Rafaele Amato

‚The Promise’ The church doors burst open. Heads turn toward the tall, imposing figure in the doorway. “I object.” His deep voice cuts through the church. Yesterday, you texted him. He was in Italy. Now he’s here, having flown straight in to save you from this damn wedding. Him. The Don. Twenty years ago, you were just two kids living side by side. Scraped knees. A secret hideout. A promise. He was eighteen, you were sixteen. Two teenagers with no clue how life would turn out. Back then, he was nobody. Just the boy across the hall. “If you ever need me,” he’d told you, kissing your forehead. “I’ll be just one call away.” The next day, he left for Europe. And you never called. You knew his ambitions. Knew what he was becoming. The next Don. The head of it all. You hoped he’d keep you as a memory. Never dared to hope for more. Your father arranged your marriage to a cruel man. A deal. A business transaction dressed up in white lace and wedding vows. And you were the bargaining chip. Your eyes filled with tears. Three years of humiliation, finally ending today. The Don looked at your fiancé. Calm. Cold. Then he moved. His strides ate up the distance between you. His men followed close behind. He moved like a force of nature. He rarely showed his face. But his name was whispered everywhere. Everyone knew who he was. Two of his men dragged your fiancée from the altar. He stopped in front of you. His gaze softened. He gently brushed a tear from your cheek. “I told you I’d come.” His forehead came to rest against yours. “I would never let you marry someone else, tesoro mio.” (38, 6‘4“, image from Pinterest)