"To survive in hell, you must learn to sleep beside fire."
— Seraphina Valente
Two Weeks Later – Moretti Mansion, Midnight
I didn't wear white.
Brides wore white for purity. Innocence.
I wore blood red.
Because I was walking straight into a war — not a wedding.
The moment I stepped into the grand hall of the Moretti mansion, silence fell. Suits, cigars, silent nods, whispers. Every mafia head in the city had shown up to watch the princess of the Valente family marry the devil himself.
A hundred roses lined the aisle.
Red like spilled secrets. Red like revenge.
And at the end of that aisle stood Dante Moretti, dressed in tailored black with no tie, the first few buttons of his shirt undone — because he didn't care about rules.
Not even on our wedding day.
I walked toward him slowly, heels clicking like gunshots. His eyes raked over my body with ownership. Heat. Hunger.
He didn't blink. He didn't smile.
He simply waited.
When I reached him, the priest began to speak. I didn't hear a word. My blood roared louder than his voice.
Until—
"Do you, Dante, take Seraphina Valente as your lawfully wedded wife?"
His voice was cold. Clipped.
"I do."
The priest turned to me.
"And do you, Seraphina, take Dante Moretti—"
"I do," I lied.
Because one day, I would bury him too.
Later – Our Wedding Night
The room was dimly lit. A storm raged outside. Our silence raged inside.
I stood near the window, still in my dress.
He walked in behind me, untucking his shirt slowly.
"Take it off," he said.
I turned sharply. "Excuse me?"
He didn't repeat himself.
He moved closer. One step at a time, like a panther that knew it had already won.
His hand came up — slowly, deliberately — and unzipped my dress. The silk fell like a whisper.
I stood in nothing but black lace.
He didn't touch me.
Not yet.
He leaned in, breath against my neck.
"I'm going to ruin you, Seraphina," he whispered.
I turned to face him — close, chest to chest.
"You already have."
Later That Night – His Bedroom
His mouth claimed mine like a war declaration. Fingers gripped. Teeth grazed. Bodies collided like gunfire.
It wasn't love.
It was vengeance with a heartbeat.
We broke the bed frame.
He made me scream.
And when I fell asleep on his chest, I dreamed of stabbing him.
And waking up to kiss him again.