I Kissed His Brother at My Own Wedding

Even now, he still believed he had done nothing wrong.

I looked at him calmly, my gaze distant and indifferent.

"If you feel wronged," I said lightly, "we can choose another day to get married."

The moment the words left my mouth, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist tightly, his grip strong enough to hurt. Two soldiers flanking the corridor entrance shifted their weight but didn't move. They knew better than to intervene when the heir's temper surfaced.

"You don't want to marry me, is that it?" he demanded, his voice low and tense. "If you don't want to get married, just say it. Who are you trying to show this attitude to?"

His eyes locked onto mine, filled with anger and accusation.

Even at this moment, he still believed that everything was my fault.

I didn't back down. I met his gaze and said coldly, "Hasn't it always been your decision whether we get married or not?"

"You…"

Dante was clearly caught off guard. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. It was as if he hadn't expected me to speak to him like this, not here, not today, not with half the Family's capos still milling through the cathedral vestibule beyond the heavy oak doors.

Dante had always cared deeply about his image. In front of so many people, especially on an occasion like this, reputation meant everything to him. Among the Families, a man's composure was his currency. The fact that he hadn't stormed off after everything that had just happened was already unusual.

For a moment, I thought he wouldn't be able to take it anymore, that he would lose control and call off the ceremony on the spot.

But instead, he suddenly spoke, his tone firm and resolute.

"Of course we're getting married!"

I was briefly stunned, a flicker of something uncertain passing through my mind.

But before that thought could settle, he shattered it completely with his next sentence.

"But I want Valentina with me."

As he said it, his hand had already reached out to take Valentina's, their fingers interlocking naturally, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His thumb smoothed once across the face of his watch before he let it drop, the gesture so habitual I doubted he even noticed it anymore.

Valentina's face lit up instantly. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and a faint blush crept across her cheeks as she quickly nodded, clearly delighted by his words. I caught the briefest flash of her tongue pressing against her canine before her smile widened, sweet and triumphant.

Anyone who didn't know the situation would have easily mistaken them for the real couple getting married today.

They walked ahead together, side by side, leaving me a few steps behind. And just like before, every gaze in the room followed me. Capos' wives, consiglieri, associates with stakes in the Moretti name. Every one of them reading the distance between me and the heir like a line in a ledger.

This time, there was no need to guess what they were thinking. The disdain, the mockery, the barely concealed amusement — it was all painfully clear.

I let out a soft, cold laugh. "What? Should I throw a tantrum right here and give you exactly the show you're all waiting for?"

My voice was light, but my smile carried a sharp edge. Then I simply lifted my chin and followed behind them without another word.

When we reached the car — a black armored sedan idling at the cathedral steps, driver standing at attention — I instinctively reached for the handle of the lead vehicle. Just as my fingers brushed against it, Valentina suddenly leaned out from inside.

She tilted her head slightly, her smile full of provocation.

"Adriana, Dante wants me by his side for the most important moments of his life. That's okay with you, right?"

Her tone was soft, but every word was a deliberate challenge.

"You two getting married?" I almost said it aloud, the words rising to my lips.

But just as I was about to respond, I caught sight of Dante's expression. His face was calm, almost indifferent, as if he didn't think there was anything worth explaining.

I swallowed the words back down.

Instead, I opened the passenger door without hesitation.

"If the groom doesn't even care," I said lightly, "why should I? Am I supposed to humiliate myself on purpose?"

With that, I smiled faintly and handed the bouquet in my hands over to Valentina.

Through the rearview mirror, I saw Dante staring at me. His brows were tightly furrowed, his gaze sharp and probing. I knew he was angry, though I couldn't tell whether it was because of my words or my attitude. The soldier in the driver's seat kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, jaw tight, the way men did when they heard everything and pretended to hear nothing.

But I didn't respond. I simply leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes, as if none of it mattered. My thumb drifted toward the edge of the St. Christopher medal at my throat, then stopped. I let my hand fall to my lap instead.

The car remained unusually quiet for most of the ride. No one spoke, the air heavy with tension. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the faint crackle of a radio the driver had turned almost all the way down.

It wasn't until we were almost at the estate that Dante finally broke the silence.

"Adriana, what exactly is your problem?" he demanded, his tone edged with irritation.