Chapter 05:

Amara’s POV

The wedding venue was nothing like I had ever seen before.

Marble columns rose like sentinels at the entrance, flanked by men in dark suits whose eyes scanned every car that pulled up. Luxury vehicles glided into place, engines purring like predators at rest. From each stepped men with sharp jawlines, silk ties, and movements calculated with military precision. Their gold cufflinks glinted beneath the midday sun, their shoes polished to mirrors. Some bore tattoos curling up their wrists, others scars that marked old wars fought in shadow.

This was no ordinary gathering. This was the underworld parading itself in daylight. La Camorra Nera.

I walked through their stares, Emma close at my side. My chest felt tight. Each glance I caught from the men was not curiosity but assessment, like they were measuring how much of a liability or asset I could be. And at the centre of it all, though I couldn't see him yet, I could feel him—Alessandro. His presence pressed on the room even in his absence, the weights of his authority threaded into every movement, every silence.

The servants led us away towards the fitting room. I was grateful Alessandro had allowed me to bring Emma. Without her, I would have felt like a lamb among wolves.

Inside, the air smelled of perfume, lace, and freshly pressed silk. My wedding gown—white satin embroidered with fine Italian lace—hung before me, waiting. I traced the fabric with trembling fingers. “Nonna should have been here,” I whispered. “She's always dreamed of this day. She would have wanted to see me walk down the aisle.”

Emma’s hand came to rest on mine. “Don’t cry,

Amara. You're here now, and things will change. Maybe for the better.” she tried to smile, but her voice faltered. “But what about… the baby? Do you plan on telling Alessandro?”

Her words sank like stones in my chest. My hand drifted to my stomach, a reflex I couldn't stop. Before I could answer, the sound of voices drifted through the crack of the door. Emma and I froze.

Two female servants bustled past, their tones hushed but urgent.

“Do you think Boss Alessandro will really leave Madam Ginevra?” one whispered. “They’ve been together for so long. Why marry another woman?”

The other gave a sharp laugh. “I don't know. Maybe she lied to him, or did something deceitful. But you know the boss—he despises deceit. He doesn't care if it’s intentional or if you did it to save yourself. Once he feels betrayed, he always punishes.”

Their footsteps faded, leaving silence in their wake.

My palm pressed harder against my stomach. Emma’s eyes met mine, and she didn't have to say a word—I knew she understood the fear in me.

“What do I do, Emma? I whispered, my voice cracking. “If he finds out…”

Emma surprised me then. She opened her purse with a deliberate slowness, rummaged inside, and drew out a small, unmarked vial. Pille. Sedatives. She placed them in my hand and closed my fingers around them.

“You know what to do,” she said quietly.

Her words hung in the air, heavier than the lace gown waiting to be worn.