A Crown Made of Scars

Early the next morning, I stood before a full-length mirror, clad in a custom-tailored black gown that would not be out of place at an Italon mafia funeral.

However, I loved it.

Wade was in his wheelchair, his mask still in place, hiding half his face. Yet, his eyes had lost the darkness from the day before. It was replaced by a lazy amusement, as if he were an audience to a play.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered as I donned a black veil hat that hid half my face, leaving only my chin with its fiery red lips visible.

I felt powerful, like the Grim Reaper ready to claim souls.

"Let's go, my Donna," Wade said, his voice deep. "It's time to play the Grim Reaper for the Deluca family's last rites."

…

At the Deluca family estate, amidst the wedding festivities.

That was meant to be Elena and Wade's engagement celebration.

The scene had shifted to Marco and Rosa's wedding ceremony.

To hide an embarrassing secret, the Deluca family spun a tale about their real daughter being sick and seeking treatment abroad, leaving the stand-in daughter to marry.

Naturally, her groom was Marco, the Deluca family's less-than-desirable son-in-law.

A red carpet unfurled, swarmed by the press.

Marco and Rosa played their parts on stage, a picture-perfect love story of the elite.

"Rosa, you're my one and only, come what may. Together, we'll take the Deluca family to new heights."

Marco's words dripped with emotion.

Then, a thunderous crash tore through the facade.

A souped-up, armored SUV bulldozed the villa's gates.

It steamrolled the ornate flower arch and barreled down the red carpet.

Guests shrieked and scattered, a champagne tower crumbled, and chaos reigned.

The SUV halted with a screech, a mere half-meter from the stage.

The doors swung open.

A phalanx of armed guards in black leaped out, submachine guns at the ready, seizing control.

Wade, seated in a wheelchair, was wheeled out.

I stood by him, clad in black with lips painted a fierce red.

My high heels crushed rose petals beneath, like a harbinger of doom.

"Elena…"

Rosa went ghostly white, gripping Marco's sleeve, shaking like a leaf.

Marco tried to keep his cool, bellowing. "Elena! This is my wedding day! Are you trying to stage a coup right now?"

I let out a soft laugh and clapped my hands.

Four guards hoisted a massive golden broadsword into view.

It landed with a resounding thud on the stage, splitting the wooden floor.

A gift from the Grim Reaper.

"How's that for a showstopper? A grim reaper in solid gold?" My smile was serene, but my gaze was lethal.

Dante clutched at his chest, his body slumping into the chair as he shook and pointed a trembling finger at me.

"Damn you!"

Marco, his face a mask of humiliation, snatched up the cake knife and lunged for me.

"You're asking for it!"

The sharp report of a gunshot cut through the tension.

Marco's scream pierced the air as he collapsed, his hands clasping his thigh, the white fabric of his pants blooming with blood.

Wade stood calmly, a silver Colt still smoking in his grip.

He casually blew away the wisp of smoke curling from the barrel.

"Think you can mess with my people? Well, think again."

Silence choked the room.

No one moved. No one even thought to call the cops.

They all knew the man with the gun: Wade, the madman.

I strode over to Rosa, my heels pressing into the white of her wedding dress.

"This house? It's mine, and I'm taking it back. You've got three hours to pack up and leave. If you're a minute late, Marco loses a leg. Two minutes? I'll take one of your ears."

I leaned in close, my whisper a devilish caress against her ear. "Welcome to hell, sis."

The Deluca family was in shambles.

The guests had scattered like leaves in the wind, leaving behind chaos and that gleaming golden knife.

Dante was carted off with a heart attack, sirens wailing.

Rosa's mother, Gabriella Rossi, was a tempest of tears and curses, branding me a heartless traitor.

I ignored her, lounging on the plush leather sofa, the family's prized red wine on my lips.

Wade was by my side, swirling the gun in his hand like a toy.

Three hours ticked by.

Right on cue, the bodyguards sprang into action.

Antiques, paintings, and furniture, the Deluca' treasures, tumbled out the door.

There was Rosa, still in her once-lavish, now-stained wedding gown.

She stood at the roadside, soaked to the bone, mud splattered up to her knees.

Marco, his leg swathed in bandages, glared at her from his wheelchair with venom in his eyes.

"Don't you dare gloat, Elena! The Contis may lean on the Deluca for support, but we've got our own allies in the police force! And the Romanos won't stand for your wild antics!"

With a smirk, I strolled to the front gate, towering over the unfortunate couple.

"The police, you say? You'd better check your phone."

Marco, taken aback, fumbled for his device.

In an instant, his face went ashen, the phone slipping from his grasp and clattering to the ground.