The Mafia Prince's obsession (MM)

Dante

Father's voice thunders through the room like gunshots.
"You're marrying Elijah?!"

The office door slams shut behind me. His face twisted in rage, his hands clenched at his sides like he is resisting the urge to break something or someone. His eyes bore into mine.

I don't flinch.
I never do.

I stand calmly by the window, watching the chaos outside. It's all noise.

"Yes," I say finally, my voice low, even. "I'm marrying Elijah."

He slams his fist into the desk. "Are you out of your goddamn mind, boy?!"
"You are supposed to marry Maya! That is the agreement!"

I turn slowly, my expression very schooled. "There is no Maya"
"She ran,"

"Then we wait." He barks. "We find her. We fix this. You don't go marrying the first Vega with a pulse!"

My jaw flexes as I take a step forward.

"We don't have time." My voice is sharper now. Measured, but forceful. "Every minute we waste, the Viscontis gain ground. We don't have enough army, no backup. This alliance is our only shot at evening the playing field,"

He narrows his eyes. "And you think marrying him—Elijah –is the best answer?"

"It seals the alliance. It keeps the Vegas with us. It buys us time and strength." My tone hardens. "Unless you want to keep playing chess while the Viscontis burn down our board."

A pause.

He stares at me, chest heaving. Then he lets out a bitter laugh. His eyes locking with mine. "You sure this is just about the war?"

Instead of answering the question I step closer to him. "This isn't about feelings. It's about survival. This isn't optional."

He looks away, running a hand down his face. He pours himself a glass of vodka, knocks it back in one shot, and stares into distance.

"If this blows up in our faces—"

"It won't," I cut in.

He turns to me. There is something new in his eyes. Not approval. Not pride. But...the beginning of a shift. Like he is seeing his son clearly –for the first time in years.

"You better be right."

I give a short nod and turn to leave. But just before I open the door, he speaks again—calmer, quieter.

"One day, you'll have to admit what this is really about."

I freeze for a second, then I walk out.

No one ever calls out the monster when they're the one who raised it.

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                          Elijah

I stand beyond the archway, hidden behind velvet curtains that muffles the sound of murmuring guests and the soft echo of the string quartet.

My hands clammy against the fabric of my suit, and my heart pounding violently it feels like it might break free from my ribs.

This ain't suppose to be my wedding.

This ain't suppose to be my day.

And yet....here I am.

The soft rustle of footsteps behind me signal the arrival of two guards followed by a quiet nod from the coordinator. The music changes. The priest clears his throat. The door begins to open.

This is it.

I take a slow breath. The air smells of roses and expensive cologne, sweet and suffocating all at once. Every step I take forward feels like walking into a dream—or a trap. I can't decide which.

The aisle stretches before me like a path to something irreversible. Guests turn. Heads tilt. Whispers follow me like shadows. Some gasps. Others just stare. I keep my gaze locked forward.

And then I see him.

Standing at the altar, dark eyes fixed on me. His face is unreadable —but his eyes.....those goddamn eyes. They soften for the briefest moment when they land on me. No pity. No guilt. Something deeper.

Something dangerous.

My breath is caught in my throat.

This man was supposed to marry my sister.

This man, who kissed me like fire and held me like a secret. This man who whispered things in the dark that I tried not to believe.

And now he is standing at the altar waiting for me.

Each step forward feels like a contradiction. My mind screams 'you're just a replacement' but my heart...my heart holds on to 'but he chose you'. I don't want to feel anything. I don't want to let myself hope.

But I do.

God help me, I do.

I reach the altar. Dante's jaw clenches slightly as I stop before him. Our eyes lock—just like before, just like they did the first time he looked at me.

The priest begins to speak. I can barely hear a word.

My gaze flicks to the side —Roman Markov's face unreadable. Father, tense and pale, as if holding back more than just tears. Gab looks ready to leap across the pevs and tear someone apart.

I turn my gaze back to Dante.

"This is madness " I thought.

But Dante leans in ever so slightly, voice low–just for me.

"You're not a replacement."
"You were always the one."

The world stops for a second.

The priest asks the question.

As I open my mouth.

My heart answers first.

"I do"