Chapter 13 - The Wedding of the Century
Six months later.
The white orchids filled Holy Name Cathedral once again.
The air was warm, sweet with the scent of summer roses and expensive French perfume, a stark, beautiful contrast to the freezing, brutal snowstorm where their nightmare had finally ended.
Three hundred guests—consisting of high-ranking diplomats, international business moguls, and key figures of the New York underworld who now answered only to the Bianchi family—sat in reverent silence as the grand pipe organ began to play the traditional wedding march.
In the front pew, Elena sat beaming in a stunning lavender bridesmaid dress, wiping a happy tear from her eye as she clutched the program in both hands.
And then the heavy oak cathedral doors swung open.
Amelia walked down the aisle.
She wore a breathtaking, custom-designed Vera Wang gown of French lace and silk, trailing a twenty-foot veil that shimmered subtly under the crystal chandeliers.
Her head was held high, her green eyes shining with radiant happiness, completely free of fear, shadows, or secrets.
Waiting for her at the altar stood Lorenzo Bianchi.
He wore a tailored black tuxedo, his broad shoulders squared, his dark hair neatly styled, his expression a rare, breathtaking mixture of fierce pride and overwhelming devotion.
As Amelia reached the altar, Lorenzo stepped forward, taking her trembling hands in his own.
The minister cleared his throat, beginning the sacred vows, but neither of them heard a single word he said.
They only heard the steady, matching rhythm of their own hearts.
“Do you, Lorenzo Bianchi, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the priest asked clearly.
Lorenzo never broke eye contact with Amelia as he spoke the words that sealed their fate forever.
“I do.”
“And do you, Amelia Moretti, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Amelia smiled, a radiant, blinding smile that chased away every ghost of her past.
“I do.”
“You may kiss the bride.”
Lorenzo pulled Amelia into his arms, lifting her slightly off her feet as he kissed her deeply, passionately, in front of God, the city, and everyone they loved.
The cathedral erupted into thunderous applause and cheering.
Elena stood up, clapping louder than anyone else in the room.
As Lorenzo pulled back, resting his forehead gently against hers, he whispered softly in her ear.
“No more running, Mrs. Bianchi.”
May you like
Amelia smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Nowhere else to run to, Mr. Bianchi. I’m exactly where I belong.”
