“I have taken lives,” I continued. “Some in war. Some in revenge. One man in particular… I destroyed him not just with a bullet, but with everything that followed. I took the woman he was meant to marry. I broke him. Turned him into something monstrous. And when he came back for her, mad and ruined, Iwatched him die without mercy. I don’t regret protecting what is mine. But I see the cost. The blood. The ghosts.”
The priest was quiet for a long moment before speaking, his voice deep and steady, carrying the weight of countless confessions.
“Love and loss are forged from the same fire, my son. You have known profound loss. That pain has shaped you into a man who takes instead of asks. Who destroys before he can be destroyed. The man you speak of… he became a mirror of your own darkness. A warning of what obsession without grace can create.”
I closed my eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on me.
The priest continued, his words cutting deeper than any blade.
“But today is not a day of death. Today you stand on the threshold of something new. A woman has chosen you, not out of fear, but out of love. She carries new life within her. That is grace. Do not let the shadows of the past poison the future you are building. Love is not only possession. It is protection. It is sacrifice. It is choosing, every single day, to be better than the devil the world expects you to be.”
I swallowed hard, throat tight.
“Ego te absolvo,” the priest murmured. “Go in peace, my son. And may the Lord give you the strength to walk forward with an open heart on this day of new beginnings.”
I rose from the kneeler, chest heavy but lighter than it had been in years. As I stepped out of the confessional, the morning light felt warmer. Cleaner.
Thechapelwasfilledwith soft light and the quiet murmur of guests. Roses and white lilies decorated the altar, their scent mixing with incense and polished wood. My heart pounded harder than it had during any gunfight or street war. This was different. This was everything.
I stood at the front of the aisle in a black suit, red tie the only splash of color. Marco stood beside me as best man, silent and watchful. Behind us, a small gathering of carefully chosen faces watched, some from my world, some from hers. But my eyes were fixed on the end of the aisle.
When the music swelled and Aurora appeared on Matteo’s arm, the world narrowed to just her.
She was breathtaking. The white dress flowed around her like liquid silk and lace, the subtle gold embroidery catching the light. Her dark hair was pinned elegantly, a delicate veil framing her face. One hand rested lightly on her stomach, the other holding a bouquet of white roses. Our eyes met, and that familiar spark, the one that had started everything in a dimly lit club, ignited between us again.
She smiled.
I couldn’t breathe.
Matteo walked her down the aisle with quiet pride, then placed her hand in mine. His grip lingered for a second, a silent promise between brothers now. I nodded once. He stepped back.
The priest began the ceremony, his voice warm and steady. Vows were exchanged. Promises made. I spoke mine with a voice that only slightly betrayed the storm inside me.
Then came the moment.
“If anyone here has any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
The words hit me like a bullet.
For one frozen second, I was back in that blood-soaked cathedral. White dress. Sergio standing beside her. My gun in my hand. Blood on marble.
My entire body tensed. My jaw locked. My hand tightened around Aurora’s. She felt it and squeezed back, grounding me.
Silence stretched.
No objections. No chaos. No gunfire.
Just peace.
The priest smiled gently. “Then, by the power vested in me…”
I didn’t wait.
I pulled Aurora into my arms and kissed her, deep, possessive, and full of every emotion I had been holding back. She melted against me, one hand fisting my suit jacket as the other rested on my chest. The kiss was not gentle. It was a claim. A promise. A declaration in front of God and everyone that she was mine and I was hers.
A few gasps and soft chuckles rippled through the guests. The priest cleared his throat, clearly amused but trying to maintain decorum.
“…I now pronounce you husband and wife,” he finished, a hint of laughter in his voice. “You may now kiss the bride, though it appears you’ve already taken care of that.”
