Chapter 3 — The Wedding Pact
Sienna
The weight of her father’s debts hung over Sienna like the heavy veil she now wore. The fabric—delicate, intricate lace that grazed her shoulders—felt suffocating, a tether binding her to a future she hadn’t chosen. She stood in front of the gilded mirror in a private room of the De Luca estate, her reflection an unrecognizable stranger. The bohemian artist who once roamed sunlit streets with paint-stained hands now stared back in a pristine ivory gown. It fit perfectly—or at least it would have, if she hadn’t been holding her breath since Elena had laced her into it.
Elena stood behind her, adjusting the veil with a sharp tug that snapped Sienna back to reality. “You’re a vision,” Elena said, her voice soft but edged with tension. She wasn’t here for the ceremony—Adrian had made that clear. The De Luca family didn’t allow outsiders at such affairs. But Elena had insisted on helping Sienna prepare, her presence a small rebellion against the rigid rules of this world.
Sienna’s fingers brushed the golden laurel comb nestled in her hair, her voice a low mutter. “I feel like a pawn.” The comb, her father’s gift, was the only piece of herself she’d brought into this gilded cage. A memory surfaced unbidden: her father’s voice, warm with pride, as he handed her the comb after her first gallery showcase. “For my artist,” he’d said. “A laurel for your victories.” The thought made her throat tighten.
Elena stepped into view, her green eyes fierce as they locked onto Sienna’s. “A pawn doesn’t fight back, Sienna. And you? You’re already plotting your next move.” She smoothed the veil one last time before stepping aside. “Just remember, this is temporary. You’ll find a way out.”
Sienna forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The truth, unspoken but heavy between them, was that she wasn’t sure there was a way out. The De Lucas didn’t seem like the sort of people who let go of anything—or anyone.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. A man in a crisp black suit entered, his expression impassive. “It’s time.”
Elena squeezed Sienna’s hand, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’ve got this. And don’t forget—you’re stronger than they think.”
Sienna nodded, her chest tightening as she followed the man into the cavernous hallway. The marble floors gleamed under the dim light of ornate chandeliers, and the faint scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air. The estate was as cold and imposing as its master. She glanced at the high ceilings and the gilded moldings, a stark contrast to the worn wood and paint-splattered floors of her studio. For a brief moment, she imagined the scent of turpentine and the hum of laughter from her father’s gallery openings—a world that felt impossibly far away.
The ceremony was being held in one of the estate’s grand halls—a room more suited for power plays than vows of love. Rows of dark wooden chairs were filled with stoic, impeccably dressed figures, their eyes sharp and assessing. Sienna felt their gazes on her as she entered, her steps slow and deliberate. She caught snippets of whispered conversations and the subtle glances exchanged between attendees. Some looked indifferent, others curious, and a few wore expressions that hinted at hidden agendas. One woman in particular—striking with cold blue eyes and sleek black hair—watched her with an intensity that left Sienna uneasy. She didn’t need to ask who she was. Isabelle. Adrian’s ex-lover. Her gaze lingered just a second too long before shifting, a faint smirk playing on her lips.
At the end of the aisle stood Adrian. His back was straight, his tailored black suit a stark contrast to her white gown. His piercing gray eyes locked onto hers as she approached, the rest of the room fading into a blur. He didn’t smile, but there was something in his gaze—a flicker of curiosity, perhaps, or maybe just the weight of his own duty. She wondered if he felt trapped too, or if this was just another calculated move on his chessboard.
When she reached him, he extended a hand. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing hers in his, her fingers trembling. His grip was firm, steady—a silent reminder of the power he held, both over his family and now, over her. Yet for a fleeting moment, his thumb brushed against her palm. It was so brief she wasn’t sure it had happened, but it sent a shiver through her nonetheless.
The officiant’s voice began, a low hum that barely registered in Sienna’s mind. She focused on Adrian, on the sharp lines of his face and the thin scar above his left eyebrow. He looked every bit the part of a mafia heir—controlled, calculating, untouchable. Yet, as she studied him, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something beneath the surface. Something hidden, like the faint scent of the sea just before a storm.
“Do you, Sienna Moretti, take Adrian De Luca to be your husband, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”
The words felt like a noose tightening around her throat. Her chest ached as she forced herself to speak. “I do.” Her voice wavered, barely audible, and she clenched her fingers to stop them from trembling.
Adrian’s gaze didn’t waver, didn’t soften. His turn came, and his reply was just as measured, just as resolute. “I do.”
The officiant pronounced them husband and wife, but there was no kiss, no gesture of affection. Instead, Adrian’s hand slipped from hers as he turned to face the gathered crowd, his expression unreadable. Sienna followed his lead, though her legs felt like lead beneath her.
The room erupted into polite applause, the sound hollow and perfunctory. These were not people celebrating love or union; they were witnesses to a transaction, a consolidation of power. Sienna felt like another piece of art on display in her father’s gallery—admired from afar but ultimately a possession.
Adrian leaned closer, his voice low enough for only her to hear. “You’ve done what’s expected. Stay cautious, and this transition will be easier for you.”
Sienna turned her head slightly, her hazel eyes locking onto his. “I didn’t agree to fade away. If I’m a part of this, I’ll make sure they remember me.”
A flicker of something crossed his face—amusement, perhaps, or annoyance. He straightened, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smirk before it disappeared. “Then you’d better learn to leave it smartly.”
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of strained conversations and calculated glances. Sienna was paraded through the room, introduced to people whose names she barely registered. Each handshake, each kiss on the cheek felt like another chain binding her to this world. Adrian stayed close but spoke little, his presence both a shield and a reminder of her new reality.
By the time the last guest had left, Sienna’s head was pounding. She barely noticed when Adrian led her down a side corridor, away from the grand hall and toward a smaller, quieter wing of the estate.
“This will be your room,” he said, opening a door to reveal a space that was luxurious but devoid of warmth. The walls were painted a muted cream, the furniture polished and pristine. Everything was immaculate, untouched—much like the man standing beside her.
“You’ll be safe here,” he continued, his tone clipped. “No one enters this wing without my permission.”
“And you?” Sienna asked, her voice sharper than she intended. “Do you need your own permission to invade my space?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “I have no interest in invading anything. Stay out of trouble, and you’ll barely see me.”
With that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. Sienna stood in the center of the room, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The gown felt heavier than ever, its fabric pressing against her skin like a cage.
She walked to the vanity and caught her reflection in the mirror. Slowly, she removed the golden laurel comb from her hair, holding it in her palm. The intricate leaves glinted in the soft light, a reminder of her father’s unwavering belief in her.
“I’ll fight smart,” she whispered, her voice steady now. “But I’ll fight my way.”
As she set the comb down, the weight in her chest began to ease. This wasn’t the life she wanted, but it was the life she had. And if Adrian De Luca thought he could control her, he would soon learn just how wrong he was.
