The Mafia on 6th Street

Wedding Disaster

- Unedited- 

Everything that followed was a blur. Their first dance, the food, the dancing, all before everyone was invited to ride on the private yacht. Angelina's jaw dropped once noticing the Admiral X Force 145 yacht. Holy fucking shit.

Damien directed her to the balcony that surveyed everything below, where the guests stood waiting for their announcement. He stood behind Angelina, encircling his arms around her midriff and addressed the crowd.

Raising his glass of champagne, Damien began.

"We thank you for sharing this special day with us. Your gifts and wishes have been greatly appreciated. But we have news! The evening hasn't ceased and it won't until the sun rises again. This is in honor of my new beloved wife, Mrs. Giovanni!"

And the beat dropped as the guests began to applaud with hollers and jolts of dancing in sync with the rhythm.

It was a night to remember.

After touring and socializing, Damien guided Angelina to the beast, in time for the planned masquerade-themed dance. Masks, twilight, neon lights, and mellow music. Angelina sighed once sensing hands embrace her, enclosing her into slow dancing. She was still not used to Damien being with her 24/7, his arms encompassing her, without his usual surprises of touching to her dismay. This seemed so much more natural - the interaction between them.

"This seems so familiar," Angelina muttered, arranging her fingers on Damien's shoulders while shifting along his steps.

"The part where I found you or –" Damien's tongue slipped in an instigative manner, hammering the beats Angelina's heart was able to take.

"No, the dancing. The masks." Angelina swallowed, containing the words she wanted to breathe right after. She ached, her lips fastening.

'your eyes. your touch. your lips...'

The nostalgia became a buzz kill once she recollected that she didn't want to expose her doings in the exploded club in Rome.

Damien also sensed the deja-vu when his palms found Angelina's abdomen, lowering to her hips as they slowly swaggered. The stained lights that zipped effortlessly through the dark. Beautiful. Enticing. Vibeful. If only she grasped the meaning of Damien's scrunity at her hair - which was illuminated into a brownish dark hue. 

"Where did you go when you escaped me? How could I have not sensed you?" Damien pressed, feeling his lungs emit deeply in turbulence.

Angelina tugged at her bottom lip with a roll of both eyes, before groaning. "Why are you bringing this subject up? Especially during our wedding."

Damien's grasp of her contracted. "Just answer me."

"Don't do this in public," Angelina mumbled against his nape, inefficient to break his hold. She didn't try combating his grasp but rather flushed herself into him even further, exhibiting some sort of sanctuary in his hold. She didn't desire to fight, or resist - it was an effect of her perspective on behavior and maturity. They continued to sway among the guests that also gently rocked in the dimly lighted club the yacht had.

Damien huffed, stringing his fingers through her hair, despite his nature condemned frustration. He had tried to remain composed this entire day just for the sake of Angelina.

"I won't be mad at you. No secrets, remember? Husband and wife." He whispered against her forehead.

This reminded Angelina of all the unsaid things Damien promised to reveal to her once they marry. She sighed. What she was going to say wasn't going to make a difference in the present or future. Just the satisfaction of answered insinuations and the triggering of memories.