The Devil In White

I stood in front of the mirror, straightening the black suit that felt heavier than usual. Not the weight of the fabric, but the weight of everything—today, this moment, the life I had never imagined. My hands shook slightly. I rarely shook. But Isabella… she made me feel things I thought were impossible.

For a long time, I believed my heart was stone. Cold. Empty. I was Moretti. That was enough. But then she came along. One look. One smile. And suddenly, everything I thought I knew about myself was wrong.

I remembered the first time I saw her. She had been standing in the market, sunlight catching her hair like fire. She laughed at something I couldn’t hear, and I… I wanted to know that laugh forever. I hadn’t known it then, but I was already lost.

“Adrian?”

Luca’s voice broke my reverie. He leaned against the doorframe, smirking like always. “You’re smiling like an idiot.”

“It’s my wedding day,” I said, trying to sound calm.

“No,” he said, tilting his head, “it’s worse. You’re in love.”

I wanted to argue, but I didn’t. Not today. Not with Luca, who had been my friend since childhood. My brother in every way that counted.

“Don’t forget security,” one of my father’s guards said, stepping inside. His face was serious. I barely noticed. I was too busy thinking about Isabella walking down the aisle.

My father, Vittorio Moretti, entered then, tall, cold, unyielding. I straightened instinctively. Power radiated from him, the kind of power that made people bow without thinking. Mafia power. Family power. Fear power.

He looked at me, his eyes sharp. “Love makes men weak,” he said, low and dangerous.

I swallowed, my chest tightening. “No,” I said. “Love makes us human.”

He did not respond. His silence was enough to remind me: the world we lived in did not forgive weakness.

The villa smelled of white roses and sea salt. Music floated through the gardens, soft violin notes that should have made the day feel magical. And it did, but the magic belonged to her, not to me.

I saw Isabella then, walking toward me. She looked like she was floating, her white dress catching the light. Everything else disappeared—the chaos, the pressure, the world. It was just her.

My heart pounded so hard I was sure she could hear it. And for a brief moment, I noticed it. A flicker. Her hesitation. Just for a second. But I ignored it. I had to. Today was ours.

The vows.

I could feel tears welling in my eyes, the kind of tears I never allowed myself to shed in front of anyone. “You are my first love and my last breath,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I belong to you, Isabella.”

Her eyes glistened. I thought it was emotion. I thought she felt it too. And maybe she did. But something hid behind them, a shadow that I couldn’t name.

Luca’s glance was quick, almost imperceptible. He frowned, sensing something I could not yet see.

Then the priest said the words that should have been the happiest moment of my life: “You may kiss the bride—”

The first shot shattered the air.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Chaos erupted. Screams, people falling, blood staining white roses. My father grunted behind me, the sound of his life leaving him.

I threw myself over Isabella, shielding her as bullets tore through the air. My world narrowed to one thing: keep her alive.

I pressed my hands against my father’s chest. Warm. Blood. The man who had taught me everything, the man I loved like a king, was falling in front of me.

“Dad!” I shouted, but the sound was swallowed by the gunfire.

Luca pulled me back. “We need to move!”

I shook him off, refusing to leave. Not yet. Not while my father was still… still…

The last thing I saw before someone dragged me away was her eyes—wide, a perfect mask of fear. Perfectly controlled. Too controlled.

And the last thought I had as I was pulled from the massacre was simple, pure, and terrifying:

They tried to destroy everything I loved. And I will make them pay.