The next evening, the Moretti mansion buzzed with quiet preparation. The long dining table gleamed under the chandelier, set with crystal glasses and silver cutlery polished to perfection. Tonight was not a celebration—it was a performance. The heads of both families would dine together for the first time since the wedding, and every smile would be a lie.
Alessia stood before the mirror in her new room, fastening the diamond necklace Damian had sent earlier that afternoon.
It was exquisite, heavy, and cold against her skin—like everything that came from him.
She had refused his gifts before, but tonight, she needed armor.
A knock sounded. Damian entered without waiting for permission, dressed in a black suit that made him look every bit the ruthless heir he was. His gaze swept over her, lingering for a moment too long.
"You wear my name well," he said.
She turned to face him, her tone sharp. "I wear it because I have no choice."
He smiled faintly. "Choice is an illusion in our world, princess. You'll learn that soon enough."
"Maybe," she said, lifting her chin. "But illusions can still be broken."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Careful. Breaking illusions can be dangerous."
Their eyes locked, the tension between them thick and electric
. Then, without another word, he offered his arm. "Shall we?"
The dining hall was already filled when they entered.
Don Romano sat at one end of the table, his expression carved from stone.
Don Lorenzo Moretti sat opposite him, his smile polite but cold. The air was heavy with unspoken history—betrayals, blood debts, and uneasy truces.
As Damian pulled out her chair, Alessia caught her father's approving nod. It made her stomach twist. She was a symbol now, nothing more—a living treaty between two empires built on violence.
Dinner began with polite conversation, the kind that hid daggers behind every word. The dons discussed business, territory, and alliances, their tones smooth but their eyes sharp.
Alessia said little, her mind elsewhere.
Halfway through the meal, Damian leaned toward her. "You're quiet tonight."
"I have nothing to say," she replied.
He smirked. "That's a first."
She shot him a glare. "Not every battle needs to be fought with words."
"True," he said softly. "Some are fought with silence. And you're winning this one."
Despite herself, a small smile tugged at her lips. She quickly hid it behind her glass of wine.
Across the table, Don Lorenzo's voice cut through the low murmur. "It's good to see our families united at last. Perhaps now, the bloodshed can end."
Don Romano nodded. "Peace is fragile, but necessary."
Damian's hand brushed Alessia's under the table, a subtle gesture that startled her.
When she looked at him, his expression was unreadable. "Play your part," he murmured.
She hesitated, then placed her hand over his, forcing a smile for the watching eyes around them. The contact was warm, steady, and far too intimate.
After dinner, the guests moved to the terrace for cigars and brandy.
Alessia slipped away to the garden, needing air. The night was cool, the scent of jasmine heavy in the breeze. She closed her eyes, trying to remember what freedom had felt like.
"You shouldn't wander off alone," Damian's voice came from behind her.
She turned, startled. "I needed space."
He stepped closer, his gaze dark. "Space is a luxury you don't have anymore."
"Then maybe I'll take it anyway," she said, defiant.
He studied her for a long moment, then sighed. "You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?"
"Only if you deserve it."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Good. I'd hate for my wife to be boring."
Before she could respond, a shadow moved near the edge of the garden. Damian's expression changed instantly—sharp, alert. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her behind him.
"Stay close," he ordered.
A figure stepped out of the darkness, dressed in black, a gun glinting under the moonlight.
"Damian Moretti," the man said, his voice low. "The peace ends tonight."
Alessia's breath caught. Damian's hand went to his holster, his body tense.
The night that had begun with masks and false smiles was about to end in blood.
And for the first time, Alessia realized that being Damian Moretti's wife meant standing at the edge of danger—every single day.