Chapter 9

But just as Marco opened his mouth to suggest skipping the formalities, the sound of a loud car engine echoed through the quiet ceremony space, shattering the stillness.

Both Delilah and Marco turned their heads toward the entrance, confusion crossing their faces. 

Marco’s brow furrowed as he exchanged a quick glance with the officiant, who seemed just as bewildered.

Suddenly, the heavy doors to the church swung open, and a group of rugged men marched in. 

They moved with an air of purpose, their boots stomping against the stone floor, echoing through the sanctuary. 

The metallic glint of guns in their hands made Mary tremble, her fear evident in the way her face drained of color. 

She clutched her hands together, looking between Marco and the men, her breaths quick and shallow.

Gino and Marco exchanged brief looks of alarm. 

Neither of them had brought their guns; they hadn’t expected violence here in the sanctity of the church. Most especially when no one was aware of their wedding plans except Mary and his grandfather. 

Marco clenched his jaw, knowing they were at a disadvantage. 

He was helpless without his weapon, but his mind raced, trying to figure out who these men were and what they wanted.

Delilah’s heart raced in her chest, her hands trembling slightly as she instinctively took a step back. 

Marco squinted, his sharp eyes narrowing as he tried to make out the figure at the front of the group. 

The man in the center of the rugged men looked vaguely familiar. 

Marco squinted again, willing his memory to make sense of it.

Then, one of the men stepped forward, taller and more imposing than the others. He collected a heavier gun from one of the other men, a gesture that signaled his authority. His posture, the way the others seemed to submit to him, made it clear he was their leader.

As the man walked toward the front, Marco’s jaw dropped in disbelief. 

It couldn’t be...

"Vincent?" Marco’s voice cracked with shock. 

His cousin—his elder cousin—had been presumed dead years ago in a car accident. Marco had mourned him, believed him lost. Yet here he was, very much alive and very much armed.

Vincent let out a scoff, his face hardening into a fierce expression. 

Without a word, he lifted the gun and fired a shot into the air. 

The sharp crack of the gunshot echoed through the church, making Mary shriek and fall to her knees in terror.

Delilah, who had been trying to remain composed, instinctively moved behind Marco. 

She’d thought maybe the man was a friend of Marco’s, but the way Vincent wielded the gun like a toy unsettled her. 

Using Marco as a shield seemed like the safest option now. 

Despite her own interest in firearms, the sight of Vincent’s reckless behavior left her shaken.

Marco, trying to ease the growing tension, stepped carefully away from the altar, his movements slow and deliberate as he approached Vincent.

"Vincent," Marco began, his voice low and measured, "whatever game you’re playing, it needs to stop. This isn’t the time for child’s play."

Vincent’s eyes gleamed dangerously as he leveled his gaze at Marco. "Child’s play?" he repeated, his voice filled with mockery. 

Without hesitation, Vincent turned and fired a shot at Mary.

The sound of the gunshot reverberated in the enclosed space as Mary collapsed onto the cold stone floor, her body limp. 

Marco stood frozen, the world around him moving in slow motion as dread seized his chest. 

Delilah screamed, the sound piercing the still air, her hands flying to her mouth in horror. 

The bullet had nearly grazed her before Vincent redirected it at Mary. 

The near miss sent her heart pounding in her throat.

Delilah’s vision blurred with terror as memories of her parents' deaths flashed in her mind, the trauma of that day flooding back in an instant. 

Tears began to fall uncontrollably down her face as she dropped to her knees beside Mary, frantically trying to wake her. "Aunt! Aunt, wake up!" she cried, shaking her aunt’s still body, but there was no response.

Meanwhile, Vincent turned back to Marco, his expression darkening as he locked eyes with his cousin. "Does this still look like a child’s play to you?" he sneered, his voice laced with menace.

Marco clenched his fists, rage and helplessness warring inside him. He wanted to fight back, to make Vincent pay for what he’d just done, but he knew better than to act recklessly.

Vincent took a step closer, the barrel of his gun now pressing against Marco’s abdomen. "Be a good little mama’s boy and don’t cross your boundary," Vincent hissed, his voice dripping with contempt.

Marco raised his hands in surrender, his eyes never leaving Vincent’s face. He could feel the impact of the situation crushing down on him. 

With a bitter swallow, he slowly backed up, returning to the altar as Vincent had commanded.

Delilah was still sobbing over Mary, desperately trying to wake her, but it was no use. 

Her aunt lay unmoving, her breaths shallow and weak. 

Delilah’s mind was racing, the horror of what had just happened overwhelming her. 

She pressed her hand against Mary’s cheek, her voice hoarse as she whispered, "Please… don’t leave me."

On the other hand, Marco and Gino had been forced into submission. 

Vincent’s men stood firm, guns raised, watching them with cold, serious eyes. 

Marco and Gino’s hands were cuffed behind their backs, leaving them helpless. 

Marco clenched his fists, trying to yank his wrists free, but the cuffs were too tight. His muscles strained against the cold metal, but it was no use.

Marco’s heart raced as he watched Vincent approach Delilah. Panic coursed through him, knowing full well what Vincent was capable of. He had to stop him.

"What do you want, Vincent?" Marco's voice was laced with desperation. "Is it money? Drugs? Guns? Just tell me!" He hoped the offer would catch Vincent’s attention, anything to distract him from Delilah.

Vincent, however, ignored Marco entirely. His eyes were fixed on Delilah, a smirk pulling at his lips as he sauntered towards her. 

Marco, frustrated and terrified, tried again to pull free from the cuffs. He could feel his pulse hammering in his ears.

"I swear... once I get my hands on my gun..." Marco said bitterly. "Mark my words, Vincent. I'll ruin you."

The rugged man standing beside Marco jabbed him in the ribs with the barrel of his gun. 

"Shut up," the man snarled. 

Marco gritted his teeth, his gaze burning with fury, but he knew better than to provoke them further. 

For now, he had no choice but to watch as Vincent closed in on Delilah.

Vincent crouched in front of Delilah, his smirk deepening as he observed her tear-streaked face, her hands trembling as they rested on Mary's still body. 

Marco felt his heart sink. Guilt washed over him. 

"This is my fault," he thought. "If only I’d brought my gun, if only I’d been prepared..."

His mind wandered for a moment, recalling the inappropriate thoughts he'd had about Delilah earlier—the way he had admired her curves, the fantasies that had consumed him. And now, all those thoughts seemed meaningless in the face of the real danger. She could die. Vincent could easily murder her, and there would be nothing he could do to stop it.

Vincent glanced down at Mary, his expression one of fake pity. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head slightly. 

"She won’t make it," he said coldly, devoid of any emotion. "Better focus on the wedding instead."

Delilah looked up at him, her red, tear-filled eyes brimming with a mix of anger and heartbreak. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms, but she knew she was powerless.

Vincent chuckled darkly, sensing her frustration. "Oh, don’t worry," he said with a wicked gleam in his eye. "I still plan on you marrying into the Donato family." He leaned closer, lowering his voice as he added, "Only this time... you’ll be marrying me instead."

Delilah’s blood ran cold. Her breath hitched in her throat as her body tensed. What?

Marco, who had been watching intently, was equally stunned. His mind struggled to process what he had just heard. "What the hell are you talking about?" he shouted, his voice filled with outrage. "She’s my bride!"

Vincent smiled, standing up slowly and turning to face Marco. "That was before I walked in," he said smoothly, a wicked glint in his eyes. He reached down, pulling Delilah to her feet with a rough grip.

Marco’s heart pounded as Vincent pressed the barrel of his gun to the side of Delilah’s forehead. His breath caught in his throat, helpless to stop what was unfolding in front of him.

Vincent tilted his head, looking at Marco with mock amusement. "Now," he said, his voice dark and clear, "she’s my bride."