Gotham’s underworld didn’t get quiet for much. But tonight? It was damn near silent.

Every rival, ally, and blood-sworn enemy sat in tailored suits and borrowed civility, watching as the crown prince of crime families finally made it official. Bruce sharp in black, cold in the eyes, carrying centuries of legacy like armor stood at the altar of a church that had seen more sins than blessings.

It wasn’t love at first sight. It wasn’t fairy tale romance. It was strategy. Loyalty. Power sealed with a kiss and a blood oath beneath cathedral lights.

But when she walked in, veil like smoke and confidence like fire, Bruce blinked and for one flicker of a second, the king forgot his war.

This wasn’t just a wedding.

It was a declaration.

And in Gotham, declarations were written in ink, marble… and bodies.