All Chapters of The Chosen Bride: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Aristide’s POVThe night was thick and salt-stained, the kind of damp that seeps through armor and bone.Our convoy ghosted through the industrial quarter on the edge of the lagoon, tires whispering over cracked pavement slick with fog. Metal warehouses loomed ahead, their windows blacked out. The coordinates from Elena’s feed matched perfectly—Bianchi’s hidden dock was just beyond the northern quay.“Two minutes,” Marco said from the passenger seat, his voice low and steady in my earpiece. Behind us, Enzo’s team rolled silent in the second vehicle, headlights off. Beyond them, the faint glimmer of fast boats shadowed the canal—the cut-off team waiting for my signal.We’d come in hard and fast, no chatter, no lights. Venice’s canals twisted like veins, but we knew this sector better than the city guard.“This is it,” I said, my voice clipped through the comms. “We go in clean. Confirm targets, secure the cargo, and extract. No stray fire near civilians. Let’s end this quietly.”“Yes,

BellaElena’s private boathouse wasn’t what I expected—smaller, darker, the ceiling low enough that I had to duck instinctively as we stepped inside. The walls were paneled in old wood rubbed smooth by salt and time. The faint scent of gasoline lingered in the air, mixed with brine from the water lapping just outside the dock doors.Under different circumstances, maybe I would have admired it. Maybe I would have asked Elena how she managed to hide something this discreet—right under her family’s nose.But tonight it felt like a bunker.And the bunker suddenly felt too quiet.Elena shut the heavy metal door behind us and threw the lock, then crossed to the desk where the portable war-room setup was already unfolding. Screens. Interference blockers. The compact multi-band receiver. She’d set everything up in minutes, her hands steady, her jaw sharp, her expression entirely Moretti.She didn’t look at me when she spoke.“They should be nearing the sub-dock beneath Donato’s compound.”I n

AristideFor a split second, Cipher froze.Not a full-body stillness—just a micro-hesitation. A blink too slow. A breath caught where it didn’t belong.But for a man like him, who choreographed every word, every smirk, every false note of confidence, even that fraction of a pause was enough.He’d been misinformed.And he had just realized it.“My men assured me—” he tried again, tone sharpening.“I know what they assured you,” I cut in. “But your assurances don’t match reality.”The last of his smile bled away.There it was.Panic, raw and thin and pulsing under his skin like a fever.He tried, with pathetic determination, to collect himself. Straightened his jacket. Re-squared his shoulders. A leader repositioning himself on a crumbling throne.“You think you caught me off balance?” Cipher said. “You haven’t. My network is bigger than you ever imagined.”“I don’t need to imagine,” I answered. “I’m dismantling it.”Enzo stepped slightly forward behind me, silent, steadying.Marco adju

AristideThe damp corridor air clung to my skin as the metal door sealed shut behind us, locking away what remained of that cramped safe room—Bella’s fear, Elena’s steadiness, the exhaustion etched into all their faces. The relief of having Bella back in my arms was still fresh and raw, like a wound that hadn’t finished bleeding. But the moment had already passed. I couldn’t afford to hold onto it.Not yet.“Move,” I said quietly to the men. My voice came out harder than I intended, but nobody challenged it. Boots shuffled on uneven stone as we climbed the narrow steps leading up into the alley behind the safehouse.Enzo kept glancing over his shoulder toward Elena. I caught the look—half worry, half something else he wasn’t bothering to hide right now. She caught him staring and shot him a glare sharp enough to carve glass. It should’ve made me smile.Instead, all I could think about was Cipher’s face when he realized he’d been misinformed. The flicker of confusion. The drop of his s

BellaSunlight spilled over the Hudson Valley estate, gilding the perfectly manicured lawns and the flower-laden aisle that led to the small, elegant ceremony we had gathered for today. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and roses, drifting through the open windows of the main hall where we’d spent so many sleepless nights planning, fighting, and surviving. I stood near the entrance, Viviana tucked snugly in my arms, her dark eyes blinking sleepily at the commotion. She was eight months old now—curious, strong, and impossibly beautiful, her tiny fingers curling around mine.The last year had been surreal. Every day since the end of Chiper’s war, since we had finally closed the chapter on that endless darkness, had felt like a gift we were learning to unwrap carefully. The estate had changed hands in a way it never had before. Aristide and I had moved into the main part of the house, the one that had once belonged to his father, Matteo, and to Elena. Elena and Enzo now lived in Aristid