The veil turned the world into a blur of white lilies, candlelight, and lies.
If I kept my eyes on the altar—on Luca waiting in his black tuxedo with that boyish smile—I could almost believe I was walking into a future I chose. Almost.
My father's arm was steady as he guided me down the aisle, though his cufflinks gleamed too brightly, as if they knew a secret I didn't. Guests rose. The air was thick with perfume, whispers, and expectation. This was supposed to be my salvation—marrying a safe man, escaping the shadows that clung to the Rossi name.
But when my father placed my hand in Luca's, I felt the tremor in his palm. He wasn't just nervous. He was afraid.
"Dearly beloved," the priest began, "we are gathered today—"
The church doors slammed open.
The sound split the air like a gunshot. Heads whipped around. And there he was: tall, broad-shouldered, cut in shadow against the light. A black suit, an unhurried stride, and eyes that pinned me as if I'd been marked long before this day. Two men flanked him, built like walls, hands tucked inside their jackets.
The stranger's voice rolled through the pews, smooth and merciless.
"Objection." His gaze never left mine. "I'm here for the bride."
Gasps broke the silence. The priest clutched his book. My father's fingers dug into my shoulder. Luca froze, his face drained of color.
"Leave," my father ordered, his voice cracking. "Now, before I—"
"Before you what?" the man asked, stepping forward, stained-glass light cutting him into fragments of blood and sapphire. His lips curved, but it wasn't a smile. "Before you admit your son-in-law owes me two million?"
Whispers ripped through the crowd. The name hissed on a dozen lips like a curse. Moretti.
My breath caught. Even I knew that name. Adrian Moretti, heir to New York's most feared mafia family. A man parents used to frighten their children into obedience. And he was standing at my altar.
"That's ridiculous," my father snapped, though his face had gone gray.
Adrian's eyes slid to Luca. "Tell her. Or I will."
Luca's hand shook harder around mine. "Elena," he whispered, "I was going to fix it—"
"Fix what?" My voice came out sharper than I meant, cracking the ceremony wide open.
"The debt," Adrian said, his tone almost gentle. "Luca owed me two million. And when he ran out of cash, he offered something else." His eyes burned into mine. "You."
The church tilted. The lilies, the candles, the faces—all blurred into static. My fiancé flinched as if the word itself had struck him.
"I thought he wouldn't come," Luca stammered. "I thought—"
"You thought wrong," Adrian cut in. "And now I'm collecting what's mine."
The priest gasped. "Sir, this is a house of God—"
Adrian ignored him. His attention was fixed on me, unyielding. "You can walk with me, Elena," he said, his voice low and absolute. "Or I can carry you. Either way, you're leaving with me."
I should've screamed. I should've run. Instead, I asked the only question that mattered.
"If I go with you… what happens to him?"
Adrian's answer was quiet, final. "He walks out alive."
"And if I don't?"
"Then he doesn't."
Luca's eyes were wide, desperate. "Please," he begged.
A thousand eyes pressed into me. My father's hand fell from my shoulder, heavy with shame. The veil blurred everything but the man standing in front of me—the devil my fiancé had summoned.
My spine straightened. My voice, when it came, didn't sound like mine at all. "One condition," I said.
Adrian tilted his head, interest flickering in his gaze. "I'm listening."
"You leave my family out of this. My father. My mother. Matteo. Their names are not in your mouth, their lives not in your hands."
His lips curved into something colder than a smile. "Done."
"And Luca owes you nothing more once I leave with you. This ends here."
Adrian studied me for a beat, then nodded once. "Your fiancé should have let you negotiate from the start."
I lifted my chin, even as my heart thundered in my ears. "I'm not his. I'm no one's."
His eyes caught the light. "Not for long."
I placed my hand in his.
The veil slipped back as he pulled me from the altar, and the church erupted in whispers, gasps, and prayers that would never reach me. The man beside me walked as if he owned the aisle, the pews, the city beyond those doors.
And maybe he did.
Because with every step I took, I realized the truth:
I hadn't been saved that day.
I'd been stolen.