Chapter 1 — The Wedding of Strangers

Vivi

The lace veil clung to my skin like cobwebs, its delicate embroidery a cruel mockery of the iron chains now binding me to Dante Russo. My fingers trembled as they gripped the fabric, resisting the urge to tear it away. The reflection in the gilded mirror was a stranger—white silk and pearls sculpted into the perfect image of a Moreau heir, yet hollow beneath the surface. Beneath my gown’s neckline, the locket rested heavily against my chest, its weight an anchor that tethered me to a life I no longer controlled.

The grand cathedral loomed around me, its vaulted ceiling stretching endlessly, as though heaven itself had turned away. Stained-glass windows scattered fractured rainbows onto the polished marble floor, their beauty sharp and unyielding. The air was heavy with incense, a futile attempt to mask the rot of sin and ambition. Whispers rippled through the crowd of powerful crime families, their polite murmurs laced with venom. They weren’t here for love or celebration—they were here to witness a transaction, to measure the strength of a union neither Dante nor I had chosen.

I turned my gaze to the man beside me, his profile sharp and unyielding. Dante Russo looked every inch the mafia kingpin whispered about in darkened corners—broad-shouldered, coldly beautiful, and carved from stone. His tailored black suit fit with surgical precision, the faint glint of his signet ring catching the light as he stood motionless. He didn’t spare me a glance, his dark eyes fixed on the officiant as though this moment held no weight. And perhaps it didn’t—for him. But for me, it was a noose tightening around my neck.

“Do you, Vivienne Moreau, take Dante Russo to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The officiant’s voice echoed through the hall, hollow and distant, as if the cathedral itself recoiled from the vows.

Time slowed. My heart pounded in my chest as I felt the weight of a hundred stares pressing down on me. The judgment of men and women who thrived in shadows, who saw me as nothing more than a pawn in my father’s desperate gambit. My nails dug into my palms, the pain grounding me against the tide of memories threatening to surface—my mother’s laughter, soft and fleeting; the metallic tang of blood in the air the day she died; my father’s cold indifference as he traded my freedom for his survival.

“I do,” I said, my voice steady despite the bitterness coating my tongue.

Dante’s response followed, quick and emotionless. “I do.”

The officiant’s words blurred into a meaningless hum. When he finally pronounced us husband and wife, Dante turned to me, his expression unreadable. His hand found mine, his grip firm and unyielding, a quiet assertion of control. The kiss was a formality, a brief press of lips devoid of warmth. When he pulled back, his gaze locked onto mine, dark and penetrating, as though daring me to defy him.

The applause that followed was polite, calculated. Crystal chandeliers bathed the reception hall in golden light, illuminating glittering dresses and sharp suits. Waiters moved through the crowd with trays of champagne, their movements precise and practiced. Laughter bubbled through the air, but it never touched the eyes of those who laughed. This was a performance, every smile and raised glass a calculated move in the power games that defined their world.

I kept my distance from Dante, weaving through the crowd with a mask of serenity I hadn’t worn in years. My mind churned, mapping escape routes and contingencies. The estate they’d take me to after this was unfamiliar, but I’d find a way out. I always did.

“Vivi Moreau,” a familiar voice interrupted my spiraling thoughts. I turned to find Alessia, my childhood friend, standing a few feet away. Her bold auburn hair gleamed beneath the chandelier, her sharp green eyes sparkling with mischief—or perhaps something darker. She raised a glass in a mock toast, the sly curve of her lips betraying her amusement.

“Alessia,” I greeted, my smile tight. Her presence was a double-edged sword—comfort and complication. She knew me too well, could read me too easily.

“Quite the spectacle,” she said, her tone light but carrying an edge. “The Moreau heiress and the Russo king. A match made in heaven, no?”

“Or purgatory,” I replied, lowering my voice. “Careful, Alessia. You’re mingling with dangerous company.”

“Danger is where I thrive,” she said, leaning in slightly. Her playful tone dropped, replaced by something quieter. “Your father’s debts run deeper than you think, Vivi. Be careful who you trust.”

A chill ran through me, though I kept my expression neutral. I dropped my hand to the locket beneath my gown, my fingers brushing its cool surface. “Why tell me this?”

Her smirk widened, though her eyes remained sharp. “Consider it a favor. One day, I might need one in return.”

Before I could press her further, she melted back into the crowd, her warning lingering like smoke. I scanned the room, my eyes landing on Dante near the far wall. He stood with Renzo Bellini, his consigliere, their heads bowed in conversation. Renzo’s charm was as polished as his appearance, his tailored suit and gold cufflinks gleaming under the light. But there was something in his sharp blue eyes—a calculation that made my stomach twist.

I edged closer, careful to stay out of sight, straining to catch fragments of their conversation.

“…Moreau’s debts are worse than he let on…” Renzo’s voice was smooth, confident. “…can’t trust him to keep his end…”

Dante’s response was low and clipped. “I’ll handle it.”

My breath hitched, my chest tightening. My father had sold me to Dante to save himself, yet it seemed even that wasn’t enough. What else was he hiding? My mind raced, piecing together Alessia’s warning and the tension in Dante’s voice. Whatever game my father was playing, it was far from over.

The weight of it all became suffocating, and I slipped out onto the terrace. The cool night air kissed my skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the glittering hall. The city stretched out before me, its lights flickering like stars. It should have been beautiful, but all I saw were shadows.

I didn’t hear Dante approach until he was beside me, his presence as commanding as ever. He leaned against the stone railing, his dark eyes scanning the skyline. Silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words.

“You’re not very skilled at hiding your emotions,” he said finally, his voice low and measured.

I stiffened but kept my gaze forward. “And you’re not very skilled at pretending this marriage isn’t a power play.”

He turned to face me, his expression unreadable. “It is a power play. But that doesn’t mean you’re powerless.”

I met his gaze, anger flaring. “I’m not one of your pawns, Dante.”

His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “No. You’re much more than that. But every move you make reflects on me.”

Before I could respond, he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You have two choices, Vivienne. Play the role I need you to, or make this harder for yourself. Either way, you stay.”

His words wrapped around me like a vice, but I refused to let him see my fear. Instead, I lifted my chin, my voice steady. “I’m not here to make it easy for you.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. With a curt nod, he stepped back, leaving me alone on the terrace. The sound of his footsteps faded into the night, but his presence lingered, heavy and inescapable.

I gripped the locket beneath my gown, the cool metal grounding me. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.