The thunderous applause reverberated off the marble walls, echoing in my ears like the roar of an oncoming storm. I stood beside Luca, my new husband, with a smile frozen on my lips, feeling more like a prisoner than a bride. The ruby-studded ring on my finger seemed heavier than gold—a shackle, not a symbol of love. The vows had been exchanged, the kiss delivered, and now the facade of our union was complete.
"To Elena De Rossi!" a voice boomed from behind us, and the sound of clinking glasses filled the opulent reception hall. The words felt foreign, like a cloak that didn't quite fit.
I scanned the crowd, a sea of powerful men and their diamond-draped wives. Their gazes were fixed on me, the bride of the most feared Don in Italy, as if waiting to see when I'd crumble beneath the weight of my new role. But I refused to give them the satisfaction. I was a Moretti, and we were made of steel.
Luca's hand slipped around my waist, his touch possessive and unyielding. "Still standing?" he said, his voice low and dangerous in my ear.
"Disappointed?" I replied calmly, meeting his gaze with a steely resolve that surprised even myself.
He let out a low chuckle, sipping his wine with an air of nonchalance that belied the deadly power he wielded. "You're more composed than I expected," he admitted, a hint of curiosity in his cold eyes.
"You'll find I'm full of surprises," I countered, my voice steady despite the turbulent emotions raging beneath the surface.
Luca's smile was unreadable—a blend of amusement and danger that sent a shiver down my spine. "Good," he said, his voice a silken threat. "I hate predictable women."
I didn't respond, choosing instead to let my gaze wander across the crowd. I was searching for a familiar face, a lifeline in this sea of enemies. And then I found him.
Adrian.
He stood near the ornate columns, sharp and striking in his suit, his jaw clenched as he lifted a glass to his lips. Our eyes met for a fleeting moment—a brief, electric connection that was as forbidden as it was undeniable. Then, with a subtle shake of his head, he looked away.
My stomach twisted with a painful mixture of longing and guilt.
We had been careful, so careful to hide our alliance from prying eyes. But I could still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin, still hear the words he had whispered into my ear the night before.
Don't go through with this, Elena. Run with me.
But I had made my choice.
I was standing beside the man who had taken everything from me—my peace, my father, my freedom. I was here to reclaim what was mine, and I couldn't let anything, not even my feelings for Adrian, stand in my way.
Luca leaned in again, his breath hot against my neck. "Your silence is louder than the orchestra," he murmured, his voice a dangerous caress.
"I'm soaking it all in," I replied, forcing a serenity into my voice that I didn't feel.
He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he studied me with eyes like winter—silent, calculating, deadly. "Including him?"
My spine stiffened, and I turned to face him, masking my fear with a slow, deliberate smile. "Who?"
"Don't insult me," Luca said, his voice cold as ice. "You think I don't know who Adrian is to you?"
I held his gaze, refusing to back down. "Then you also know he means nothing now."
Luca didn't reply immediately. He continued to study me, his eyes searching mine for any sign of weakness. "Keep it that way," he finally said, his voice a deadly promise. "Because I don't like sharing what's mine."
I forced a smirk, a silent challenge in my eyes. "Then it's a good thing I'm not yours, Luca."
His lips quirked into a humorless smile. "Yet," he corrected. "But soon, Elena. Soon, you'll be mine in every sense of the word."
I swallowed the sudden surge of fear, burying it deep beneath layers of anger and determination. I was a Moretti, and I would never truly be his.
The moon cast eerie shadows on the stone floor as I made my way to the library. The air was thick with tension, a silent storm brewing within the walls of the De Rossi estate. I could feel the weight of the wedding ring on my finger, a constant reminder of the vows I had made—and the ones I intended to break.
I pushed open the heavy wooden door, the faint scent of old books and leather greeting me as I stepped inside. The library was quiet, the soft glow of the lamps illuminating the rows upon rows of books that lined the walls. It was a sanctuary, a place where I could escape the suffocating presence of my new husband and gather my thoughts.
As I reached for a book on the shelf, a voice spoke from the shadows.
"I told you not to go through with it."
I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. Adrian stepped into the light, his face a mask of anger and concern.
"And I told you I had to," I replied, my voice a mere whisper.
He shook his head, his eyes pleading with mine. "It's not too late, Elena. We can still get out of here."
"No," I said, my voice hardening. "I'm not running away. Not until I've gotten what I came for."
Adrian let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "And what is that, exactly? Your father is gone, and marrying Luca won't bring him back."
His words were like a slap to the face, and I felt a surge of anger rise within me. "Don't you think I know that?" I snapped, slamming the book shut. "But I can still find out the truth. I can still avenge his death."
Adrian took a step closer, his eyes locked on mine. "And you think Luca will just let you snoop around, digging up his darkest secrets?"
"No," I admitted. "Which is why I need to be smart about this. I need to play the part of the dutiful wife while I gather the evidence I need."
He shook his head, his jaw clenched. "It's too dangerous."
"It's the only way," I countered. "If I run now, I'll never find out who did this to my father. And I can't live with that."
Adrian fell silent, his gaze searching mine. "I can't lose you, Elena," he finally said, his voice barely a whisper.
I reached out, placing a hand on his cheek. "You won't," I promised. "I can do this. I'm a Moretti, remember?"
He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. "I know," he said, his voice tinged with resignation. "But I can't just stand by and watch. I need to help you."
"No," I said, dropping my hand. "I can't let you get caught up in this. It's too dangerous."
Adrian opened his eyes, a flicker of defiance in their depths. "I'm already in this, Elena. And I'm not backing down now."
I wanted to argue, to push him away and protect him from the storm that was coming. But as I looked into his eyes, I knew that he was as determined as I was. And maybe, just maybe, we had a better chance of survival if we stood together.
"Fine," I said, sighing in resignation. "But we need to be careful. Luca is no fool, and he's already suspicious."
Adrian nodded, a new resolve in his gaze. "I know. But together, we can take him down."
I couldn't help but smile at his words, a sudden spark of hope igniting in my chest. Maybe, with Adrian by my side, I could find the justice my father deserved—and finally break free from the shadows of the De Rossi empire.
The invitation was as elegant as it was mysterious—a simple black card with silver lettering, inviting us to a masquerade ball at the De Rossi estate. It was a tradition, Luca had explained, a way for the newlyweds to celebrate their union with their closest allies.
But I knew better. It was a chance for Luca to show off his power, his prize, and to keep a watchful eye on those who dared to oppose him. It was a game of chess, and I was the pawn he intended to use to secure his dominance.
I stood before the mirror in my private quarters, my reflection staring back at me like a stranger. The ornate mask I wore was a work of art, a delicate masterpiece of gold and black that hid half of my face. My gown was a vision of midnight blue silk, hugging my curves like a lover's embrace.
There was a knock on the door, and I turned, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Come in," I called, my voice steadier than I felt.
Luca stepped into the room, dressed in a tailored black suit that emphasized his powerful physique. His mask was as dark as midnight, a stark contrast to the sharp lines of his face.
"Are you ready, my dear?" he asked, his tone polite but devoid of warmth.
"Yes," I said, lifting my chin. "I am."
He held out his arm, and I placed my hand on it, allowing him to lead me from the room. As we walked, I could feel the tension in his muscles, the coiled energy of a predator ready to strike.
The ballroom was a vision of opulence and glamour, the air filled with the scent of champagne and roses. Couples danced beneath glittering chandeliers, their masks and gowns a riot of color and light. But beneath the gaiety, there was an undercurrent of danger, a sense that the wrong word or move could have dire consequences.
Luca led me to the dance floor, his hand firm on my waist as we moved in time to the music. His gaze was locked on mine, searching for any hint of weakness, any sign that I was anything but the dutiful wife he expected me to be.
But I was better than that. I was a Moretti, and I knew how to play the game. I smiled, I laughed, I danced, all the while searching the crowd for a familiar figure.
And then I saw him.
Adrian stood near the edge of the dance floor, his gaze locked on mine. He wore a simple black mask, his suit a stark contrast to the vibrant costumes around him. As our eyes met, I felt a surge of hope, a flicker of defiance that bolstered my resolve.
We would find the truth, Adrian and I. We would expose Luca for the monster he was, and free ourselves from his grasp.
As the music swirled around us, I let myself be swept away by the rhythm, the beat of my heart matching the tempo of the song. I was dancing with the devil, but I was no longer afraid. I was a warrior, a queen—and I would bring this dark kingdom to its knees.
And as Luca led me through the dance, I couldn't help but smile.
The game was on.