The reflection staring back at me was a masterpiece of deception.
I was draped in five yards of the finest Italian silk, a Vera Wang creation that cost more than a suburban home. My hair was swept up into an intricate crown of curls, pinned by a diamond tiara that felt like a circle of ice against my scalp. I looked like a queen, but as I adjusted the lace sleeves of my wedding dress, I knew the truth.
I was a sacrificial lamb.
"Seraphina, you are the most beautiful bride New York has seen in a decade," my father, Antonio Rossi, said as he entered the suite. His voice was thick with emotion, but I could see the twitch in his jaw. Rossi International was crumbling. A series of bad investments and a sudden market crash had left us on the brink of total ruin.
Daniel Whitmore IV was the "miracle" that had saved us. A golden-boy investment banker with a smile that was too perfect and eyes that never quite reached his soul. My father saw a merger; I saw a prison sentence.
"I'm doing this for the family, Papa," I whispered. My voice felt brittle, like it might shatter if I spoke too loudly.
"You're doing this for our legacy, Seraphina. Daniel is a good man. He'll provide the security you deserve."
Security. The word tasted like ash in my mouth. What about love? What about the dreams I'd harbored of a partner who saw me as more than a pretty accessory? Daniel's kisses were always calculated, his touches polite but distant. We'd never gone beyond heavy petting, he said he wanted to "wait for the wedding night" to make it special. Now, as I stared at my reflection, I wondered if that was just another lie to keep me compliant.
The clock struck noon. It was time. My father offered his arm, and we stepped into the antechamber. The organ's deep notes vibrated through the walls, signaling the start of the procession. As the massive oak doors swung open, the sea of guests turned to face me, three hundred of New York's elite, their faces a blur of diamonds and designer suits.
I walked down the aisle, my hand white-knuckled on my father's arm. The scent of white lilies and incense filled the air, cloying and overwhelming. My heart pounded like a war drum. The faces blurred into a sea of judgment and curiosity. But then, my gaze was pulled, almost magnetically, to the back of the cathedral.
He sat in the shadows of the last pew.
A darkness that the candlelight couldn't penetrate. Broad shoulders, a suit the color of a stormy sea, and eyes, amber eyes that burned with a predatory hunger. I stumbled, my heart skipping a beat. I didn't know him, yet I felt as if he had been watching me my entire life. His stare was intense, possessive, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cool air of the cathedral.
As I reached the altar, Daniel took my hands. His palms were clammy, a stark contrast to the heat I looked radiating from the man in the back. Daniel's blue eyes crinkled in that practiced way, his blond hair perfectly tousled. "You look stunning, Sera," he whispered.
The priest began the rites. "Do you, Daniel Whitmore, take Seraphina Rossi to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
BOOM.
The cathedral doors didn't just open, they were blasted off their hinges. The explosion sent a shockwave through the pews, and the triumphant music was replaced by the screams of three hundred guests. Men in black tactical gear, armed with submachine guns, flooded the sanctuary with military precision.
But I only saw the man from the back pew.
He walked through the smoke like a god of war. Eric Moretti. The "Devil of New York." Whispers about him had haunted the city's underworld, a mafia king who ruled with an iron fist and a heart of stone. His family controlled half the ports in the Northeast, their legitimate businesses a front for something far darker.
"This wedding is canceled," Eric's voice echoed, deep and resonant, cutting through the chaos like a blade.
Daniel let go of my hands so fast I nearly fell. He scrambled back, his face a mask of cowardice. "Moretti! You can't be here! We had an agreement!"
An agreement? My mind reeled. What did that mean?
Eric ignored him, his focus entirely on me. He reached the altar, his height towering over me. He smelled of expensive sandalwood, aged bourbon, and the metallic tang of danger. Without a word, he reached out, his gloved hand cupping my jaw. His touch sent a jolt through me, electric, forbidden.
"You're wearing the wrong man's ring, Seraphina," he murmured, his voice a dark caress that made my knees weak.
Before I could breathe, he hoisted me over his shoulder. I screamed, pounding my fists against his back, my veil tearing as he turned to leave. The guests gasped, some standing in shock, others cowering. My father's face was pale with rage, but he didn't move, perhaps knowing the futility of challenging a man like Moretti.
"Put her down! Eric, you monster!" my father roared, but a dozen red laser dots appeared on his chest, freezing him in place.
"She was never yours to sell, Antonio," Eric growled. He carried me out into the blinding sunlight, throwing me into the back of an armored SUV. My wedding was over, and my nightmare, or perhaps my awakening, had just begun.
The SUV sped away, the cathedral shrinking in the rearview mirror. I pounded on the tinted windows, my heart racing with terror and confusion. "Let me go! This is kidnapping!"
Eric sat across from me, his amber eyes unreadable. "Kidnapping? No, Seraphina. This is salvation."
I glared at him, my chest heaving. "Salvation? From what? My wedding? My life?"
"From a man who saw you as currency." His voice was calm, but his eyes darkened with a fierce expression. "Daniel Whitmore isn't who you think he is. And neither am I."
The drive was tense, the city blurring past. I tried the doors. My phone had been left behind in the chaos. I was trapped with a stranger who looked at me like I was both prey and prize. Fear warred with curiosity. Who was this man, and why did his gaze make my skin tingle?
As we arrived at the estate, Eric's men flanked us. "Welcome to your new home," he said, his tone laced with something that sounded almost like a promise.
Little did I know that the traditions of his world, family, honor, and protection would soon test us both in ways I couldn't imagine.
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