Chapter 7 - A Wedding Without RosesThey were married at three o’clock in a judge’s private chamber.
No flowers.
No music.
No white dress.
Sophia wore the same black dress she had worn to the police station, cleaned as best as possible but still stiff with memory. Alessandro wore a charcoal suit and an expression carved from stone. Rebecca stood as witness. Vincent stood as the second, his eyes suspiciously bright.
Emma sat in the corner coloring a picture of three people beneath a purple sun.
When the judge asked Sophia if she entered the marriage willingly, she looked at Alessandro.
He did not look triumphant.
He looked prepared to be hated.
That made it worse.
“Yes,” she said.
Her voice barely carried.
When the judge asked Alessandro the same, his answer was steady.
“Yes.”
The rings were temporary. Rebecca had bought simple gold bands from a jeweler two blocks away. Sophia’s ring felt strange on her finger. Too warm. Too heavy. Too impossible.
Afterward, Emma ran to Alessandro and held up her drawing.
“That’s you,” she said. “That’s Mama. That’s me. We are under the sun because rain is too loud.”
Alessandro took the paper carefully.
“Am I smiling?”
Emma sighed as though disappointed by his lack of artistic understanding. “A little. You are learning.”
Vincent coughed into his fist.
Sophia turned away because her eyes had filled without permission.
The ride back to the estate was silent.
Not peaceful.
Silent like people standing at the edge of a bridge.
At the gates, reporters surged, cameras flashing.
“Is it true?”
“Did you marry the maid?”
“Is this to protect her from murder charges?”
“Is she pregnant?”
Sophia flinched at that last cruel invention.
Alessandro’s hand tightened around hers.
The gesture was for the cameras.
At least, that was what Sophia told herself.
Inside the estate, the entire staff lined the entrance hall.
Some looked shocked.
Some excited.
Some furious.
Valentina stood at the center beneath the chandelier, dressed in black as though attending a funeral.
Elena stood beside her, white with rage.
Marco leaned against the staircase, clapping slowly.
“Congratulations,” he said. “The family finally has a fairy tale. The prince and the mop bucket.”
Sophia lifted her chin.
Alessandro’s voice was deadly soft. “Apologize.”
Marco laughed. “To whom? Your wife?”
“Yes.”
The word struck the hall harder than thunder.
Your wife.
Sophia felt every eye turn toward her.
Marco stopped laughing.
Valentina stepped forward. “This marriage is invalid in every way that matters.”
“The state disagrees,” Alessandro said.
“You think paper makes her one of us?”
“No,” he replied. “My decision does.”
Elena’s composure cracked. “You humiliated me.”
Alessandro looked at her. “No. I refused to be managed by you.”
“I stood beside you for years.”
“You stood beside my aunt.”
Elena’s slap came fast.
The sound echoed through the hall.
Sophia gasped.
Alessandro’s head turned slightly from the impact. He did not raise a hand. He did not even blink.
Elena’s face crumpled with fury. “You will regret this.”
“I already regret many things,” Alessandro said. “This is not one of them.”
Valentina looked at Sophia with a smile cold enough to frost glass.
“Enjoy the room, Mrs. Moretti. Women who enter this family rarely leave whole.”
Sophia’s fear should have silenced her.
Instead, exhaustion made her brave.
“Maybe that is because the family breaks them.”
The hall went dead quiet.
Vincent looked at the floor, hiding what might have been approval.
Alessandro looked at Sophia as though she had just done something reckless and magnificent.
Valentina’s smile vanished.
“Careful,” she whispered.
Sophia met her eyes.
“I have been careful my entire life. It did not stop people from hurting me. So maybe careful is overrated.”
Emma tugged Alessandro’s sleeve.
“Is Grandma Dragon mad?”
Sophia closed her eyes in horror.
A sound escaped one of the guards.
It might have been a laugh.
Valentina turned scarlet.
Alessandro crouched beside Emma. “We do not call people dragons.”
Emma frowned. “But she breathes mean.”
Vincent’s shoulders shook once.
Alessandro stood quickly. “Vincent, please take Emma to the sunroom.”
“Gladly, sir.”
As Vincent led Emma away, Sophia whispered, “I am so sorry.”
Alessandro looked at his aunt. “I am not.”
That night, Sophia was shown to Alessandro’s private wing.
She stopped at the bedroom door.
“No,” she said.
Alessandro, who had been speaking quietly with a guard, turned. “No?”
“I will not sleep in your room.”
“I did not ask you to.”
The housekeeper opened the door across the hall.
“This suite is yours,” Alessandro said. “Emma’s room connects through there. Mine is across the corridor. There is a lock on your side.”
Sophia stared at him.
A lock on her side.
Not his.
Hers.
“I told you,” he said quietly. “No cage.”
She looked away before he could see how much that mattered.
Inside, the suite was warm and soft, with cream curtains, a sitting area, and a bed so large Emma immediately declared it “a cloud for queens.”
Sophia bathed her daughter, braided her hair, found the rabbit with the stitched ear, and tucked her into the enormous bed.
Emma was nearly asleep when she whispered, “Is Mr. Flower my daddy now?”
Sophia’s heart twisted.
“No, baby.”
“Then what is he?”
Sophia looked toward the locked door.
“I don’t know.”
Emma yawned. “He scared Daddy.”
“Yes.”
“That was good.”
Sophia stroked her hair.
After Emma slept, Sophia stepped into the hall.
Alessandro stood by the window, phone in hand.
“You should rest,” he said.
“I can’t.”
“Neither can I.”
They stood in silence.
Then Sophia asked, “What did Enzo say before he died?”
Alessandro looked out at the dark garden.
“He said Marco.”
Sophia’s breath caught.
“You think Marco killed him?”
“I think Marco knows who did.”
“Then why not tell the police?”
“Because Marco will deny it, Valentina will bury it, and Elena will smile while everyone believes them.” He turned to her. “We need proof.”
Sophia nodded slowly.
“What was Enzo trying to tell me about a drawer?”
Alessandro’s gaze sharpened. “What drawer?”
“In the chapel. He said, ‘Drawer.’”
Alessandro was already moving.
They crossed the estate in silence, avoiding the main hall. The chapel doors were locked, but Alessandro had a key.
Inside, the candles had burned out. The altar stood beneath the stained glass, washed in moonlight.
Sophia pointed. “There.”
Alessandro opened the narrow drawer built into the side of the altar.
Empty.
Sophia’s stomach sank.
Then Alessandro ran his fingers along the underside.
A click.
A hidden compartment slid open.
Inside lay a small leather notebook.
Alessandro opened it.
Page after page of names.
Dates.
Payments.
Initials.
Photographs tucked between pages.
His face hardened as he read.
“What is it?” Sophia whispered.
Alessandro looked up.
“My uncle was keeping records.”
“Of what?”
“Everything my family wanted buried.”
A sound came from the back of the chapel.
They turned.
Marco stood in the doorway, holding a gun low at his side.
May you like
He smiled at Sophia.
“Welcome to the family, Mrs. Moretti.”
