r 4: C

Patrick's Old C

ted bodice accentuating her subtle curves and the gentle flare of her hips. The gown's high slit revealed her scuffed combat boots, a deliberate rebellion against the traditional veil and heels her cousin Sofia had begged her to wear. Her dark brown hair, with its auburn highlights, was loosely pin

dden beneath the dress. This wasn't a wedding; it was a contract, signed in ink and sealed with her freedom. The Moretti an

s jet-black hair was swept back, a single lock falling over his forehead, softening the sharp lines of his face. His emerald-green eyes were unreadable, but the faint scar above his right eyebrow and the silver signet r

enzo, stood at her side, his deep brown eyes softening for a moment as he squeezed

cted, her voice low,

r her stare, his posture rigid, his hands clasped behind his back. She wanted to hate him-his arrogance, his control, his damn perfect face-b

. When the priest pronounced them man and wife, the words landed like a guillotine. Luca leaned in, his breath warm against her e

flashing. "Call me De Luca one m

smirk breaking throug

food. Isabella ditched the bouquet, her boots clicking as she grabbed a whiskey from the bar. Luca watched her from across

ca crossed the floor, his tuxedo accentuating his broad ch

sipping her w

xtended. "Unless you want every capo in here whispe

his skin warm, and a jolt shot through her, unbidden. He led her to the dance floor, his hand settling on her waist, the

his eyes glinting. "Combat

ack, her hazel eyes meeting his. "You look

s pressing against his frame. She could feel the heat of him, the strength in his arms, and it made her pulse race despite herself. His emerald eye

aid, his voice barely above a whis

the soft light. "What, you thought I'd be

grip tightening slightly, his eye

ed something in her. She stepped closer, her lips cur

. The song ended, but neither moved, their hands still linked, their bodies too clos

r whiskey and walked off, her boots echoing. Luca watched her go, his