Chapter 3 - The Cold Coast Ceremony
The chapel inside the Bellandi mansion was small, ancient, and carved from dark stone that seemed to absorb the flickering light of thirty beeswax candles. High above the altar, a stained-glass window depicted Saint Michael standing over a fallen dragon, casting deep crimson and blue shadows across the marble floor.
It was 6:00 PM.
I stood before the altar wearing a dark navy silk gown that draped flawlessly to my ankles, fitted tightly at the waist with long, modest sleeves. My dark hair was swept up into an elegant low bun, held by a simple silver comb Madame Laurent had provided. I wore no jewelry except for a thin silver chain around my neck.
Beside me stood Dante Bellandi.
He was dressed in a black formal tuxedo, his white shirt blindingly crisp against the dark fabric. He smelled of rain, cedar, and faint incense. His hand was steady, his jaw set like iron as Father Thomas—an elderly priest with deep lines etched into his face—read the traditional Latin vows.
There were no flowers. There were no photographers. There were no cheering guests.
Standing in the front row of pews were Enzo, Viktor (Dante’s head of security, a broad-shouldered man with a scarred jaw), and the three children. Leo was wearing a dark jacket that made him look like a mini version of his father; Mateo sat quietly between his brother and sister; Livia held Miss Pearl tightly in her lap.
"Do you, Dante Vincenzo Bellandi, take this woman to be your wedded wife..." Father Thomas’s voice echoed off the damp stone walls.
"I do," Dante said. The words were quiet, heavy, and absolute.
"And do you, Evelyn Ward, take this man..."
I looked up at Dante. In the candlelight, his gray eyes were locked onto mine. There was no hesitation in them, no hidden deceit, no passive-aggressive malice like I had endured for three years with Sebastian Crane. Dante Bellandi was a dangerous man, a terrifying man, but he was direct. He offered a shield in exchange for my presence, and he meant every word.
"I do," I said firmly.
Father Thomas blessed two silver rings lying on a velvet cushion.
Dante took the band—a simple, heavy platinum ring engraved with the Bellandi lion inside the curve. He took my left hand in his. His touch was warm, slightly rough from old calluses, but his movement was surprisingly gentle as he slid the ring onto my fourth finger.
It fit perfectly.
I took the second ring—a matching platinum band—and slid it onto his finger.
"By the authority vested in me," Father Thomas murmured, making the sign of the cross, "I pronounce you husband and wife. What God has joined, let no man put thrust asunder."
Dante didn't lean down for a dramatic, cinematic kiss. Instead, he raised my hand to his lips, pressing a firm, brief kiss to my knuckles. His eyes met mine over our joined hands.
"Welcome to the dark, Evelyn," he whispered so softly only I could hear.
"I brought my own lantern," I whispered back.
A faint, real smile touched his lips—the first true smile I had seen from him.
Before the priest could close his leather book, the heavy oak doors at the back of the chapel slammed open.
The loud bang echoed through the sacred space like a gunshot.
Viktor’s hand went inside his jacket instantly. Enzo stepped smoothly in front of the three children, shielding them with his tall frame.
Standing in the doorway, drenched in rain, holding a damp leather briefcase, was a young man in a expensive tan trench coat. His wet hair was plastered to his forehead, and his breath came in ragged, furious hitches.
It was Arthur Pendelton—Sebastian Crane’s chief corporate attorney.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Arthur shouted, his voice echoing off the stone arches. He took three hurried steps down the aisle before Viktor stepped into his path, placing one massive, leather-gloved hand against Arthur’s chest, stopping him cold.
"This is a private chapel," Viktor said, his voice flat and terrifyingly quiet. "Identify yourself before I remove your teeth."
Arthur paled, but his arrogance pulled him through. He held up a stack of legal documents.
"I am Arthur Pendelton, representing Sebastian Crane!" he declared, looking past Viktor toward me. "Evelyn! You left the Crane residence last night without signing the final financial release schedule! Sebastian sent me to—"
Arthur stopped dead.
His eyes fell upon Dante Bellandi, who was slowly turning around from the altar.
The air in the chapel seemed to freeze. The light from the candles flickered wildly as Dante stepped down from the altar platform, his silver signet ring gleaming in the dark.
"You brought Crane's legal paperwork into my chapel?" Dante asked softly.
Arthur swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically from Dante’s face to the silver ring on my finger, and then to Viktor’s hand, which was now casually resting near the holster inside his coat.
"I... Don Bellandi..." Arthur stammered, his courage evaporating like steam on hot iron. "I was not aware... Miss Ward was here under your... your employment."
"She is not under my employment," Dante said, placing his hand over mine, our matching platinum bands catching the candle glow. "She is my wife. Mrs. Evelyn Bellandi."
Arthur’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. The sheer, overwhelming absurdity of the situation hit him like a physical blow. Sebastian Crane’s ex-wife—the woman who had been thrown out into the rain with twenty-six dollars twelve hours ago—was now the supreme matriarch of the Bellandi crime syndicate.
"Return to Sebastian Crane," Dante commanded, his voice dropping into a register that made the stained-glass windows vibrate faintly. "Tell him that if he or any member of his family ever sends a message, an attorney, or a breath in my wife's direction again... I will buy Crane Enterprises, liquidate its assets, and burn his family name out of the city archives."
Dante took a step closer to Arthur, his gray eyes locking onto the terrified attorney.
"Now get out of my house before I let my security detail throw you into the river."
Arthur didn't wait for a second warning. He turned on his heel, dropped his damp briefcase on the marble floor in his haste, and fled out the double doors into the pouring rain.
Silence reclaimed the chapel.
Livia popped her head out from behind Enzo’s leg, holding Miss Pearl up toward the door.
"He ran fast," Livia noted plainly. "Like a wet rat."
Mateo giggled. Leo looked at Dante, then at me, his young eyes bright with a sharp, triumphant pride.
Dante turned back to me, looking down at our joined hands. "An adequate wedding gift?"
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I looked at the dropped briefcase on the floor, then up at my new husband.
"It was a very good start," I said.
