because..."

Dante pulled the phone from me, placing it to his ears while Luca continued barking, oblivious of the change in atmosphere.

"Answer me you fuckin whore, how could you get married to someone else, we were supposed to get married today!"

"My wife is not a whore," Dante spoke, but Luca was still deaf to it as he continued rambling.

"You're not going to say anything now, are you? You fuckin whore, you think Sophia didn't tell me about how you've been sleeping with various men, when you don't allow me to touch you!" He barked and that was the height of it.

"I hope you're expecting words from my lawyers tomorrow, for slandering my wife," 

"And who the fuck are you? Don't tell me you're just some bum she's sleeping with?" He barked and I reached out to take the phone from him.

Dante's hands held my waist as he continued speaking.

"Dante Russo," Dante said flatly, an unexpected silence from the other end of the phone.

“Is this some kind of joke? Dante Russo? I mean, I heard the press rumors, but I know it’s not going to be possible—he’s way past your league!” Luca barked, the panic and disbelief bleeding through every word.

“Impossible?” Dante’s voice dropped lower, sharper, a predator closing in. “No, Luca. It’s not impossible. It’s reality. And you are now very deep in a problem you don’t even understand.”

“What—no! She—she can’t! You—this isn’t real, you’re lying!” Luca shouted, desperation seeping into his tone.

“I am not lying,” Dante said, calm and lethal. “She is my wife. And if you speak one more word about her, I will make sure every lie, every insult, every slander you’ve ever spread will be in the hands of my lawyers by morning. Every move you make will be under my control. Consider this your only warning.”

“What the fuck?! You can’t—she’s mine! Gianna, you can’t do this! I—”

Dante snapped the call dead without another word. The sudden silence was deafening.

I stared at him, heart racing, the weight of the confrontation still thrumming through me. Dante handed the phone to me, and I immediately blocked Luca’s number, the motion almost automatic.

“I—” I started, ready to move away, overwhelmed by the rush of power, fear, and adrenaline.

Before I could take another step, Dante’s arms wrapped around me from behind, strong and unyielding. My back pressed against his chest, his presence anchoring me in a way that both startled and comforted me.

“You don’t have to worry anymore,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Not him. Not anyone. From this moment on, you are mine.”

I froze, the mixture of fear, relief, and something dangerous stirring in my chest. My hands trembled against his, but I allowed myself—just for a moment—to let the tension of the day melt into his grip.

And for the first time since last night, I felt… protected.

Even if I hated admitting how much I needed it.