The champagne at my father's birthday gala tasted like ashes.
I smiled until my cheeks ached, floating through the penthouse in a cloud of Valentino silk, the darling daughter of Vincent Rossi, beloved "philanthropist" and "businessman." The world saw old money and charity galas. I saw the shadows in my father's eyes, the too-quiet men by the doors, the way conversations hushed when I drew near.
I was smoothing my dress on the terrace, stealing a moment of cold, November air, when the atmosphere changed. It wasn't a sound, but a silence that swept in from behind. The hair on my neck stood up.
"Alessia."
The voice was like dark velvet wrapped around steel. I knew it before I turned.
Luca "The Ghost" Moretti. A name whispered in fear and awe. He was the king of New York's underworld, a man who built empires from shadows and ruin. He was also my father's oldest friend, and my secret, shameful childhood obsession.
Time had only sharpened him. In his forties, he was a masterpiece of power: broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed in a Tom Ford suit that cost more than my car, silver just starting to dust his temples. His face was all hard lines and ruthless angles, but his eyes… they were the color of a storm over the Atlantic, and they held me completely.
"Mr. Moretti," I managed, my voice barely a breath.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Luca. I held you at your christening, cara. Formalities are unnecessary."
He stepped closer. The scent of him—sandalwood, expensive whiskey, and pure, dangerous male—wrapped around me. "You've grown into a remarkable woman, Alessia."
"Thank you," I whispered, my social graces fleeing.
"Your father," he said, his gaze cutting past me into the glittering party, "has a problem. A debt. Not of money, but of honor. A broken alliance. It threatens everything he has. Everything you have."
A cold dread trickled down my spine. "What kind of debt?"
His stormy eyes returned to mine, and in them, I saw my future rewritten. "The kind settled with a vow. He promised you to the son of a Sicilian ally. A promise he could not keep when the boy died. The family feels… insulted. They demand restitution. Blood, or a new alliance."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "I don't understand."
"It's simple, principessa." He reached out, his knuckles brushing my cheek so softly it was a violation. "To avert a war and save your father's life, you will marry me."
The world tilted. The champagne flute slipped from my fingers, shattering on the terrace stones. "Marry you? This is a joke."
"I never joke." His hand cupped my jaw, his thumb stroking my bottom lip. The touch was possessive, absolute. "In forty-eight hours, you will be my wife. You will live in my home. You will share my bed. You will be under my protection, and in return, you will give me your obedience and your loyalty."
Tears of fury and terror burned my eyes. "And if I refuse?"
For the first time, his mask slipped, revealing the predator beneath. The warmth in his eyes froze solid. "Then the Vizzini family will take your father's holdings, piece by bloody piece, and they will take you, too. Not as a wife, Alessia. As a spoil of war. I am offering you a gilded cage. They offer a dungeon. Choose."
He released me, leaving my skin burning. He pulled a small, black velvet box from his pocket and opened it. A solitaire diamond the size of a glacier glittered under the moon, cold and magnificent. "This was my mother's. It will suit you."
He took my limp left hand and slid the ring onto my finger. It was heavy. A shackle.
"Forty-eight hours, Alessia. The wedding is at my chapel. Wear white." He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear, his whisper a dark promise that coiled in my belly. "And know this: I don't want a willing bride. I want you. I've watched you for years. Your fire, your spirit. I will have it all. Even if I have to tame it first."
He was gone as silently as he arrived, leaving me shivering in the cold, the weight of the diamond crushing my hand, my old world in shards at my feet.