The D'Amore estate was a fortress dressed a palace.
Tall iron gates, twisting marble staircases, chandeliers like frozen fire in the ceilings. The kind of house that echoed when you breathed, and whispered when you didn't.
Selene walked beside her new husband through the grand entrance hall, her heels clicking like countdowns on the marble floor.
"Welcome home," he said without looking at her.
Home.
The word rang hollow in the hallway.
Luciano kept walking ahead of her, flanked by two silent guards. Selene trailed just behind him, holding her composure like a fragile wine glass in an earthquake. Everything here was polished, but nothing felt alive. A kingdom without warmth. A cage with velvet bars.
At the top of the stairs, he paused and looked back.
"This way." He turned left, and she followed him into a wing lined with doors, oil paintings, and silence so thick it felt sacred.
He opened a door and stepped aside. "Your room."
She glanced inside. Modern. Cold. Beautiful. A little too perfect.
Her eyes narrowed. "Separate rooms?"
Luciano's mouth tilted into the smallest smile. "Did you think we'd be sharing a bed on the first night?"
"No," she said, lifting her chin. "I assumed you'd just lock me in a dungeon."
"If I wanted to imprison you, Selene," he said, voice like silk over a blade, "you'd already be there."
She stepped inside and turned to face him. "Is that a threat?"
"No." His eyes held hers. "That's clarity."
He shut the door softly.
---
She waited until the sound of his footsteps faded before collapsing onto the velvet chair by the window. Her body was still, but her thoughts thrashed like waves in a storm.
Everything about him was control.
Luciano D'Amore didn't shout. He didn't need to. His silence was louder than a room full of screams. He moved like a king, spoke like a tactician, and married like a man who expected obedience in exchange for mercy.
But Selene hadn't grown up obedient.
Her mother had raised her with secrets instead of lullabies. She was taught to read the energy in a room before she was taught to write her own name. Every instinct she had warned her that marrying into the D'Amore family was not a strategy.
It was a gamble.
And one of them would lose everything.
---
A knock on the door broke the stillness.
She rose cautiously and opened it.
A man with silver-rimmed glasses and a thick file folder stood on the other side. "Mrs. D'Amore," he said formally, bowing his head. "Luciano asked me to deliver your orientation materials."
"Orientation?" she repeated.
"Yes," he handed her the folder. "Rules. Schedules. Contacts. Access codes. There's also a summary of the current allies and enemies of the D'Amore estate."
"Enemies?" she asked, one brow lifting.
The man's face didn't change. "You'll find there are many. And more now that you're involved."
She took the folder.
"One more thing," he added. "You'll be expected to attend the inner circle's dinner tomorrow. Dress accordingly. And choose your words carefully."
Then he disappeared like a ghost.
Selene closed the door, locked it, and opened the folder.
Every page inside whispered one thing: This isn't marriage. This is war.
---
Down the hall, Luciano stood in his private office, staring at the security feed. Her room. Her hallway. Her expression as she read the file.
She didn't flinch.
Interesting.
"She's too quiet," came a voice from the corner.
Luciano didn't turn. "Quiet women build empires. Or burn them."
The man chuckled. "She doesn't look like a killer."
"That's because you don't know her bloodline," Luciano murmured, eyes still on the screen. "Her mother's side goes back to the Moreau witches."
The man froze. "So the rumors were true?"
"She doesn't know yet. Or if she does, she's hiding it well."
He leaned closer to the screen. Watched her brush her fingers across a candle on the desk.
The flame flickered, though no wind touched it.
Luciano's eyes narrowed.
"She's either very dangerous…" he said softly, "or exactly what I need.