Chapter 5 - I Married the Mafia Boss—Then Someone Fired at UsThe cathedral was full of people who looked as though they had attended more funerals than weddings.
Perhaps they had.
I stood behind enormous wooden doors wearing Isabella’s wedding dress.
Viviana had offered it to me.
I refused.
So Dominic had another one brought overnight.
Simple ivory silk.
No enormous train.
No ridiculous diamonds.
Mine.
That mattered.
My father waited to escort me.
“No.”
He stared.
“What?”
“I’m walking alone.”
“You cannot.”
“Watch me.”
The doors opened.
Hundreds of faces turned.
At the altar stood Dominic.
For the first time since meeting him, he looked surprised.
Then something changed in his expression.
Pride.
I walked alone.
Every step felt like reclaiming something.
My name.
My choice.
My future.
When I reached Dominic, he offered his hand.
I took it.
“You came,” he murmured.
“I considered escaping through a bathroom window.”
“I had guards there.”
“Of course you did.”
His mouth twitched.
The priest began.
I barely heard him.
When the vows came, Dominic looked directly at me.
“I, Dominic Alessandro Unaretti, take you, Deanna Lucia Pradati—”
His voice never shook.
Mine did.
Not because I loved him.
I did not.
But because I understood that this moment divided my life into before and after.
When the priest told him he could kiss the bride, Dominic paused.
That pause mattered more than anyone else would understand.
He was asking.
I gave the smallest nod.
His hand touched my cheek.
Then his mouth met mine.
The kiss was gentle.
Almost frustratingly gentle.
It lasted three seconds.
Maybe four.
But when he pulled away, my heart had forgotten how to behave.
“You’re blushing,” he whispered.
“I’m planning your murder.”
“After the reception, please.”
I almost smiled.
Then the stained-glass window shattered.
Dominic moved before the sound registered.
He threw me down.
A bullet struck the altar.
People screamed.
Men reached for guns.
Dominic covered my body with his.
“Stay down.”
Another shot.
Then another.
The cathedral erupted.
Marco and several guards rushed toward the side doors.
Dominic pulled a pistol from beneath his jacket.
“You brought a gun to our wedding?”
“I bring a gun to breakfast.”
“Of course you do.”
He dragged me behind a stone pillar.
“You’re bleeding.”
He looked down.
A red line crossed his shoulder.
My stomach dropped.
“It grazed me.”
“You’ve been shot.”
“Grazed.”
“That is still shot!”
“Deanna.”
“What?”
“This is not the time.”
“I know!”
A guard shouted.
“Shooter moving east!”
Dominic looked toward the exit.
I grabbed his jacket.
“Don’t.”
His eyes met mine.
That was the first time I saw something I would later recognize as shock.
Nobody told Dominic Unaretti not to run toward gunfire.
“Marco will handle it.”
“He might escape.”
“So?”
“He tried to kill you.”
“He tried to kill us.”
That stopped him.
Us.
The word hung there.
Dominic stayed.
Twenty minutes later, the cathedral was secure.
The shooter escaped.
One guest had been injured by glass.
Nobody died.
Dominic refused an ambulance.
I forced him into one.
“You are enjoying this,” he accused.
“Immensely.”
At the hospital, doctors cleaned the wound.
I sat beside him.
“You can leave,” he said.
“I know.”
“You should change.”
I looked down at my wedding dress.
Blood stained the silk.
His blood.
“I’ve had worse outfits.”
He smiled.
A real smile.
It transformed him.
For one dangerous second, I understood why women might willingly walk into his orbit.
Then Marco entered.
“We found the rifle.”
Dominic’s smile vanished.
“Prints?”
“Clean.”
“Camera?”
“Shooter knew the blind spots.”
“Inside information,” I said.
Marco looked at me.
“Likely.”
“Antonio?”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“Careful.”
“You think I’m wrong?”
“No.”
That hurt more than I expected.
Marco handed Dominic a photograph.
A symbol had been carved into the rifle stock.
A crown split down the middle.
Dominic went pale.
“What is it?”
He did not answer.
“Dominic.”
“My brother used that symbol.”
I stared.
“You have a brother?”
“Had.”
“What happened?”
“He died twelve years ago.”
Marco looked uncomfortable.
I noticed.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Dominic stood despite the nurse’s protests.
“My brother’s name was Gabriel.”
“And?”
“And he died because of your father.”
The story came later that night.
Gabriel Unaretti had been twenty-three.
Young.
Reckless.
He discovered Antonio was secretly moving narcotics through territory both families had agreed to keep clean.
Gabriel threatened to expose him.
Three days later, his car exploded.
Nobody proved Antonio ordered it.
Dominic believed it anyway.
“Then why agree to marry Isabella?”
“Peace.”
“You were going to marry the daughter of the man you believed killed your brother?”
“Yes.”
“That isn’t peace. That’s self-torture.”
“It prevented a war.”
I studied him.
“How many people would have died?”
“Hundreds.”
That was the first moment I saw the weight beneath his power.
Dominic did not avoid war because he feared it.
He avoided it because he knew exactly what it cost.
“Maybe the symbol is meant to make you blame my father.”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe Gabriel isn’t dead.”
Dominic’s expression froze.
“I saw his body.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“His face?”
Silence.
That was answer enough.
The body had been burned.
Identification came through dental records.
Records could be changed.
Especially in this world.
Dominic walked to the window.
“No.”
“You don’t believe it?”
“I buried him.”
“That doesn’t mean you buried Gabriel.”
He turned.
For the first time, I saw fear in Dominic Unaretti.
Not fear for himself.
Fear of hope.
Because believing his brother might be alive meant accepting twelve years of grief could have been built on a lie.
Three days after our wedding, another package arrived.
Inside was a photograph.
Dominic and me leaving the hospital.
A red circle had been drawn around my face.
On the back were six words.
May you like
HE TOOK MY LIFE.
I’LL TAKE HIS.
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