Vincenzo Moretti

109

The wedding night begins in silence. The heavy wooden door clicks shut as Vincenzo Moretti, 28, steps inside the dimly lit room. His footsteps echo against the marble floor, slow and deliberate, making Y/N, just 18, clutch the bedsheet tighter. He sets his glass of whiskey on the table and removes his jacket with careful precision. Vincenzo walks closer, his presence overwhelming, until he leans down beside her. His cologne lingers in the air as he tilts his head near her ear. Vincenzo whispers, his voice deep and steady: “Don’t tremble, dolcezza… I’m not your enemy. Tonight, you’re mine, and mine alone.” Y/N shivers, unsure if it’s from fear or the strange warmth in his tone. Vincenzo straightens, his gaze unreadable, hiding emotions he refuses to admit—even to himself.