SHADOW PROMISES

War wasn't over. Not by a long shot. The Veleno Circle withdrew into the shadows, nursing their wounds and disappearing like smoke into the cracks of power. But finally, in what seemed to take an eternity, there was quiet. There was peace that they could not, did not anticipate—but something Luca and Bianca stole moments of. And into this quiet, Luca made his play. Not in a ballroom, nor on the horizon at sunset. It was in the ruins of the old Monticelli chapel—the ancestral sanctuary of her family—where sunbeams fought their way through broken stained glass, coloring Bianca with soft shades of gold and scarlet. She wore the leather jacket, the boots. Her hair resembled having just rolled out of bed, looking for potential danger. She had no hope until Luca slid into frame and his hand closed around something. She swallowed. Ring. Bianca He whispered low as he pulled the ring out "What— "I am no wordmaster fine. But you saw the worst of me and stay. There is blood on my fingers since I was seventeen. But somehow, with you, you make me want to wash them. He extended his hand. The ring was silver; the crest Monticelli carved on the ring in tastefully restrained cutting was all. No ruby, no diamond, but tradition and power.". "I don't want a fairytale. I need war… with you by my side. For all that is to come." Bianca didn't cry. She wasn't that type of woman. But her voice trembled, "Put it on me before someone tries to kill us." Luca smiled, pushing the ring onto her finger. It slipped onto her finger like a glove. Like them. Wedding arrangements werent solemn. Nothing ever was in their lives. The Ravenna Fortress, the best-defended Monticelli fortress, gun towers, loyalist clans, coded frequency jammers to deter observation guarding it, would be where the wedding would take place. Security was left to Raphael. "You do realize this is going to be the most elite mafia players' gathering in years?" he told Luca casually, examining virtual blueprints. "If the Veleno Circle is seeking revenge, this would be the ideal location." "Let them try," Luca replied. "We will be prepared." Bianca came into the war room, and her entrance halted the discussion. "We will open the doors of old enemies' and neutral syndicates' as well." Raphael's eyebrow twitched. "You're inviting the rival families?" If they do arrive and don't kill us, she said, they run away in terror. Show some respect. They'll recognize we're unassailable. Luca nodded. "Feed the snake at the table with you. That's how you poison a snake." Bianca organized guest lists and strategic seating charts while Raphael ordered guards and assassins. Her old friend Clara—a retired assassin-turned-queen of logistics—arrived three days ahead of the wedding. "I never thought I'd live to see the day you'd don white," Clara teased, embracing Bianca. "I am not wearing white," Bianca replied. "It is war colors. Black and gold." Clara smiled. "Suitable." Bianca took deep breaths, looking out at the fortifications. "You think I'm cursed?" Clara's smile fell. "What do you mean?" "All the ones I ever loved died or betrayed me. My sister tried to murder me. My father sold me like a coin. And now. I married the king of killers." Clara held out her hand. "You're not cursed. You're made of fire. You burn liars and chains. That's why he chose you. That's why they're all afraid of you." --- The wedding night, Luca sat with Raphael in the armory. "She changes everything," Luca said, juggling his ceremonial knife. "She makes me think that we can turn this world into a better world than it is today." Raphael snorted. "Romantic now?" "No," Luca said with a slight smile. "Just a man who has something to lose." Raphael's expression turned serious. "You think Adraine will return?" "She will. Betrayal does not sleep. And Sophia's ghost is on people's minds." Then we kill the ghost when it shows up, Raphael said icily. Luca tossed his empty glass. "To ghost killing." ---The wedding day snuck up like the slow approach of a storm-full of anticipation. Ravenna Fortress had never looked so ominous. Monticelli and Bianca's new emblem—a dagger surrounded by ivy—Streamer on all bare walls. Gunpowder and rose hung in the air. Bianca stood before the old mirror, the dress clinging to her like armor. Black silk, gold threads unraveling down the sleeves like tendrils. Lace veiled her loose hair. No crown. No diamonds. Only a sword at her waist and her mother's rosary on her forearm. "You look like a queen," Clara breathed. "I am a weapon." "Same thing, in your case.". He stood before the altar under stone arches with symbols carved into them, Raphael on his left, Enzo on his right. Room of power—the older dons, the arms dealers, smugglers, spooks. No police. No press—ever. Shadows only. Bianca walked in and the room caught its breath. Even the assassins waited. Luca's heart pumped in his chest. Shot, stabbed, betrayed were nothing that had ever made him as fearful as when he watched her come toward him, with a promise of forever. The ceremony started in Latin; they respected tradition that way. "Do you, Luca Monticelli, take Bianca Romano, to reign with you in power, in blood, in vengeance and in life?" "I do." "Do you, Bianca Romano, take Luca Monticelli, to stand with you in darkness, in rage, and in love?" "I do." The priest lifted the Monticelli sword, a family tradition. "Join your hands. Let fall a drop. Bind your blood." They cut their palms, clasped their hands together. Blood droplets ran between their fingers. "By this tie, you are bound. What blood has bound, let no war put asunder." They kissed. The fortress roared with booming applause. The towers boomed gunfire salutes. The bells tolled. They were husband and wife; king and queen. Bianca leaned against him, voice a whisper near Luca's ear, "Now let's give the world a taste of what they get when they make us enemies." --- The party that followed this was not that of the other parties. Champagne was drunk, and secrets too. Over the sound of it all were toasts made over deals, wounds healed, with the cold, unyielding stare of Luca's omnipresent, silent guards standing witness. The ballroom hummed with tension, it pulsed with power. Bianca danced once with Raphael. "Thanks for having his back," she whispered. "He's my brother," Raphael stated. "And now so are you. Anyone who hurts you dies by my hand." And she danced out under the moonlight with Luca. Their hands were clasped. Their lips brushed against each other between stolen, whispered words. And there was no sleep. Midnight arrived, and Clara held a phone. "You have to see this." .A video. It started with static. And Adraine's smiling, bruised face on the screen. "Cousin," she whispered. "Congratulations on your wedding. I hope it was worth the price." The camera pulled back. Warehouse. Luca's faithful by the score chained. Tortured. Killed. "You have made enemies," Adraine whispered. "I have made new friends. And they are coming to claim the crown." The screen went dark. Bianca to Luca, teeth gritted. "Let them come." He nodded, slow. "Because this time, we're not fighting for the throne alone." "We hunt heads."