I raised my gaze, locking with his, but there was no fear in my eyes—only rage. Blazing, unyielding rage. I hated him. I hated my father. Most of all, I hated the fate that had been forced upon me.
Alessio tilted his head slightly, golden eyes glinting with a predator's amusement as a thin ribbon of smoke drifted from his lips. "The way you look at me," he murmured, voice low and mocking, "as if you could do something."
A cruel smirk tugged at his mouth, because he was right. I couldn't do anything.
"Look down at me with submission, little wife."
My breath hitched, anger boiling to the surface. Every part of me screamed to defy him, but the weight of watching eyes pressed down like a vise. My defiance had already drawn whispers. One more slip, and I wouldn't just lose my pride—I might lose everything.
Forcing the bitterness down, I lowered my gaze, hair falling forward like a dark veil. It wasn't submission. Not really. It was survival.
A pause. Then a shift in the air.
He stepped back—slow, deliberate—each movement dripping with silent triumph. He'd won this round, and he wanted me to feel it. The hush in the hall thickened, broken only by the soft flicker of the chandelier and the faint crackle of the distant fire.
"Proceed with the vows," Alessio ordered, his tone smooth, unshaken.
An old man in dark robes stepped forward, his face carved with the weight of decades. He had seen many unions, none born from love. This was a transaction, and I was the unwilling payment.
His voice rang deep and formal. "We gather here today to unite Alessio DeLuca and Sierra Moretti in an unbreakable bond of matrimony. Before these witnesses, you vow loyalty and devotion, binding your fates together."
My hands curled into fists. Devotion? Loyalty? The words were poison. My father sat like stone, unmoved, as if I had already ceased to be his daughter.
"Do you, Sierra Moretti, swear to honor and obey your husband, to remain faithful, and to stand by his side as his wife?"
The words scraped against my throat. Silence stretched, too long, and I caught the faint creak of a chair, the uneasy shift of someone expecting Alessio to force the answer from me.
But he didn't. He only watched, cigarette in hand, his posture a portrait of effortless dominance. Daring me to resist.
I inhaled sharply. "I do."
Two words. Barely a whisper.
"And do you, Alessio DeLuca, swear to take Sierra Moretti as your wife, to protect her, provide for her, and claim her as yours?"
His lips twitched—mockery disguised as charm. "I do."
The officiant began, "Then, by the authority given to me, I now pronounce you husband and—"
"Not yet," Alessio cut in, smooth as a blade.
The officiant faltered. The air froze.
Alessio stepped toward me, and I forced myself not to retreat. His scent closed in—dark, rich, intoxicating, like aged whiskey laced with smoke and danger.
"We're missing something," he murmured.
My throat tightened. "What?"
His fingers brushed my chin, tilting it up until I was caught in his gaze. "A kiss."
A ripple of murmurs swept the hall. My pulse slammed against my ribs. No.
His smirk deepened. He was savoring my discomfort.
"Kiss your husband, Sierra."
I hesitated, bile rising in my throat.
Alessio's eyes darkened. "Do not make me ask again."
The weight of the moment crushed me. Slowly, I lifted my chin, brushing my lips against his—a hollow gesture, enough for formality.
But not enough for him.
The second his lips claimed mine, the world fell away.
A sharp inhale caught in my chest. His mouth was warm, demanding, sinfully soft. Possessive. My hands trembled at my sides as my mind screamed—run or surrender? But there was no escape. Not from him.
His palm slid to the back of my neck, tilting me, and I gasped into his mouth. He took it—stole it—his tongue sweeping past my lips with ruthless certainty. Heat coiled low in my stomach, my heart pounding his name with every beat. Alessio. Alessio. Alessio.
A flash of something—unreal—slammed into my mind: candlelight shadows, silk against skin, gold eyes filled with desperate fire, a whispered promise, a gunshot in the dark.
I tore my mouth from his, but he held me fast. Something flickered in his gaze. Shock.
He'd seen it too.
His thumb brushed my swollen lips, lingering as though testing a truth neither of us wanted to name.
My chest rose in ragged breaths. I had never been kissed before. Never touched this way. Yet it didn't feel like the first time.
And then—
His fingers slid deeper into my hair, pulling me into a second kiss, fiercer, stripping away my last fragment of resistance. I gasped, and he deepened it, reminding me without words who was in control.
When he finally released me, his eyes held quiet triumph.
The officiant cleared his throat, uneasy. "By the authority given to me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
The hall erupted in applause—empty, cold.
I stood frozen. I was not just married to Alessio DeLuca.
I had been claimed by him.