ONLINE NOVEL XO His Tesoro: Chapter 3
Romeo and I sat in the back of the car on the drive from the airport to the church. Two SUVs filled with my men flanked us on the road. Sienna had been enraged that I wouldn’t allow her to attend my wedding, but I didn’t trust the Russians enough to risk my sister’s safety.
I glanced at my watch. I had a meeting back in the city this evening to inspect a new shipment of weapons with Domenico, my enforcer, so this ceremony needed to be succinct.
“You might want to practice your smile,” Romeo said.
I met his gaze with a scowl.
“No, no, the opposite of that.”
“Fuck off. Why do I need to smile?”
“To make a good impression on your bride.”
Romeo just chuckled at my responding glare. Fucker. He was the only one, besides my sister, who interacted with me without even an edge of fear.
“I won’t hesitate to shoot you,” I said, looking out the window. He just snorted.
I didn’t need to put this woman at ease. She would live in my apartment and join me for events when we needed to keep up the appearance of a strong marriage. I wasn’t cruel—she would have access to money and whatever else she needed—but that was it. I refused to disrupt my life for her. Refused to do anything that would make it easy for her to gain an advantage over me.
We pulled up to the church on the north side of the city. Traditionally, Family weddings happened near my apartment in Manhattan, but Rustik said if the wedding was to be Catholic at our insistence, it would take place in Chicago at his. It was an inconvenience for me, and I was already dreading the two-hour plane ride back with my new wife.
Rustik Ivanov might’ve been my new ally, but I still despised him. He had shed plenty of Italian blood through the years, and we’d retaliated in kind. This alliance would take some getting used to.
Angelo, our driver and one of my most trusted soldiers, signaled that our men were in position. I exited the armored SUV and buttoned my jacket. I’d worn my standard black suit for the wedding. Business attire for a business event. My Glock pressed comfortingly against my back.
I checked my watch again as we entered the church. Two minutes until the ceremony.
“Cutting it close,” Romeo muttered.
“No need to linger,” I responded.
An elderly woman working at the church ushered us to the front, where the priest waited. Half my men filed into the empty pews on the groom’s side while the others were stationed around the perimeter. The pews to my right were sparsely filled with the bride’s guests. I was surprised at how few people there were after Rustik’s insistence on having the wedding in his city. The Pakhan was seated in the front pew and tipped his head at me. I didn’t return the gesture. I had expected him to walk his daughter down the aisle, but maybe the Russians did it differently.
Rustik’s wife sat next to him. The woman was thin and there was a blankness in her eyes, although her dress made me blink twice. Loud was the only word to describe it—bright orange with ruffles around the neck. Beside her was a pretty girl with dark brown hair—Sofiya’s sister, I assumed. She met my gaze and held it unflinchingly.
Interesting.
The music started and the back doors of the church opened. The sun shone through the stained glass window, creating a halo of light around a young woman sitting in a wheelchair.
I kept my face blank, refusing to look at Rustik, who had clearly withheld this information about his daughter. What else was the bastard hiding? Did he think I would have rejected the marriage proposal if I’d known? I felt Romeo’s presence beside me, and I could almost hear him saying, “Maybe this is why you should have met her beforehand.”
Sofiya wheeled herself down the aisle, her lace veil trailing behind her and a tight expression on her face. She’d been beautiful in her picture, but in person, she was breathtaking. Her hair was like gold as it framed her delicate features, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from flitting down to her full lips. When her blue eyes met mine, I felt a weird jolt of electricity so strong it almost broke through my blank mask.
Sofiya’s dress ballooned around her lap, making it hard for her to maneuver her wheelchair. A strange, uncomfortable feeling formed in my chest at seeing her struggle down the aisle alone. I told myself it was because she was a Mafia queen now and needed to look strong in front of my men.
Sofiya finally made her way to the front of the aisle, and I made room for her beside me. She gave me a shy glance before looking at the priest, and I had the strange urge to demand she put her eyes back on me.
The priest had been told to keep the ceremony as short as possible, so it wasn’t long before we were at the vows. He cleared his throat, giving me an anxious look before looking at his paper. “Matteo Rossi and Sofiya Ivanova, have you come here to enter into marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?”
“I have,” I said.
“I have,” Sofiya said. Her voice was gentle and sweet, and I felt a strange twinge in my chest.
“Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?” the priest continued.
“I am,” I said, and Sofiya echoed my response.
“And are you prepared to accept children lovingly from God and to bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?”
When I ascended as Don thirteen years ago, I’d known producing heirs was part of my responsibility. But the prospect of children had never felt so real as it did now, with my pretty little bride beside me.
Sofiya and I responded affirmatively.
The vows were next. When the priest asked Sofiya if she vowed to “love, honor, and obey” me, her jaw clenched tight. Her eyes flitted to her father and then up at me. I could see the rebellion play out, her eyes so expressive I could practically hear her thoughts.
The priest cleared his throat, and she gave an annoyed huff before saying, “I do.”
Fuck, that was… cute.
It was almost enough to make me smile.