Beneath The Wedding Veil

Celia's fingers brushed against the slick blade hidden under her garter. The music got louder, and a sharp violin sound bounced off the cold stone walls of the Rinaldi chapel. She thought about every step she took. The guests were only blurry shapes at the corners of her eyesight. Their whispers reverberated off the gilded walls, but they didn't matter. The man at the altar did.

Matteo Rinaldi. The person she was going to marry. The one she had promised to kill. He stood straight with his back to the wall, and his face was still unreadable even though the chandeliers' soft light lit up his features. His dark hair was greying at the temples, and years of force and discipline had shaped the sharp angles of his jawline. His steel-grey eyes looked around the room like a predator looking for prey, calm but always thinking.

She stepped over the edge, and the weight of her choice pressed down on her. The knife under her garter was all she had left of Adrian and the life she had lost. And today, it would allow her to regain what she had lost.

When she got closer, Matteo turned. His face didn't change; he kept his eyes on hers with a smirk, as if he had been waiting for this moment all along. His voice was low, and it cut through the peaceful hum of the chapel.

"You came with a weapon," he continued, without looking at her.

Celia's breath caught, but she didn't move. She was ready for anything except how cold and calm his comments were. She had thought of anger and rage, but not this.

She held his stare with a tiny twist of her head. "I wouldn't want to make this too easy for you, would I?" She spoke in a firm tone, daring him to fight back. Every stride she took toward him was a choice to straddle the line between revenge and something she didn't quite get.

He chuckled gently, and the sound was dark and creepy. "This wedding means more than blood, Celia. It's only a game. And now you're in my house. "Play by my rules."

She started to say something back, but the priest's voice broke the moment and said, "It's time for your vows." Celia kept her hands still, despite her heart racing in time with the storm building inside her.

And then the game started.

The cameras flashed like a lot of gunfire, and each click reminded them of the falsehoods they were about to tell. Celia could feel the heat of the spotlight on her face and the weight of a thousand eyes on her skin, but it wasn't Matteo's stare that kept her there. No, the chilly palm tightly held her wrist, possessive and unyielding.

Matteo's fingers pushed into her flesh, sending a silent shock through her veins. It was a reminder of how much power he had over her now. As they said their vows, his hand stayed there. His voice was smooth and practised, and the words came out of his mouth as easily as if he had said them a thousand times before.

She did so in a steady but empty voice when it was her turn to talk. She promised commitment, devotion, and things that made her mouth feel like ash. But she had to do this. She had to act the part. Her actual vow was the sword in her garter.

Their eyes locked, and his unblinking focus seemed to be attempting to figure her out with just one look. Then, just as the priest said to kiss, Matteo moved in close and whispered in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

He whispered, "I know why you're here."

She couldn't breathe; the words were like a bullet in her chest. She wanted to hit him and rip him apart right then and there, but instead she pushed her lips together and gave him a weak grin.

There was no time for secrets. And the truth, when it came, would destroy them both.

The bubbles in the champagne rose as quickly as the tension in the room. The crystal chandeliers made the champagne shine. Matteo lifted his glass and looked across the room, staying there long enough to remind everyone in charge of this night and this empire. He looked at Celia, and for the first time, she saw a flash of something human.

Matteo remarked, "Here's to the future," in a smooth, authoritative voice. "And to loyalty, which is what keeps us all together."

Celia clinked her glass against his, and her grin was tight and manufactured. The underbosses were now eyeing her closely, leaning in and examining her as if they had all the time in the world. They whispered to each other, judging her and looking for flaws. She could feel their eyes on her like daggers, but she didn't move.

Celia said "loyalty" again, this time in a low voice. The word tasted like poison.

But Leo...

Leo stood still in the shadows on the stairs. His eyes were wide open and unblinking, and they were fastened on her with a terrifying intensity. The hush in the room got thicker, like the air had stopped breathing.

She turned around, and her heart stopped as she saw him. His quiet was disturbing, like an ancient pain that was like hers.

And suddenly the air changed, like the calm before the storm.

Leo opened his mouth, but no words came out. He only looked. Celia instantly recognised that this was no longer just a game of power. This was about staying alive. She's staying alive—Leo's life.

Her gaze went back to Matteo. She had to go further into the shadows since the world had become much darker.

But would she save him or kill him?

The supper was over, but the house still felt heavy with the strain of promises that hadn't been made. People chatted and laughed in the hall, and their laughter echoed off the marble walls. On the other hand, Celia stayed still with her back against the cold hallway stone. She couldn't resist the nagging feeling of urgency crawling beneath her skin. After the toast, Matteo disappeared into the dark corners of the Rinaldi estate like a ghost.

Celia proceeded quietly, taking her time and thinking about each step. She looked at the door leading to the house's private part. The guards changed shifts in the same predictable way she had memorised since they arrived. She reviewed her mental map again, writing down where every exit, entry, and guard was. But there was something else: this mansion's mysteries and hidden things.

As she walked into the main bedroom, her fingers brushed over the gold-framed pictures on the wall. The doors were big and heavy with history, and Celia could feel every inch of that weight crushing on her as she walked in. The room was quiet, except for the sound of the wind roaring outside. She quickly focused on the dresser next to the bed.

She knew Matteo better than anybody else in this home. His actions, likes, dislikes, and how he hid things. And it was there, hidden under a pile of garments. A gun. She hesitated momentarily before opening the drawer with a sleek, deadly rifle. As she carefully weighed the cool metal, it seemed to buzz in her hand.

She had thought of many things, including secrets and lies, but not this. Matteo had always been careful, but this? This showed that his paranoia was worse than she believed.

She quietly closed the drawer, and the silence around her was unbearable. Her mind was racing. She was going to find out what Matteo was hiding. The night was still early, and the game had just started.

Celia walked down the dark hallways, her feet making almost no noise on the slick floor. The west wing was calmer than the rest of the estate. Its halls were narrow and meandering, and its chambers were empty. Celia knew better than to think of it as an afterthought, a portion of the rarely used house. The underused rooms in a home founded on power and secrecy held the most.

She stopped in the doorway of a little room and looked around quickly. She could still picture the arrangement, including the paths of each guard and the creaky floorboards. But suddenly there was something else. The deeper she went, the more she felt the pull of what Matteo had withheld from her.

The air in the west wing felt heavy and suffocating, like it was holding its breath. Celia's senses were sharper and more acute. It was too quiet. Her heart raced in her breast, but she kept going, step by step, remembering every shadow, nook, and whisper in the home.

She stopped when she got to the end of the hall and saw a locked door. It differed from the others because it was concealed behind layers of dust, as if it had been left there for years. But the lock was too new, and the hinges were too clean. Someone had intentionally closed off this room.

Celia put her ear to the wood and listened. No one is walking. No sound. Nothing but quiet. The type that didn't feel right. She touched the handle with her fingers to test it. It turned effortlessly, and with a gentle push, the door opened.

It wasn't meant to open. It couldn't.

As she went inside, the darkness engulfed her. The air in the chamber was still and aged, making it colder than the rest of the home. But in the far corner, something moved, a faint light in the blackness. An invisible thread pulled her toward it.

The door had opened independently, and now Celia had to deal with what it had been hiding.