Celeste;
I'd let down my guard. And the price I have to pay for that is expensive.
"Fuck." His jaw hard, eyes turning blazing sharp as he peels from me and prowls towards the brewing commotion.
—After giving me my first orgasm.
"Don't fucking go anywhere." And he leaves me there, with the weight of my sin, chasing after the high that still muddies my senses despite the screams and the sharp echoes of gunshots. Danger misting and corroding the air.
Yet all I still feel is his lips on my skin, the heat of his breath as he rasps into my ears.
I haven't quite come to terms with reality. Is this how an orgasm feels?
I remember how he left—how he cursed the moment the screams tore through the distance. His hands slipped from my waist and the warmth of his thigh vanished, snuffed out just like that.
I stand on wobbly feet, trying to steady myself when something whistles past my ear. Instinct kicks in—I duck just in time, a stray bullet slicing through the space I had occupied before lodging into the bushes behind me.
That's when it sinks in.
My heart begins drumming like thunder. But for a different reason this time.
More shots ring out, sharper now, closer. Tables are overturned in the distance, glass explodes into glittering shards, decorations collapse in ruin. The smell creeps in next—gunpowder first, acrid and choking, then something heavier, thicker.
Blood.
It stains the air, metallic and suffocating, clinging to the back of my throat.
It's a full-on attack. And no, I'm not sure it's related to the organization.
Something twists in my stomach, horror licking a slow path up my spine as adrenaline replaces the fading euphoria.
Moments like this make me miss the familiar weight of my dagger, the certainty of having something to fight back with. Maybe after this madness, I can ask Romano for it.
If we make it out.
Feet heavy, I move—fast, reckless—towards the danger, mind spinning with questions. Why would anyone want to ruin an engagement party?
My engagement party.
Bodies scatter haphazardly in a bid to save their lives. Women shriek, heels snapping against stone as they run. Men bark orders, voices swallowed by gunfire. Someone trips—cries out—gets dragged up before they're trampled.
Armed men take positions behind pillars and flipped tables, returning fire with ruthless precision.
And I—I'm caught in the middle of it.
Caruso is nowhere in sight.
A thought crosses my mind, sharp and urgent, and my fingers clutch at the fabric of my dress, now damp from the sweat coating my palms. I pivot quickly, aiming for the small entry door leading to the kitchen from the garden—
Skidding to a halt; I don't make it.
Because I walk straight into the cold, unyielding mouth of a gun.
The barrel presses against my forehead, firm, unforgiving.
My breath stutters as I lift my gaze.
The man behind the weapon…he isn't just armed. He oozes danger. It rolls off him in thick waves. Calculated, suffocating. His eyes are dead. Not empty—worse. Alive with something cruel. Something that enjoys this.
"Turn around." His voice is rough, worn, edged with something that makes my spine stiffen.
I swallow hard, my grip tightening on my dress before I slowly obey.
The cold press of the gun shifts, now digging into the side of my head, sharper this time.
"Keep walking." I do.
My legs feel foreign beneath me, each step uneven as my heels sink into the soil, threatening to betray me at any second. My pulse roars in my ears, loud enough to drown out everything else as he steers me forward, deeper into the heart of the chaos.
Into the bloodbath.
And when we emerge fully into the wreckage, I understand.
This wasn't random. It was planned.
The garden is unrecognizable now—decorations shredded, tables split apart, ribbons torn and scattered like debris after a storm. Bullet holes litter everything, and the ground...
The ground is stained.
Bodies lie sprawled in unnatural positions, some unmoving, others groaning weakly.
And then I see them.
Ruggiero. And his sons.
Romano and Caruso stand back to back, movements synchronized in deadly precision, their guns firing in controlled bursts. Every shot lands. Every shot counts.
Men fall around them like they're nothing.
For a fleeting, irrational second, relief flickers through me.
Then the gun leaves my head.
Only for a deafening shot to split the air.
I flinch violently, breath hitching.
"Cease!" The command cracks through the chaos like thunder.
The gun is back against my skull before I can even process it.
Everything slows. Gunfire dwindles. Voices fade. All attention shifts.
To me.
Caruso's gaze finds mine. It flares, colliding with a force that knocks the air from my lungs.
Something dark ignites in his eyes, something violent, unrestrained, and his gun snaps upward, aimed directly at the man behind me.
Romano doesn't move.
But I see it—the subtle tick in his jaw, the tightening of his grip, the way his entire body goes unnaturally still, the way his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around his weapon.
"Fernandez, what is this about?" Ruggiero's voice cuts in, calm but edged with steel.
A low, humorless chuckle sounds behind me, close enough to make my skin crawl. "What this is about?" Fernandez repeats, almost amused. "You really want to ask that, Don Giordano?"
Silence stretches, thick and suffocating.
"You made a deal," he continues, pressing the gun harder into my head, forcing a sharp breath from my lips. "A very clear one."
Ruggiero's gaze hardens. "I keep my word."
"No," Fernandez snaps, voice turning sharp as broken glass. "You manipulate it."
The tension spikes.
"You promised alignment. Influence. Control over the Montagna union," he goes on, each word deliberate. "Instead, you built something that serves you and leaves us exposed."
My stomach drops.
Montagna. Me. This—This is about me.
"This union strengthens the influence—," Ruggiero replies evenly.
"And weakens ours," Fernandez fires back without hesitation. "You failed to deliver on your end of the contract."
Caruso shifts. It's subtle, but I see it.
The way his body coils, like he's seconds away from snapping.
"Stand down," Ruggiero orders sharply.
Caruso doesn't move. Doesn't blink. Doesn't god-damn breathe.
Fernandez lets out a quiet laugh. "Your house isn't as united as you think."
Romano still says nothing. But his eyes—They're on me. Chilling my bones.
"Fix this," Fernandez says. "Or this alliance is finished."
A beat passes.
Then his grip on me tightens, fingers digging painfully into my arm.
"I take collateral."
My pulse stutters. Before I can react, I'm yanked back against him, my balance faltering as panic spikes through me.
"Let her go." Caruso's voice drops, low and lethal.
The kind of tone that promises violence. His eyes burn, locked on me like he's already tearing the man apart in his head.
Fernandez doesn't even hesitate. "Not happening."
Caruso takes a step forward—
"Enough."
Ruggiero's command lands hard.
Caruso freezes, but the fury in his eyes doesn't dim. It burns brighter, locked entirely on me, on the man holding me, on the distance between us.
Romano just...watches.
"When you're ready to honor your end of the deal," Fernandez says, his voice carrying across the silence, "you'll get your daughter-in-law back."
My breath comes faster now, uneven, panic clawing up my throat.
"No—" I start, but his grip tightens painfully, cutting me off.
"Move."
And I'm being dragged.
My heels scrape uselessly against the ground as I struggle to keep up, the world tilting violently around me.
I look back. I don't know why, but I do.
My gaze finds Caruso.
And he's already looking at me.
His eyes burn—dark, violent green filled with something raw and unrestrained, something that makes my chest tighten painfully.
There's fury there. Yes. But beneath it, something deeper, something far more dangerous. Possessive...unforgiving.
Like he's already planning how this ends.
And then, white-hot pain explodes at the side of my head.
A gasp tears from my throat as the world tilts violently, my vision fracturing at the edges.
The last thing I see—
It's not my husband-to-be, but my soon to be brother in-law.
Before the darkness consumes me.