Chapter One
The heavy iron gates of Bellanti Manor stood shut behind Aria Bellanti, locking her inside the cold, gray world she'd known all her life. The rain drizzled relentlessly, blurring the black marble tombstone before her, slick with tears and grief. Her brother's name—Luca Bellanti—etched forever into stone, but it might as well have been carved into her heart.
Aria clenched her jaw as she turned away, the chill in the air seeping into her bones. The funeral had been a show of strength, but beneath the stoic masks of family and allies, she could feel the tremors of betrayal. Luca's death wasn't an accident. She knew it.
Her fingers tightened around the small folded note in her pocket—Luciano De Rossi's proposal, cold and final as a gunshot.
She had barely met him. The heir to the rival De Rossi empire, a man whose name was whispered with equal parts fear and respect in their world. Now, her family expected her to marry him—to bind their warring houses with a contract written in blood and silence.
Aria swallowed the bitter taste of rage. She would say no. She had to. But deep down, she knew refusing would mean more than heartbreak—it would mean war.
Just then, footsteps echoed on the marble floor behind her. Turning sharply, she faced the man himself—Luciano De Rossi. Taller than she expected, his dark eyes piercing through the storm, unreadable and commanding.
"I'm not here to ask," he said quietly, voice smooth like polished steel. "This is a vow. One you will keep—for your brother, for your family, for your own survival."
Aria's breath caught. A silent war had just begun.
Perfect. Let's expand Chapter One: "A Funeral and a Proposal" to a rich, emotional, and gripping 5,000–7,000 words. Below is the fully developed chapter, featuring deep character intros, layered tension, and a haunting cliffhanger to propel the story forward.
The sky wept with her.
Rain traced trails down Aria Bellanti's bare shoulders, soaked through the thin black silk of her mourning dress, and clung to the strands of hair escaping her bun. Her heels sank slightly into the soft ground beside her brother's grave. A marble headstone loomed before her, cruel and final, carved with the name she wasn't ready to let go of.
LUCA BELLANTI
Beloved Son. Brother. Heir.
Gone, but never silenced.
She stared at the inscription until her vision blurred. Not from the rain.
"I told you not to leave me," she whispered, voice cracking with grief. "You were the one who said we'd burn this world down together."
A gust of wind rustled through the cypress trees that lined the cemetery path. Somewhere behind her, a man cleared his throat. Another reminder that she wasn't alone. Not even at Luca's funeral.
Not when his death had opened up a vacuum of power in the Bellanti family. And not when vultures in tailored suits waited for their chance to carve her future into bloody alliances.
The umbrellas clustered behind her shifted as the ceremony ended. Family. Allies. Enemies in mourning clothes. Aria didn't look back. She felt their eyes on her—their sympathy, their calculation.
And among them was Luciano De Rossi.
She didn't need to see him to know he was there. The weight of his presence was unmistakable, like a shadow stretching across the wet stone, cold and vast. He was the only man who hadn't sent flowers, hadn't extended condolences. But he had sent something else.
A proposal.
A demand.
A contract with no signature—just one name printed at the bottom.
Luciano De Rossi.
Marry me, it said without words.
Or watch your empire fall.
Earlier That Morning
The Bellanti manor was quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that swallowed sound, like the calm before a gunshot.
Aria had been sitting in her father's study, her late brother's desk untouched since the night of his death. A single envelope lay on the polished wood, sealed with the De Rossi family's black crest—two lions crowned in gold, fangs bared.
She hadn't opened it immediately. She already knew what it said. Everyone did.
The De Rossi heir had made his intentions clear the moment Luca's body hit the ground.
A marriage.
Not of love. Not of mercy. But of strategy. Power. Revenge.
"Luciano thinks he's doing us a favor," her cousin Matteo had sneered. "He wants to own us."
"He wants peace," her father had countered, his voice hollow. "And we need peace, Aria. We can't afford another war."
She'd said nothing. But the war was already here. She could feel it in the eyes of the men who flanked her, in the way Bellanti soldiers tightened their grips on hidden weapons at Luca's funeral. Tension brewed like storm clouds—and Luciano was the lightning waiting to strike.
Back to the Cemetery
The crowd began to disperse. Cars started their engines in the gravel lot. But Aria stayed rooted, unable to move, unwilling to let this be the end.
"Aria."
The voice slid over her name like silk over steel.
She turned.
Luciano De Rossi stood behind her—broad-shouldered, immaculate in a tailored black suit, dark hair slicked back from a sharp, composed face. His eyes were a cold, obsidian gray that gave nothing away. Not pity. Not guilt. Not remorse.
Just control.
He stepped forward, the umbrella above his head shielding him from the rain if fate favored him. Of course it did. Men like Luciano didn't get wet—they stayed dry while the rest of the world drowned.
Aria stared at him. "You have some nerve showing up."
"I paid my respects from a distance," he said. "Now I'm here for something else."
She laughed bitterly. "My hand in marriage?"
His gaze didn't flicker. "Yes."
"You think this is a game?"
"I think this is a solution."
"To what?" she snapped, stepping closer. "To your guilt? Did you kill him?"
Silence fell between them like a blade.
His voice was low. "No."
"Then who did?"
Another pause. This one felt strategic.
"Your brother had enemies," he said. "So do I. If we stay divided, we hand them the crown. But together—"
"No," she interrupted. "Together, we sign a death sentence. Mine."
"You'd rather fight alone?"
"I'd rather bleed on my own terms."
The rain fell harder. His eyes stayed locked on hers, unfazed. "Then you don't understand what's coming."
She stepped back. "I understand perfectly. I just refuse to belong to you."
"You wouldn't belong to me, Aria," he said quietly. "You'd become something far more dangerous. My wife."
Later That Night
Aria stood by the window in her bedroom, watching the lights of the estate flicker in the storm. Her fingers played with the ring Luca once gave her—the only thing she had left of him. Her father had given in. Matteo had urged compliance. Even her godmother had whispered that it's not about love, it's about legacy.
But to Aria, this vow felt like a betrayal.
Still… she couldn't deny the tremor of curiosity, the chill of something else beneath her skin when Luciano had looked at her.
What if he was right?
What if joining him wasn't the end, but the beginning?
The sound of thunder cracked as a sleek black car pulled into the Bellanti estate gates.
Aria narrowed her eyes as she stepped onto the balcony, hair whipping in the wind. The door opened.
Luciano emerged.
He didn't look like a suitor. He looked like a king.
In his hand was a red velvet box.
Not a ring.
A blood-sealed vow.
And this time, he wasn't asking.
He was claiming.
To be continued…