C162 Beaten At Your Game

The gardens had never looked more beautiful.

White roses cascaded from every arch, and the scent of fresh blooms hung in the air, soft and intoxicating.

The guests were arriving, the staff bustling in a carefully choreographed dance, ensuring everything was perfect.

Annabelle took a deep breath as she watched through the window from the dressing room.

Her mother, always the picture of grace, was chatting quietly with Cathy outside, both glowing in the sunshine, the fabric of her mother’s dress shimmering like a soft peach.

Annabelle felt a pang of warmth as she looked at them a sense of peace settling over her. This was supposed to be one of the happiest days of her life. Her family was with her, and so was Dante, the man she loved.

She turned back to the room, looking at herself in the mirror.

She had chosen her dress with care.

She had known it was the right one the moment she spotted it.

Even Natasha and her mom had agreed it was perfect.

It was a flowing, ivory silk gown, with its delicate lace bodice a soft contrast to the simplicity of the full skirt.

The neckline was modest yet elegant, the long train pooling around her feet.

Her makeup was understated, highlighting her natural beauty, and her hair was styled in soft waves that framed her face in a perfect combination of timeless and contemporary.

She smiled at her reflection, but the excitement that had been bubbling inside her earlier that day had faded, replaced by an odd sense of unease she couldn’t shake.

Was it normal to feel this anxious and this uncertain?

The soft strains of the organ music drifting from outside reminded her that the ceremony would start soon, and she needed to push those thoughts aside.

“Just one more thing, darling,” Natasha’s voice called out from the doorway. Annabelle turned to see her friend enter, holding a small box in her hands.

“Something old?” Annabelle asked with a smile.

“Something old,” Natasha confirmed, handing it over with a grin. “Your mom gave it to me. She said it’s from her wedding day.”

Annabelle took the item from her, glancing at it. It was a delicate bracelet, silver with tiny diamonds sparkling in the light. She smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft. “Everything’s so perfect, Natasha.”

“I’m just doing my job,” Natasha replied, her voice light, but Annabelle could hear the exhaustion behind it. Natasha had been a rock for her through the whole planning process, and though she seemed to be handling everything well, there was something about her that seemed off.

Annabelle could feel it, a subtle tension in her friend’s movements, a forced cheerfulness she couldn’t ignore.

Before she could inquire, Natasha raised her hand. “I’ll go get you my something borrowed. But for now, you should take a breath. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

Annabelle nodded, the uneasy feeling in her chest still lingering.

She stared at Natasha’s retreating figure before turning back to the mirror.

It was then that the door opened again, but this time, it wasn’t Natasha.

Annabelle was so caught up in the movement that she didn’t register it immediately, thinking it was just her friend returning.

She heard a soft thud behind her.

Then just as she turned towards the door, her eyes fell on the tall, imposing figure of Sal.

Her heart skipped a beat as he stalked towards her.

Before she could even react, Sal grabbed her.

Annabelle’s breath caught in her throat as her mind scrambled to make sense of what was happening.

Sal was holding something.

Her heart kicked violently as she saw that it was a gun.

Its barrel was cold and unyielding against her skin.

The sight of Natasha, unconscious on the floor, made Annabelle’s stomach lurch.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked, her voice trembling but still defiant.

Sal didn’t even flinch. “Shut up and follow me,” he said gruffly, his grip tightening on her arm. “Or I’ll put a bullet in her head. You really want that, Annabelle?”

She froze, her eyes flickering to Natasha’s lifeless form, and then to Sal, his face cold and unfeeling.

A sharp panic gripped her chest. This wasn’t just about her anymore. She couldn’t let Natasha die because of her.

“I need to make sure she’s okay,” Annabelle said, her voice trembling yet stubborn. “I need to feel her pulse.”

Sal didn’t hesitate.

He shoved her toward Natasha’s body, and Annabelle bent down to check her pulse.

Relief flooded through her when she felt the soft, steady beat.

Natasha was alive, for now.

She had a chance.

Annabelle prayed that someone would find her in time.

As they made their way toward the door, Annabelle’s eyes scanned the room for any signs of escape, but everything seemed hopeless.

Sal’s eyes stayed cold, like a predator watching his prey.

They stepped out of the dressing room, and Annabelle’s heart sank when she saw the dead body of one of the lone guards who had been assigned to keep watch.

He lay lifeless on the floor, blood pooling around him.

Annabelle’s mind raced. She knew Dante would have never left anything to chance.

The guards were supposed to be everywhere.

But then Sal was one of his most trusted men.

"Damn bastard,"

She cursed under her breath.

She had been too distracted by the wedding preparations to talk to him about taking extra precautions.

They moved swiftly through the halls, and when Alfredo’s death registered in her mind, Annabelle’s legs felt like lead.

She wasn’t sure if it was the shock or the sheer dread of what was to come. But she kept walking, for her family’s sake.

Then, a voice from behind startled her. “Miss?”

She turned to see Dante's cook, Alfredo.

He looked confused, suspicious even, and before he could speak further, Sal raised his gun, shooting him without hesitation.

Annabelle couldn’t stop herself from gasping in horror as the man went down with a surprised expression.

She had been right.

They were all in danger.

****

Dante stood at the altar, his hands clasped tightly in front of him and his thoughts racing.

He’d been waiting for this day for what felt like a lifetime, yet something still gnawed at him.

He had prepared everything meticulously, ensuring that nothing would go wrong, and that Annabelle’s day would be perfect.

And yet, the weight of anticipation in the air felt like a storm waiting to break.

He glanced at the message notification that had just appeared on his phone, and his frown deepened. It was from Antonia.

Why was she contacting him now, of all times?

They hadn’t seen her or Mikhail for days.

He clicked on the voice note, and as soon as the sound filled his ears, his stomach twisted.

“What the hell?” he muttered under his breath, staring at the screen as he tried to make sense of what the voice was saying.

Dante’s eyes narrowed as he looked around the room, confused. The priest had always been there, the familiar face he’d known from various events in the past. But now, as the priest turned toward him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Dante felt a chill run down his spine.

“Something wrong, Mr. Cazador?” the priest asked with something lacing his tone.

Dante opened his mouth to respond, but as he studied the priest’s expression, something felt off.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought.

He must have been mistaken.

But as the priest’s benign smile faded, Dante’s instincts screamed at him.

His blood ran cold.

Something was very wrong.

In the blink of an eye, the priest peeled off his skin mask.

“Tad,” Dante breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

The man beneath the mask was someone he hadn’t seen in a while, but the same familiar smirk was still present.

But then the voice was wrong.

“How does it feel to be beaten at your own game?” Tad said, the gloating in his voice clear as day.

Dante’s eyes flickered toward Angelo and the others, but they couldn’t make a move.

Tad’s voice rang out again, cold and casual. “If anyone moves, the bombs go off. This whole place will go down.”

Dante’s mind raced, calculating his options. His men were tense, waiting for his lead, but he knew he couldn’t risk it. He needed to keep calm.

He needed to get Annabelle.

Then, a blast rang out in the distance.

Dante’s heart stopped for a moment as his thoughts immediately went to Annabelle.

The gloating look on Tad’s face froze as Dante snapped into action, moving with lightning speed.

In one swift motion, Dante turned and snapped Tad’s neck. The force of the movement was so fast that no one had time to react.

Angelo and his men quickly went to work, ensuring the bomb threat was eliminated.

But Dante had already taken off in the direction of the blast.

“Go!” Angelo shouted at some of the men to follow Dante, urgency in his voice as they moved toward the danger.

Dante’s thoughts were on one thing and one thing only.

Getting to Annabelle before it was too late.