The DeLuca Dynasty didn't simply celebrate; they dominated the night.
The grand hall was carved from black marble veined with silver, towering ceilings dripping with crystal chandeliers that glowed like captured stars. Every corner echoed with power armed guards in tailored suits, sharp eyed men and women who ruled the underworld.
And in the center of it all… Maya Sinclair stood alone.
Her wedding gown white silk embroidered with black thread felt heavy on her shoulders, as though carrying the weight of the entire dynasty. The skull emblazoned DeLuca ring rested cold on her finger, its diamonds glittering cruelly under the lights. Minutes ago, she had recited her oath with trembling lips, her voice cracking as she promised blood, loyalty, and obedience.
She had become the DeLuca bride.
Not by choice.
Not by fate.
By force.
Her fingers curled at her sides as she looked around, desperately trying to steady her breaths. All eyes were on her. Judging. Measuring. Whispering.
She had never felt more exposed in her life.
"Is that really her?"
A woman's voice drifted through the crowd, soft but sharp enough to cut.
"She looks like a lost little lamb," another replied, sipping her champagne without looking away. "I give her a week before she breaks."
"Please," a third scoffed. "She won't last a day. "A little doll. A toy. Dominic gets bored fast." Dominic likes fire, not… whatever that is."
Their eyes dragged over Maya like claws mocking, amused, cruel.
Maya blinked rapidly, her vision blurring. She had imagined her wedding day since childhood soft music, warm smiles, her mother fixing her veil, her father crying with pride. Instead, she stood surrounded by strangers who wanted her gone, people who saw her as weak, naive, disposable.
Her family wasn't here.
Her friends she never had any.
Her father had handed her over without a second thought.
A tight ache spread in her chest, sharp and suffocating. Her throat burned as she fought back tears. This wasn't a wedding. It was a display. A warning. A claim.
A nightmare.
Bianca Romano.
Tall, stunning, dressed in a deep red gown that clung to her like fire. Her smirk was sharper than a knife. She stood with two friends, sipping wine, watching Maya like she was something stuck under her shoe.
"That dress is wasted on her," Bianca said loudly. "Dominic should've waited for someone who actually looks like a woman."
Laughter rippled through the group.
"Poor thing looks like she's going to faint," someone chuckled.
"She probably doesn't even know what marriage means in this world."
"I heard she's never had a boyfriend," a woman whispered with a smirk. "What is Dominic going to do with a virgin child?"
Maya's cheeks flamed with humiliation. She turned her face away, wishing she could disappear into the marble floor. Every word made her smaller, emptier, colder.
Then, like a shadow slicing through the room, Dominic stepped beside her.
His presence silenced everything voices, laughter, even the music seemed to dull. The mobsters who mocked her lowered their gazes instantly. No one dared to meet his eyes.
Dominic DeLuca didn't need to speak to command a room. His aura did all the talking dark, dangerous, lethal.
He stood close enough that she felt his heat, yet not close enough to comfort. He didn't spare her a glance. Didn't acknowledge her trembling or the tears she tried to hide. His jaw was tight, his posture rigid, his expression carved from stone.
Cold. Merciless. Untouchable.
Just as he always was.
His entourage stood behind him massive men with stoic faces and sharp eyes. Not one of them dared look up at him. Not one. The fear was palpable.
Maya's heart sank.
He wasn't going to save her from this humiliation.
He wasn't going to shield her.
He wasn't even going to pretend to care.
She was alone even with him beside her.
A guest approached with champagne, his eyes lingering on Maya a little too long, his smirk a little too bold.
"Tell me, princess… do you even know what kind of man you married? Or are you too innocent to understand the games we play here?"
Maya's heart thudded. She tried to step back, voice barely a whisper.
"Please… don't talk to me."
He laughed softly. "Relax. I'm only being friendly. Dominic can't expect to keep something as pretty as you all to himself."
He reached for a strand of her hair.
He never touched it.
Dominic's head snapped toward the sound not slowly, not calmly like a predator sensing a threat. Maya felt the shift in the air before she saw it in his eyes.
Cold.
Burning.
Murderous.
The man pleaded instantly.
"I meant no disrespect"
Dominic didn't let him finish.
He moved with a terrifying calm, his steps slow and deliberate. The guests parted like water, no one daring to breathe as he stopped directly in front of the trembling man.
"You spoke," Dominic said, his voice dangerously quiet. "To my wife."
The room froze.
Maya felt her pulse crash in her ears.
"I was only..."
A gunshot cracked through the hall like lightning splitting the sky.
Then, turning to one of his guards, he said one word:
"Outside."
The guard dragged the man toward the exit. The hall was silent. Maya's breath hitched, horror knotting in her stomach.
"Wait" she whispered, stepping forward.
She didn't get another word out.
Another gunshot cracked through the night.
Screams. Shouts. The faint echo of a body collapsing somewhere beyond the open doors.
Maya's entire body trembled.
Dominic didn't flinch.
He didn't blink.
He didn't even look away from her.
"That," he said quietly, stepping closer until his shadow swallowed her, "was a warning."
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
He leaned in, his voice low, deadly, possessive.
"No man speaks to what belongs to me."
The crowd watched in reverent silence.
Fear.
Respect.
Admiration.
This was who Dominic DeLuca was. The man they feared. The man they followed.
The man she had married.
Her stomach twisted violently. She felt sick, dizzy, overwhelmed.
She wasn't prepared for this world.
She wasn't prepared for him.
A hand brushed her lower back not gentle, not comforting, but commanding.
"Smile," Dominic said without looking at her. "The dynasty is watching."
It wasn't a request.
It was an order.
Maya lifted her chin, pretending her world wasn't collapsing, pretending her heart wasn't breaking, pretending she wasn't terrified of the man beside her.
She forced a small, strained smile.
Dominic didn't return it.
But the room did.
The dynasty applauded, raising their glasses in a twisted celebration of blood and power, of marriage and violence, of fear and loyalty.
The DeLuca bride had just witnessed her first execution.
And the night wasn't even over.