3. The Aisle of Thorns

Author: Blessing Akor

Last Updated: 2025-12-29 07:45:40

The morning of the wedding did not bring the celebratory warmth Roman’s mother had prayed for. Instead, a cold, gray mist clung to the stone walls of the Moretti estate, mirroring the icy resolve in Roman’s chest. Today was the day the "calculated, showstopping alliance" became official.

Roman stood before a mahogany-framed mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. In a few hours, the "Lombardi Princess"—the girl hidden from the world for twenty-three years—would walk down the aisle. He thought back to his childhood, hearing his parents whisper about "Angeline this" and "Angeline that," wondering if she liked salmon or if she needed extra Vitamin C. It had been a lifetime of preparation for a woman he intended to discard the moment the ink dried on the marriage certificate.

"You look like you're heading to a funeral, not a wedding," Cruz said, leaning against the doorframe.

"In a way, I am," Roman replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "The funeral of my privacy. But she won't be a part of my life for long. The estate on the outskirts is ready. She’ll be an hour away by sundown".

The Cathedral of Secrets

The ceremony was held in a private cathedral, a fortress of marble and stained glass. The pews were filled with the most dangerous men in Europe and America, all gathered to witness the union of La Cosa Nostra and the Lombardi empire.

Roman stood at the altar, his gaze fixed forward. He refused to look back. He wouldn't give the Lombardis the satisfaction of seeing him curious. He remembered his own theory—that only "ugliness" could be a reason for someone to hide a daughter so thoroughly for so long. He was prepared for a disaster. He was prepared for a "polished doll" who was "quiet and disposable".

Then, the heavy oak doors at the back of the cathedral groaned open.

The music shifted—a low, haunting cello melody that felt more like a warning than a march. Roman felt the air in the room change. Beside him, he heard Cruz take a sharp, audible breath. Slowly, Roman turned his head.

The Revelation

She was walking down the aisle, and the world seemed to stop.

She wore the dress he had chosen—the tight, sheath-styled gown that pooled behind her like a river of liquid moonlight. The white chiffon glimmered under the cathedral’s chandeliers exactly as he had imagined. But it wasn't the dress that held the room captive.

The veil was gone.

For the first time in twenty-three years, Angeline Verona-Marielle Lombardi was visible. She wasn't "disgustingly ugly". She was perfection. Her skin was like alabaster, her features sharp and aristocratic, but it was her eyes that struck Roman like a physical blow. They weren't the eyes of a "groomed and silenced" victim. They were dark, calculating, and filled with a fire that promised to burn his carefully laid plans to ash.

She moved with a grace that was "untouchable". Every step was a defiance of the "wife on paper" role he had assigned her. As she reached the altar, Carmine Lombardi placed her hand in Roman’s. Her skin was cool, but her grip was firm—stronger than any "disposable" princess should be.

The Vows

The priest began the rites in Latin, the ancient words echoing through the vaulted ceiling. Roman went through the motions, his voice a steady baritone, but his mind was reeling. He looked down at her, seeing the "elbow-length gloves" he had seen on the mannequin.

He realized then that the Lombardis hadn't hidden her to protect her from the world. They had hidden her to protect the world from her.

When it came time for her vows, she didn't look at the priest. She looked directly at Roman. Her voice was low, melodic, and held the same razor-sharp edge he had heard in the hallway the day before.

"I, Angeline, take you, Roman, to be my husband," she said. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a silent challenge visible only to him. "To have and to hold, until death—or whatever comes first—claims us."

Roman’s heart hammered against his ribs. He had planned for her to be his "ruin" in a business sense, but as he looked at her, he realized she would be his "weakness, his obsession, and his motivation".

"I do," he said, the words feeling heavier than the Moretti crown itself.

As they turned to face the crowd as husband and wife, Roman leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You look pretty rolling your eyes like that," he whispered, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate level, "but don't think for a second that I’ve forgotten my plans for you".

Angeline didn't flinch. She simply tilted her head, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "Plans change, Roman. Not everything buried stays dead".

The " alliance of the century" had officially begun, but as Roman walked his bride out of the cathedral, he knew the war had only just started.

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Sinful Virtues 16. The Concrete Fortress
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Sinful Virtues 15. The Lion’s Throat
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