Chapter Four: Meeting the Monster

The morning arrived faster than Elena wanted, and she woke with the heavy confusion of being in a place that did not feel like home. She stared at the ceiling for a long time and tried to remember the rhythm of her old life, but it already felt distant, like something that had faded long ago instead of yesterday. Her phone buzzed beside her, and she blinked at the screen until the words made sense. Marco had texted to say he would arrive at noon to take her shopping for the wedding. She had to read it several times before she could accept that this was real.

When she walked into the kitchen, Damien was already dressed and on a call. He spoke Italian in a low and controlled voice that suggested business. He looked up when he saw her and his expression softened in a way she was still not used to. He pointed at the coffee he had set out for her and then returned to the call. Elena poured the coffee and stood near the windows, watching the city far below the glass. The normal act of drinking coffee felt strange in a morning that did not feel normal at all.

When Damien ended the call, he stepped beside her and asked how she was doing. Elena told him honestly that she did not know. Her mind kept insisting this was a dream her stress had created.

Damien said the first days always felt like that, and in time her mind would adjust. This would start to feel like her real life instead of something forced on her. She did not know if that was supposed to comfort her or frighten her, so she just nodded.

Marco arrived at noon with two guards. His expression held the same tired seriousness he had worn the night before. He told Elena they had four hours to prepare her for the wedding. The shopping trip felt unreal. Boutique owners opened their stores just for her. Sales associates carried out dresses that cost more than she wanted to imagine. Elena tried on white silk and ivory lace dresses while Marco watched from a chair, giving subtle approval or disapproval with a simple look. Finally she told him she did not want white. Wearing white felt like pretending this marriage meant something romantic. She wanted red instead.

Marco did not question her. He asked for red dresses, and Elena chose one that made her look controlled and powerful. They continued to jewelry stores and shoe boutiques with the same fast pace. Whenever Elena tried to check prices, Marco gave her a look that told her she needed to stop thinking like a doctor with loans and start thinking like someone who was about to help run a criminal empire. She was trying, but it was still hard to understand.

Back at the penthouse, a stylist arrived and spent an hour turning Elena into someone who looked ready for a mafia wedding. Her hair was pinned into a neat style that felt like it might collapse if she breathed too deeply. Her makeup was darker and heavier than she usually wore, but it made her look older, sharper, and more intimidating. When she put on the red dress and stood in front of the mirror, she saw a different version of herself. She saw someone who no longer fit the name Dr. Elena Russo.

At six, Damien knocked on her door. When she opened it, he stood there in a perfectly fitted black suit. His eyes darkened the moment he saw her, the reaction immediate and visible. He told her she looked beautiful. She told him he looked dangerous. His smile made her forget, for a moment, that this marriage was not real in the emotional sense.

The drive to the Cross estate took them out of the city until the houses grew farther apart and the land around them stretched wide. When the gates opened to reveal the property, Elena understood what kind of world Damien had been raised in. The estate looked like a fortress. The stone walls, the long drive, the guards everywhere, everything was designed to send a message: power lived here.

Inside, the mansion was even more overwhelming. The hallways were lined with portraits of stern men with the same cold eyes. Damien guided her into a room full of people, and the noise quieted when they entered. Elena felt every gaze fall on her as people tried to read her strength or her weakness. Damien kept his hand on her back as he introduced her to people she knew she would not remember tomorrow. She smiled, shook hands, and used every ounce of control she had to hide the fear in her stomach.

Then the atmosphere shifted. A man entered the room, and people stepped aside for him before he even reached them. Elena knew instantly that this was Vincent Cross. His presence was heavy and commanding. When he stopped in front of them, he looked at Elena like she was an insect that had wandered into his path.

He spoke to Damien in Italian without acknowledging her. Damien’s expression went blank, the kind of controlled blankness that suggested anger held beneath the surface. They argued quietly, and Elena stood still, fighting the urge to walk away. When Vincent finally turned to her, his stare was sharp. He asked if she understood what she was doing.

Elena met his eyes and said she did. Something changed in his expression, surprise or approval, she could not tell. He studied her for another long second, then walked away. Elena exhaled slowly. Damien leaned down and whispered that she had passed a test most people failed. She told him she had not known it was a test. He laughed softly.

The wedding ceremony was short. A priest who looked uncomfortable stood before them and read the vows. Elena repeated the words to a man she barely knew while surrounded by people who might want her dead. When Damien kissed her at the end, the kiss felt more certain than the almost-kiss the night before. It was firm, steady, and intentional. When he pulled back, the look in his eyes made her forget her surroundings.

The reception took place in a large ballroom with chandeliers and polished floors. Elena shook hands with people who smiled politely while their eyes measured her and searched for weakness.

The five family bosses offered their congratulations, but their voices held threats beneath the surface. She thanked them calmly, pretending she did not feel like she was balancing on a knife.

When the Moretti boss approached with false sympathy about the attack on her father’s estate, something inside Elena snapped. She stared at him and told him that if his men came near Russo property again, she would kill them herself. The room went silent. For a second, she wondered if she had destroyed everything.

The Moretti boss stared at her and then laughed like he was delighted. He told Damien that his bride had teeth. Then he walked away, still laughing. Damien leaned down and asked if she had really threatened one of the most powerful men on the East Coast at her own wedding. Elena said she probably had. His smile looked conflicted, like he was proud and concerned at the same time.

Vincent was watching from across the room. When their eyes met, he raised his glass in a gesture that looked like approval. Damien said his father had just given her his blessing, which was more than most people ever received.

By the time they left, Elena’s feet throbbed and her face felt stiff from polite expressions. She fell asleep in the car on the way back. When she woke, they were in the garage and Damien was watching her with a quiet expression she could not read. He helped her out of the car and told her she had survived her first day as the Donna. Elena said she did not feel like she had survived.

They rode the elevator in silence. Elena was already imagining taking off the dress and collapsing into bed. But as they stepped into the penthouse, Damien said they needed to discuss the consummation clause. Elena froze. He said they had thirty-six hours left, and ignoring it would not make it disappear. She realized then that the wedding had not been the most difficult part. The hardest part was still ahead of her.