Page 104 of Beneath the Shadows

Antonio returns, fresh from his shower and dressed in a charcoal suit perfectly tailored to every chiseled angle of his body. His presence fills the room, drawing my eyes to him despite myself.

His damp hair falls slightly over his forehead, giving him a casual, effortless look. My eyes trace the sharp line of his jaw. The way the collar of his crisp white shirt sits perfectly against his neck. He’s put together, composed, and undeniably attractive.

But I force myself to stop looking. It doesn’t change who he is—a man who’s about to force me into both a life and a marriage, I don’t want. My attraction quickly morphs back into disgust as I remind myself that beneath the polished exterior is the monster who’s taken everything from me.

The doorbell rings, echoing through the house. Antonio strides to the door, and a stern, gray-haired man carrying a worn leather briefcase enters. The judge, I assume.

They exchange a few quiet words. The man doesn’t even spare me a glance as he steps further into the room, his gaze only shifting when Dante joins them. Antonio turns to me, his expression hard as stone.

“Let’s get this over with,” Antonio says, his voice low, commanding.

I force myself to stand, following them into the office. The judge doesn’t waste any time, launching into the ceremony with a practiced monotone that strips the words of any emotion. It’s all formality.

This isn’t a wedding. It’s a prison sentence.

The judge looks to Antonio. “Do you have the rings?”

A bitter laugh almost escapes me. Of course, there are no rings. This isn’t a real marriage. But then Antonio reaches into his pocket, producing a small velvet box. When he opens it, my breath catches.

Inside rests an antique gold ring, its band thin but sturdy, intricately engraved with delicate filigree that spirals around the entire circumference. At the center sits an oval-cut sapphire, deep blue like the ocean at night, framed by smaller diamonds that catch the light with a subtle glimmer.

Antonio slides it onto my finger. It’s undeniably beautiful, but there’s something more—it’s old, steeped in history, as though it’s been passed through generations. It feels out of place on my finger. It’s too personal, too precious for something as cold and calculated as this marriage.

“It looks stunning on you,” he says his hand lingering on mine. “We’ll shop for wedding bands together,” he whispers, his voice low and intimate, as if this is something we’re doing out of love, not force.

“By the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the judge says, his voice cutting through the thick tension in the room. “You may kiss the bride.”

Antonio turns to me, his eyes dark and unreadable. I flinch as he leans in to kiss me—brief and cold, a show of possession more than affection.

Antonio and I stand side by side as the judge places the marriage papers on the table in front of us. He reaches for a pen, his movements deliberate as he signs his name with a steady hand. There’s no hesitation, no second thoughts—just the cold finality of his decision.

He holds the pen out to me. My fingers tremble as I stare at the dotted line where my name’s supposed to go. Part of me screams to stop this madness. But there’s no escape, no way out of this nightmare. With a shaky breath, I force myself to sign Alessia Luciano.

The judge watches impassively, waiting until I’ve finished before taking the papers and adding his own signature with a flourish. He tucks the documents into his briefcase. “Congratulations,” he says, though there’s no genuine sentiment behind the word.

“I’ll see you out,” Dante offers. The men turn and head for the door, leaving me standing there, numb and defeated.

As the door clicks shut, the reality of what’s just happened crashes down on me. I’m married to Antonio. The words feel foreign, impossible, like I’ve stepped into a nightmare I can’t wake up from. My heart pounds in my chest, and a wave of rage washes over me, sharp and all-consuming.

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” I whisper, my voice trembling with the force of my emotions. “I’ll never call you my husband.”

Antonio’s blue eyes, cold as a winter sky, meet mine. "Hate me all you want, Alessia. It won’t change a thing. You’re mine now."

I tear my gaze from his. “Where did this ring come from?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, though the words come out tight, strained.

He hesitates, and for a moment, something flickers in his eyes—something almost vulnerable. “It was my grandmother’s,” he begins, his tone different now, less controlled. “She gave it to my uncle Giovanni, who gave it to Domenica. Before she left for Italy, she passed it on to me.”

The history of the ring tugs at something deep inside me. It’s as if, despite everything, a thread of connection and love are woven into it. I don’t know much about Antonio’s grandmother, but I loved his Aunt Domenica. Knowing that I’m wearing something that’s a tangible representation of the love she shared with Giovanni stirs emotions I don’t want to face.

Antonio continues, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “I hope you like it. If not, I’ll take you to pick something you’d prefer.”

The sincerity in his tone is disarming, and for a moment, I’m caught off guard by the thoughtfulness behind the gesture. But just as quickly, my anger resurfaces.

“What happens now? Are you going to spend our wedding night with one of your whores? Or will you rape me, like Valentino was so fond of doing?”

His face pales. “Alessia,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry for everything Vigo did to you. I’ll never be able to undo the damage he caused. But I’m not him. I’m not anything like Valentino, and I swear to you, I will never hurt you like that.”

His words hit me harder than I expect.

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