Trapped in Luxury Chapter 6

The Vow

The church was smaller than I expected, and darker. Candles flickered in sconces along the ancient stone walls, their light dancing over the faces of the two dozen guests. There were no friends here. Only allies, soldiers, and rivals, their eyes sharp with assessment. The air was thick with the scent of incense and a palpable, dangerous curiosity.

I stood at the back, my arm linked through Silvio’s. He was giving me away, a transaction masquerading as a tradition. The ivory satin of my dress felt like a shroud. The sub-dermal microphone, implanted just below my collarbone, itched with a phantom weight. My new panic button, disguised as a second, smaller diamond on my bracelet, felt cold against my wrist.

The organ began to play. A solemn, processional piece. Every head turned.

And I walked.

I kept my eyes fixed on him. Luca stood at the altar, silhouetted against the stained-glass window. He wore a classic black tuxedo, his posture ramrod straight. He wasn't smiling. He looked like a king awaiting his due, his gaze unwavering as I moved toward him. The gray of his eyes seemed to absorb the candlelight, giving nothing back.

Each step was an eternity. I passed faces I recognized from dossiers: Riccardo, his expression a mask of grudging acceptance; the elderly, reptilian Don Rossini, who had lost his daughter a prize; hard-eyed men whose hands I knew were stained with blood. I was a lamb walking into a den of lions, pretending to be one of them.

I reached the altar. Silvio placed my hand in Luca’s. His grip was firm, warm, real. A jolt, unwelcome and electric, shot up my arm.

The priest began to speak in both English and Italian, his voice a sonorous drone. The words washed over me—'honor', 'cherish', 'in sickness and in health'. They were a grotesque parody. I was here to betray, not to cherish. To dismantle his life, not to build one with him.

My mind raced, a frantic counterpoint to the solemn ritual. I was cataloging everything—the exits, the positions of Luca’s bodyguards, the way Silvio’s hand rested near his inside pocket. I was an agent on a op, my wedding day the most high-stakes surveillance operation of my career.

Then came the vows.

Luca’s voice was clear and resonant, without a trace of hesitation. "I, Luca, take you, Anna, to be my wife. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part."

The words hung in the air. A promise. A lie. A threat.

The priest turned to me. My mouth was dry as dust. I could feel the weight of the microphone, the eyes of the congregation, the intensity of Luca’s gaze.

"I, Anna," I began, my voice surprisingly steady, "take you, Luca, to be my husband..." I recited the words, each one feeling like a betrayal of the badge I carried, the oath I had sworn to uphold the law. ...to love and to cherish, till death do us part.

Death felt like a more likely outcome than 'parting'.

The priest pronounced us man and wife. "You may kiss your bride."

Luca turned to me. He cupped my face with one hand, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. It was a surprisingly gentle gesture. His eyes searched mine, and for a terrifying second, I thought he could see straight through the satin and the sapphires to the wire and the lies beneath.

He leaned in.

His lips were soft, warm. It wasn't a passionate kiss, but it was possessive. A seal on a contract. A brand. As he pulled away, he didn't go far. His forehead rested against mine, his breath a warm caress on my skin.

And then he whispered it.

The words were so soft, so intimate, that for a moment I thought I had imagined them. But the ice that instantly flooded my veins was real.

"I know who you are."

He pulled back, his expression unreadable. He gave my hand a slight, reassuring squeeze, as if he had just commented on the weather.

The world stopped. The church, the guests, the priest—everything dissolved into a roaring static. He knows. The thought was a scream trapped in my skull. He knows, and he married me anyway.

My training kicked in, a desperate autopilot. I didn't flinch. I didn't gasp. I managed a small, tremulous smile, the blush of a new bride. My body was screaming to run, to fight, to draw the tiny derringer strapped to my thigh.

But my hand, the one he still held, remained steady.

He knew.

And in that cataclysmic moment, as he led me back down the aisle, his grip firm on my arm, the most terrifying question wasn't what he knew.

It was why.

Why marry a woman you know is sent to destroy you?

The game had just changed. The hunter had walked willingly into the lion's den, only to find the lion had been waiting for her all along.