CHAPTER 3

Dahlia’s POV

My breath caught in my throat the moment my eyes landed on him. He stood there like a king in his own kingdom, broad shoulders squared, his posture proud and confident, as if the whole world belonged to him. His suit was black and sharp, tailored perfectly so that it hugged every inch of his muscles. The fabric stretched across his chest, outlining the hard shape of him, and the crisp white shirt underneath only made him look more powerful.

He was handsome—there was no denying it. His dark hair was slicked back neatly, not a strand out of place. His jaw was sharp, his lips pressed into a thin line that made him look both serious and cold. His face was carved with such perfection it almost didn’t seem real, but there was nothing soft about him. Every part of him screamed danger.

His eyes, dark and piercing, locked on me as I stepped closer. They didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared straight into me as if he could see through the veil, through the makeup, through the dress—straight into my soul.

The closer I got, the harder my heart pounded. My palms were slick with sweat inside the gloves, and I had to remind myself to breathe. Everyone around me faded into nothing. The whispers, the flowers, the music—they all blurred. It was just me and him.

Luca Romano.

A man handsome enough to make a woman’s heart race. A man dangerous enough to stop it forever.

The vows went by in a blur, as if someone had pressed fast-forward on the whole moment. The priest’s voice rose and fell, but I couldn’t hold on to the words. They slipped through me like sand, vanishing before I could catch them. My palms were damp as I clutched the bouquet tighter, trying to keep my hands from trembling too much. All I kept telling myself over and over was, Just act like Denise. Don’t forget. Smile like her. Nod like her. Speak like her.

When the priest finally turned to me and asked, “Do you take Mr. Romano to be your lawfully wedded husband?” my heart stopped. The room seemed to fall silent for a split second, even though I could still hear the faint rustle of people shifting in their seats. My throat felt like it was closing, my chest heavy. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. For a terrifying heartbeat, I thought I wouldn’t be able to answer at all.

Then, somehow, a small, weak “Yes,” slipped out. My voice was so soft, so fragile, I wondered if anyone had even heard it. But the priest gave a satisfied nod, as if that was enough to bind me to this dangerous man standing across from me.

I couldn’t look at Luca. Not properly. His presence was overwhelming—dark suit hugging his broad frame, his expression unreadable, his eyes sharp and cold. I felt like if I stared too long, he’d see right through me, see that I wasn’t my sister at all.

When the priest said the words, “You may kiss the bride,” my stomach twisted painfully. My hands trembled around the bouquet, and I braced myself for Luca to lean in.

But then—everything shattered.

The first crack of gunfire ripped through the air outside, so loud and sudden it felt like the world itself had split in two. My body jerked violently, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would break my ribs. Gasps and screams exploded around me. Someone screamed so loud it made my ears ring, and the air instantly thickened with terror.

Chaos erupted in the church like a storm. Guests screamed and ducked, some diving behind pews, others clutching their children. The polished marble floor was slippery with spilled drinks and broken flowers, making the scramble even more dangerous. Chairs toppled and glass shattered under panic-stricken feet. Time seemed to slow for me, each second stretching endlessly, every heartbeat deafening in my ears.

Then, the masked gunmen stormed in. Their faces were hidden behind dark masks, their weapons raised, eyes unflinching, moving with precision and menace. My stomach twisted and I couldn’t breathe. My legs refused to carry me anywhere. I was frozen.

And then Luca was there.

He grabbed me with a force I could not resist, pulling me down onto the cold marble floor. My cheek pressed against the stone, the chill seeping into my skin, and yet the warmth of his body pressed against mine made me feel almost safe—confusingly safe, in the middle of all this madness. His arm wrapped around me, shielding me as though I were fragile glass. My fingers clutched his jacket, slick with sweat from his quick movements, and I shook uncontrollably.

From his waistband, he drew a sleek black gun. My eyes widened as I watched him rise, standing tall above me while still protecting my small body. The gunshots he fired cracked through the church, sharp and loud, each one making my stomach flip and my heart pound faster.

Around us, his men sprang into action like predators. They drew their weapons, shouted sharp orders, and fired back at the attackers with deadly precision. Blood spattered across the marble floors, glinting in the sunlight that streamed through the high windows. Pews were overturned for cover, splintering under the chaos. The church bells tolled in long, heavy clangs, each one echoing like a grim drum over the violence and panic.

I pressed my face closer to the floor, trembling so hard I thought I might break apart. My mind was spinning. I couldn’t focus. I could hear screams and the sharp crack of gunfire, but through it all, I could only think: I am going to die. I am going to die. I am going to die.

Then I saw him.

Luca. My husband. The man I had just married.

He stood tall, steady, and unshaken, and in a single, fluid motion, he killed one of the attackers. Cold. Precise. Without a single flicker of hesitation.