Kidnapped by a Mafia Boss at My Wedding

The cathedral's vaulted ceiling seemed to stretch endlessly above me as I stood at the altar, my hands trembling slightly as they gripped the bouquet of white roses. The weight of my mother's pearl necklace pressed against my throat, a comforting reminder of her presence on what should have been the happiest day of my life.

"Do you, Isabella Elena Rossi, take Julian Alexander Vance to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, till death do you part?"

Father Morrison's voice echoed through the grand cathedral, his words carrying across the sea of faces watching from the pews. Three hundred guests—the city's elite, business partners, society figures—all waiting for my answer. The late afternoon sun streamed through the stained glass windows, casting jeweled patterns of light across my ivory silk gown.

I looked up at Julian, my handsome fiancé standing tall in his tailored black tuxedo. His golden hair was perfectly styled, his blue eyes warm and encouraging as he smiled down at me. This was the moment we'd planned for months, the culmination of our two-year engagement.

"I—" The word caught in my throat as emotion overwhelmed me. After losing my mother five years ago, after feeling so alone in my own home with Victoria and Clara treating me like an outsider, Julian had been my anchor. He'd been the one to hold me when I cried, to remind me that I wasn't truly alone.

I took a breath, steadying myself. "I do—"

BANG!

The cathedral's massive oak doors exploded open with such force they slammed against the stone walls. The sound reverberated through the sacred space like a gunshot, and several guests screamed. My bouquet tumbled from my hands as I spun toward the entrance.

A figure strode through the doorway, backlit by the dying sunlight, his presence commanding immediate attention. Even from a distance, I could see the sharp lines of his expensive black suit, the confident swagger in his step. Behind him, at least a dozen men in dark clothing filed in, their hands conspicuously hidden inside their jackets.

The man at the front had dark hair slicked back, olive skin, and eyes that seemed to cut through the cathedral's dim lighting like blades. When he spoke, his voice carried easily across the stunned silence.

"Isabella Rossi will not be marrying anyone today."

My blood turned to ice. I knew that voice, had heard it whispered about in the city's darkest corners. Dante Moretti. The most feared man in the entire city, the shadow that made even hardened criminals cross themselves and look over their shoulders.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the congregation. Several guests were already rising from their seats, edging toward the side exits. Others sat frozen, too terrified to move.

"You have no right to be here!" Father Morrison's voice cracked as he stepped protectively in front of me. "This is a house of God!"

Dante's laugh