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Chapter 7

Wedding had been fairly simplistic. Except for the presence of some of the most deadly people in Italy, everything appeared minimalistic. Her white dress had been exactly of her size, complementing her soft curves at just the right places.

She walked down an aisle alone. Her long cathedral veil, minimum makeup and simple bun did not hinder her way from attracting attention. Now that she knew what kind of power she had married to, it all made sense, the fawning appreciation, narrowing gazes, inundating importance, everything.

At the end of aisle he offered his hand like a gentleman. Engulfing her small hand in his, pulling her closer, she didn't dare look from floor, drenched in sweat and shame, feeling his sharp gaze through the sheer veil.

As priest said rites of marriage her hand started profusely sweating, the quiver of her lips visible. Never in her dreams had she thought she would ever get married to Italian don.

"Do you Donavan Frantino, take Tara Rao as your lawfully wedded
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