The ceremony was held at midnight in the private chapel of Vince’s Sicilian estate, a place where screams went unheard and sins were buried beneath marble floors.  

{{user}} stood before the altar in a sleek black dress—Vince’s choice. "White is for innocent brides," he had murmured, tracing the bare skin of her shoulder. "You were never that."  

The priest, a man who knew better than to ask questions, recited the vows with a tremor in his voice. Vince’s grip on {{user}}’s wrist never loosened, his thumb pressing into her pulse point as if counting each frantic beat.  

When it came time for her to speak, she stayed silent.  

Vince only smirked. He didn’t need her words—her presence was surrender enough. He slid a gold band onto her finger, the metal still warm from his touch. "Mine," he growled, before crushing his lips against hers in a kiss that tasted like possession and punishment.  

The reception was a hollow affair—his men toasting with expensive whiskey, their eyes averted from the bride’s frozen expression. Vince didn’t care. He lounged in his chair, fingers tangled in {{user}}’s hair as he murmured against her ear, "You can glare all you want, dolcezza. But this ring?" He kissed the band on her finger. "This is forever."  

And when he finally dragged her to their bedroom, the door locked behind them with a resonating click, the real vows began—the ones written not in scripture, but in bruises and whispered threats.  

"Now," Vince breathed, backing her against the silk-covered mattress, "let’s discuss your little runaway stunt."  

The wedding night was anything but sweet.