Chapter 3: Vows in Cold Blood

Chapter 3: Vows in Cold Blood

The courthouse smelled like old paper and cheap disinfectant.

Alessio stood in front of a full-length mirror in one of the private waiting rooms, adjusting the knot of his black tie for the third time. The suit was new—chosen by Luca’s people this morning, delivered without a word. Charcoal gray, perfectly tailored, severe. It made him look older. Harder.

He hated it.

He hated all of this.

But he looked good. He knew that. Sharp enough to cut. Beautiful enough to make people uncomfortable. He’d weaponized his looks for years—smiling when he wanted to scream, flirting when he wanted to spit. Today would be no different.

A knock at the door. One of Luca’s men—broad, silent, armed—poked his head in.

“Time.”

Alessio didn’t reply. Just grabbed the single white rose pinned to his lapel (Luca’s mother’s touch, apparently, for “tradition”) and walked out.

The hallway was empty except for security. No family. No friends. No Salvatore gloating in the back row. No Giovanni Rossi watching his son sell his soul.

Just them.

Luca was already waiting outside the judge’s chambers, back to the wall, arms crossed. He wore all black again—suit, shirt, tie—like he was attending a funeral instead of a wedding. Maybe he was.

His eyes tracked Alessio the second he appeared.

Alessio felt the weight of that stare like a physical touch. Possessive. Assessing. Angry.

Good. Let him be angry.

They didn’t speak as they walked in together.

The judge was a thin, nervous man who clearly knew exactly who they were. He kept his eyes down, voice steady only because he’d probably been paid well to stay that way.

No music. No guests. Just two witnesses—Luca’s capo Enzo and a courthouse clerk who looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.

The vows were short. Civil. Cold.

“Do you, Luca Rossi, take this man…”

“I do.”

Flat. No hesitation. No warmth.

“Do you, Alessio Vitale, take this man…”

Alessio met Luca’s eyes.

For a second, the room narrowed to just the two of them. Dark gaze locked on gray. Challenge for challenge.

“I do,” Alessio said, voice clear, almost mocking.

The judge hurried through the rest.

Rings—thick platinum bands, plain and heavy—were produced from Luca’s pocket. Luca slid Alessio’s on first. His fingers were warm, grip firm, lingering just a fraction too long.

Alessio’s turn. He took Luca’s hand—large, scarred knuckles, calluses from guns and fists—and pushed the ring on slowly. Deliberately.

Luca’s jaw tightened.

“You may kiss.”

The judge’s words hung in the air.

Luca didn’t move.

Alessio arched a brow. “Well, husband? Tradition and all that.”

Something dangerous flashed in Luca’s eyes.

Then he moved—fast. One hand gripped the back of Alessio’s neck, the other sliding to his waist, pulling him in hard.

The kiss wasn’t gentle.

It was claim. Punishment. Warning.

Luca’s mouth crushed against his, demanding entry. Alessio parted his lips—not in surrender, but to bite. Just enough pressure to make Luca hiss.

Luca growled low in his throat, deepening the kiss, tongue invading like he owned it. Owned him.

Heat exploded low in Alessio’s gut, traitorous and immediate.

He kissed back just as hard, fingers digging into Luca’s lapels, pulling him closer even as he hated himself for it.

When Luca finally pulled away, both of them were breathing harder.

The judge cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Congratulations. You’re married.”

No one clapped.

Outside, cameras flashed—paparazzi tipped off, no doubt. Proof for the families. Proof for the streets.

Luca’s hand stayed on the small of Alessio’s back as they walked out—firm, guiding, inescapable.

In the back of the waiting black SUV, the door closed, sealing them in privacy.

Silence again.

Alessio stared out the window. Luca stared at him.

Finally, Luca spoke.

“You bit me.”

“You kissed me like you wanted to start a war,” Alessio replied without looking over. “Figured I’d finish it.”

Luca’s voice dropped. “You’re my husband now. Mine. Remember that.”

Alessio turned then, eyes glittering.

“I’m no one’s, Rossi. Not your brother’s. Not yours. This ring?” He lifted his hand, the platinum catching the light. “It’s just metal. Doesn’t change who I am.”

Luca leaned in, close enough that Alessio could feel his breath.

“We’ll see,” he murmured.

The SUV pulled into traffic.

Back to the penthouse.

Back to the cage.

But Alessio smiled to himself, small and sharp.

Let Luca think he’d won today.

The war hadn’t ended.

It had only moved behind closed doors.

And Alessio had always fought dirtier in private.