Chapter 4 - The Iron and the Lace
The wedding was not a celebration; it was a coronation disguised as a private ceremony in the private chapel of the Boston Archdiocese, attended by exactly six people.
There were no society debutantes in pastel dresses. There were no weeping bridesmaids or cheerful uncles clinking champagne glasses.
The pews were empty except for Nolan—who sat trembling in the front row like a condemned man—and two of Dominic’s most trusted lieutenants, who stood near the heavy oak doors like stone statues in black suits.
I wore a high-necked vintage lace dress that had belonged to Dominic’s grandmother—a garment of severe, aristocratic elegance that smelled faintly of old cedar and dried lavender. It hugged my collarbones and wrists, leaving no skin exposed except my face, framing me like a portrait in a dark gallery.
When I walked down the stone aisle on my own terms—refusing to let Nolan give me away as if I were a piece of livestock—Dominic stood at the altar waiting for me.
He wore a formal black tuxedo, his dark hair combed back with military precision, the silver sapphire ring gleaming on his own hand.
The priest’s voice droned through the vaulted chapel, Latin and English phrases mixing into a monotonous drone that felt like a death sentence.
“Do you, Dominic, take this woman...” “I do.”
“Do you, Evelyn, take this man...” “I do.”
When it came time for the exchange of rings, Dominic’s fingers were steady, warm, and heavy as he pressed the matching band onto my finger. There was no hesitation in his touch, no doubt in his eyes. He wasn't marrying a frightened twenty-four-year-old girl to save her from ruin; he was claiming a territory.
As we stepped out of the chapel into the cold, gray Boston mist, a fleet of three black Mercedes Maybachs idled at the curb.
Dominic opened the door of the lead vehicle for me, shielding my head with his hand as I slid across the leather seat. He climbed in beside me, and the heavy armored doors sealed shut with a solid, airtight thud that cut off the sounds of the outside world.
"Where are we going?" I asked, looking out the tinted window as the car pulled away from the church, heading north toward the jagged, windswept cliffs of the Massachusetts coastline. "Not Hart House?"
"Hart House belongs to your brother now, under strict supervision," Dominic said, pulling out a tablet and beginning to review a shipping manifest without even looking up. "We are moving to the Vale estate in Gloucester. It’s safer, more secluded, and completely out of Nolan's reach."
"Safer from what?" I asked, my voice sharpening with suspicion. "Who is trying to kill us, Dominic? Or should I say... who are you hiding from?"
Dominic’s fingers stopped scrolling on the screen. He slowly laid the tablet down on the console between us, turning his head to look at me. The harsh light from the passing streetlamps caught the hard angles of his jaw and the cold, flat gray of his eyes.
"Pryce was just a symptom of a larger rot in the Boston shipping cartel," Dominic said, his voice dropping into that deep, terrifying baritone. "When I took over the syndicate after my father’s death, I made enemies who believed the Vale family was weak. They think bringing a Hart into my bed makes me vulnerable."
He reached out, his long fingers catching my chin, tilting my face upward so I had no choice but to look straight into the storm of his eyes.
"They are going to test you, Evelyn. They are going to watch your every move, test your loyalty, and look for any crack in our marriage to exploit."
May you like
He traced his thumb across my lower lip, his touch both dangerously intimate and chillingly possessive.
"You are a Vale now. And in my family, if anyone touches what is mine... I don't negotiate. I bury them."
