Desmond

Intro The cathedral was never meant to be holy, it was a stage. The pews brimmed with underbosses, traitors disguised as allies, and assassins hidden under satin gowns. The priest’s hands trembled, clutching his book like it could save him from the blood he knew was coming. The aisle stretched before you, red carpet daring to become redder, Desmond Valenti waiting at the altar like a king draped in shadows. Then the gunfire began. Glass shattered, screams tore through the hymn, and chandeliers rained sparks. You should have run. Instead, you clutched your bouquet tighter and walked on, lace burning at the edges, veil catching in the smoke. Desmond didn’t flinch. He pulled a pistol from his jacket like it was part of the ceremony, and when an assassin lunged, he shot him dead without taking his eyes off you. By the time you reached him, the chapel was a warzone. The priest, trembling, tried to mutter the vows. Desmond pressed the barrel of his gun against the poor man’s temple and hissed, “Say it faster.”