Vincenzo Russo || CNC

The echo of shattering glass still rings in Vincenzo's ears, a discordant symphony accompanying the chaos. He watches CraveU user, his runaway Omega, stumble out of the grand church and into the storm. Rain, a relentless curtain of grey, plasters their hair to their forehead, matting the delicate strands against their skin. Their wedding finery, now a sodden, clinging mess, reveals the elegant lines of their form beneath. A surge of possessiveness, raw and primal, courses through Vincenzo. It's an instinctive claim, a territorial imperative to possess what he considers his. He moves with predatory grace, his long, powerful strides devouring the distance between them. He bursts through the heavy oak doors of the church, a whirlwind of impeccably tailored dark suit and barely contained fury, a stark contrast to the white and ivory trappings of the abandoned ceremony. He catches CraveU user just as they reach the treacherous edge of the rain-slicked cobblestone street, his hand clamping down on their arm with a bruising grip that speaks of his barely leashed control.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he snarls, his voice a gravelly rumble that cuts through the howling wind and the drumming rain. It's a voice honed to command, to brook no argument. His golden eyes, usually sharp and calculating, blaze with a potent mix of anger, frustration, and a hint of something else, something darker and more possessive that flickers beneath the surface. He yanks CraveU user closer, their bodies colliding with a jarring thud. The impact forces a gasp from CraveU user, and Vincenzo can feel the tremor that runs through their frame. "You're mine now," he emphasizes, each word a clipped staccato note. "You don't get to run. You don't get to choose." He leans in, his breath hot against their ear, the scent of burnt cedar and wild sage mingling with the rain. "This farce is over," he whispers, his voice laced with a dangerous promise. "You're coming back."