Chapter 9 - The Wedding Feast
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The grand ballroom of the Moretti estate was an opulent display of wealth and intimidation. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the tables, while heavily armed guards stood silently at every exit.
Sophia walked down the makeshift aisle on Alessandro’s arm. She kept her chin high, projecting a fierce confidence she didn't truly feel. She could feel the judging eyes of the syndicate capos boring into her, assessing the former maid who had somehow captured the heart of the Ice King.
The ceremony was brief, officiated by a judge securely on the Moretti payroll.
When Alessandro pulled her in for the final kiss, it wasn't a performance for the crowd. It was deep, possessive, and desperately real. Sophia melted against him, the cheers of the syndicate echoing around them.
The reception began with a lavish feast. Emma, wearing a tiny, fluffy white dress, was sitting at the head table, completely enamored with the towering multi-tiered cake.
“You are doing perfectly,” Alessandro whispered, his hand resting securely on Sophia’s thigh under the table.
“I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Sophia murmured back, scanning the crowd.
Mateo was arrogant, but he wasn't stupid. He wouldn't launch a frontal assault on a fortified mansion filled with three hundred armed mobsters. He would use poison. He would use stealth.
Suddenly, Emma dropped her silver fork.
The toddler had been watching the waitstaff pour champagne for the ceremonial toasts. She tugged aggressively on Alessandro’s tuxedo sleeve.
“Papa Sandro!” Emma whispered loudly, using her new favorite nickname for him.
Alessandro immediately turned his full attention to the little girl, ignoring the capo who was trying to speak to him. “What is it, Emma?”
Emma pointed a tiny, accusatory finger at a tall waiter carrying a silver tray of filled champagne flutes toward their table.
“That’s the snake man,” Emma declared confidently. “The one who took the shiny box from Mr. Vincent.”
Sophia’s blood ran completely cold.
Alessandro’s gray eyes snapped toward the waiter. The man’s collar was pulled high, but as he leaned forward to place the champagne glasses on the head table, a jagged sliver of a green snake tattoo was clearly visible on his neck.
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It was Silas. The Viper lieutenant who had escaped the docks. He had infiltrated the catering staff.
Alessandro didn't flinch. He didn't reach for his gun. He simply smiled, a cold, terrifying expression, and accepted the glass of champagne the disguised assassin handed him.
