🖤The mafia heir's warning: "Love me, and you will be consumed."

Chapter 1~ A Normal Bedroom

CHAPTER 1

DANTE

⪼⚔︎♛⚔︎⪻

The Crimson Room wasn’t a place for innocent little girls.

It was a place where grown women came to surrender control, to let men like me strip away their pretenses along with their clothes.

So what the fuck was she doing here?

I leaned against the bar, nursing a glass of Jameson and watching the brunette who’d been eye-fucking me for the past hour. She was sitting alone at a corner table, wearing a skimpy black dress which I suspected was really uncomfortable.

Like the dress, everything else about her screamed that she didn’t belong.

The way she kept fidgeting with her purse. The way her eyes darted around the room like she expected someone to arrest her for being here. The way she’d been nursing the same vodka tonic since she’d arrived.

“She’s been asking about you,” Seamus, my bartender and one of my oldest friends, said as he polished a glass. “Wants to know if the rumors are true.”

“What rumors?”

“That you’re the King of Dublin’s underworld.” He grinned. “And that you fuck like the devil himself.”

I actually laughed. “And what did you tell her?”

“That she should be careful what she wishes for.” His expression turned serious. “She’s not one of our usual clientele, boss. She’s got that look—like she’s here to prove something to herself.”

I studied her more carefully. Italian features, probably mid-twenties, with a bone structure that belonged in Renaissance paintings. Nervous energy radiated off her in waves, but there was determination mixed with desperation.

Dangerous combination.

“She keeps looking at you,” Seamus continued. “Like she’s working up the courage to do something stupid.”

As if summoned by his words, the brunette stood up, smoothed down her dress, and walked straight toward me. Her hips swayed with each step, but her hands were trembling slightly. Whatever she was about to do, it was taking every ounce of courage she had.

“You’re him,” she said when she reached me, her accent thick and undeniably Italian. “You’re Dante Cummiskey.”

“Depends who’s asking.” I turned to face her fully, and Christ, she was even more beautiful up close. Dark eyes that reminded me of expensive coffee, skin like cream, lips that were made for sin. “And you are?”

“No one important.” She lifted her chin, trying to look confident and failing miserably. “I heard you… I heard you take women home sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” I kept my voice neutral, but inside I was fascinated. Most women who approached me here were experienced, knew exactly what they were getting into. This one looked like she’d never been in a room like this before, let alone participated in what happened here. “What exactly did you hear?”

Her cheeks flushed pink, but she didn’t back down. “That you’re into… things. Dark things.”

“I am.” I stepped closer, and she automatically stepped back until she was pressed against the bar. “The question is, mo stór, are you?”

“I want to be.”

Four words. That’s all it took to completely shift the dynamic between us. Because despite the nerves, despite the obvious inexperience, there was something in her voice that told me she meant it.

“Do you now?” I reached out, trailing one finger along her bare arm, and felt her shiver. “And what makes you think you could handle what I do to women in my bed?”

“I can handle it.” Her voice was stronger now, more determined. “I need to handle it.”

“Need to?” That was an interesting choice of words. “And why is that, love?”

Something flickered across her face—pain, anger, maybe both. “Because I’m tired of being good and proper and fucking perfect.” The curse word sounded foreign on her tongue, like she didn’t use it often. “Tonight, I want to be something else.”

I studied her face, looking for any sign that this was some kind of setup or game. But all I saw was raw honesty and a desperation that made my cock stir despite my better judgment.

“What’s your name?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

She hesitated. “Lucia.”

Just Lucia. No last name, no details, a made up name, nothing that could identify her beyond this moment. Smart girl.

“Well then, Lucia,” I said, my voice dropping to that tone that made grown women drop to their knees. “If you come home with me tonight, you need to understand something. I don’t do gentle. I don’t do sweet. I don’t do making love.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away.

“What I do,” I continued, leaning closer until my mouth was inches from her ear, “is bondage. I discipline. I possess. I fuck. I push limits until they break, and then I push a little further.”

“I understand.”

“You do?” I pulled back to look at her. “Once we leave this place, once I get you alone, I’ll not be asking you that. You’ll be mine for the night, completely and utterly. Your pleasure, your pain, your fucking breath—it all belongs to me until morning. And the only thing I’ll expect from you in return is submission. Utter fucking submission.”

She swallowed hard, and I could see her pulse racing in her throat. But when she spoke, her voice was steady.

“I want that.”

Christ, she was going to be the death of me.

“Then finish your drink, mo stór,” I said, signaling Seamus for the check. “Because we’re leaving. Now.”

⪼⚔︎♛⚔︎⪻

LUCIA

⪼⚔︎♛⚔︎⪻

I’m officially damaged goods.

Fifteen minutes later, we reached Dante’s penthouse and the elevator doors slid open forty floors up. We stepped into what could only be described as… a monster’s lair.

Everything in the room was sleek, expensive, and… wrong.

The sofa looked ordinary until I noticed the iron cuffs hidden in the frame. The coffee table gleamed, but its edges were too sharp, its compartments too carefully disguised.

The paintings on the walls weren’t art. They were blasphemy scenes that would’ve made a priest faint on sight.

My throat went dry. “This is…” I struggled for the right word. “Sadistic.”

His mouth curved like he’d been waiting for me to say it. “What did you expect?”

“A normal bedroom,” I admitted, heat rising in my cheeks.

“Who said I’m normal?”

I shivered, hugging myself. What if I’d just fallen into the hands of a human trafficker?

Then his voice dropped, dark and commanding: “Take off your dress.”

The words were quiet. Absolute.

For a moment, my knees nearly buckled. I wasn’t ready. God, I wasn’t ready. But what choice did I have?

My fingers trembled as I reached behind me, tugging at the zipper. The red silk slid from my shoulders, pooled at my feet. My heart thundered so loud it drowned the silence.

His eyes devoured me. I wanted to vanish, to cover myself, but the only shield I had were my arms, and even those, he wouldn’t allow.

“Look at me, Lucia.”

I raised my head slowly. Shame and fear burned across my face, but I held his gaze anyway, because running now would mean I’d never escape tomorrow.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly. And I hated how my chest ached at the sincerity in his voice.

Then his tone hardened. “But hiding isn’t how this works. Drop your arms.”

I froze. My arms were the last barrier between me and him. If I lowered them, I’d be exposed in a way no man had ever seen.

But slowly, painfully, I let them fall. The air touched me like a thousand eyes. My chin wobbled, but I didn’t look up.

“Better,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Why are you really here, Lucia?” he asked.

The question sliced me open. Why was I here? Because tomorrow my cage door would slam shut, and I couldn’t breathe at the thought?

“Because tomorrow my life ends,” I whispered.

“Dramatic,” he said, though his voice betrayed curiosity. “What does that mean?”

Tears pricked my eyes. “Tomorrow I’ll become someone else’s property. A stranger’s. I don’t even know his name. And once that ring is on my finger, I’ll never belong to myself again.” My lips trembled, but I forced the words out. “So tonight, just for tonight… I want to belong to someone I chose.”

He stared at me for a while, then his hands lifted to cradle my face, and the heat of them nearly undid me.

“What’s his name?” he demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” His eyes flared.

“They haven’t told me yet,” I admitted, and the humiliation of it nearly cracked my voice.

Silence.

Then his thumb brushed my cheek. His tone dropped to something wicked. “Then let’s make sure your last night of freedom is one you never forget.”

He spun me toward the glass, pressing me against the window, the city glittered beneath my reflection. His hand landed on my hip—firm, claiming.

“Have you ever been tied up before, Lucia?”

My heart leapt. “N-no.”

“Has a man ever put his mouth on your cunt?”

I shook my head, shame crawling hot across my skin.

“Have you ever been fucked so hard you forgot your own name?”

“I’ve… I’ve never been fucked at all,” I whispered, so low I almost hoped he wouldn’t hear.

But he did.

He stilled behind me. For the first time, I thought I caught something almost human in his silence.

“You’re a virgin?”

“Yes.”

I waited for laughter, for mockery, for disgust. Instead, his grip tightened on my hips.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he muttered.

I swallowed, forcing my chin high. “Virginity is just another kind of perfection, isn’t it?”

His eyes burned like fire meeting gasoline. “It is, little rabbit. It is.”

Chapter 2~ What I’ll Never Have

CHAPTER 2

LUCIA

⪼⚔︎♛⚔︎⪻

Holy Mother of God, what have I done?

Standing in the middle of Dante Cummiskey’s penthouse in nothing but scraps of black lace, I was pretty sure I’d officially lost my damn mind.

This wasn’t how I’d imagined losing my virginity. Growing up, I’d pictured candlelight and rose petals, gentle whispers of love, maybe even a wedding ring.

Not standing half-naked in a sex dungeon, with Dublin’s city lights twinkling mockingly below.

Look at the good Catholic girl about to get ruined by the King of the Underworld.

Well, fuck them. And fuck being good.

Tomorrow I’d be Mrs. Whatever-His-Name-Is, property of a man I’d never met, condemned to a lifetime of missionary position and rosary beads. So tonight I was going to sin so spectacularly that even the devil himself would be impressed.

“You’re overthinking,” Dante’s voice cut through my spiral, rich with amusement and curiosity. “I can practically hear the wheels turning.”

If only he knew what those wheels were planning.

See, here’s the thing nobody tells you about being the perfect mafia princess: you learn to be sneaky as hell. You learn to smile while plotting, to curtsy while cursing, to look innocent while planning the most beautiful revenge imaginable.

My revenge was standing six feet of dangerous temptation away from me, looking at me like I was his next meal.

Dante Lorcan Cummiskey was absolutely perfect for what I needed. Ruthless enough that he wouldn’t give a damn about consequences. Rich enough that my father couldn’t touch him. Experienced enough that he’d know exactly how to ruin me in all the right ways.

Most importantly? He was the type of man who’d disappear after one night and never look back. Perfect for a girl who wanted to leave behind a very specific type of… souvenir.

God, I hope this works.

“Come here,” he commanded, and the authority in his voice made my knees go weak. This was a man used to being obeyed, used to taking what he wanted. The complete opposite of everything I’d been raised to expect from men.

My legs moved before my brain caught up, bringing me close enough to feel his dangerous aura. Close enough to see the predatory satisfaction in those emerald eyes as he watched me submit to his command.

This is really happening.

“Do you know what you’re asking me to do to these perfect tits?” His fingers traced the edge of my bra, barely touching but making me shiver anyway.

“I know.” The lie came easily. I had no idea what he meant, but I was desperate enough to find out.

His laugh was low and rich, like expensive whiskey. “Liar. Your pulse is racing like a rabbit’s.” His thumb moved to press against the rapid flutter at my throat. “But that’s not necessarily fear, is it?”

Heat flooded my cheeks. How did he know?

“Tell me what you want, Lucia,” he commanded softly, his hand sliding down to rest at the base of my throat. Not threatening, but promising. “And don’t give me some sweet, innocent answer. Tell me what you really want.”

What did I want?

Everything. All of it. Whatever this is.

I wanted to feel alive before I died inside tomorrow. I wanted to know what it meant to burn, to ache, to come with a stranger’s fingers still inside me. I wanted to understand why grown women whispered about such things with flushed faces and secret smiles.

Most of all, I wanted to take something for myself before everything else was taken from me.

“I want…” The words stuck in my throat, a lifetime of proper breeding making it nearly impossible to voice such desires.

“You want what, love?”

His patience surprised me. I’d expected him to simply take what he wanted– that’s what men like him did, wasn’t it? But there he was, waiting to let me find my courage.

Maybe that’s why he’s so dangerous. He makes you want to give him everything.

“I want to feel,” I whispered finally. “I want to know what I’m going to be missing for the rest of my life.”

Something shifted in his expression– satisfaction, maybe, or recognition. Almost like I’d finally said something he understood.

“Then feel,” he said simply. He stepped closer, crowding me against the floor-to-ceiling windows. The glass was cold against my back. Very cold. “Problem is, you look like the type of girl who expects flowers and poetry and gentle kisses under starlight.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. “I don’t want any of that.”

“No?” His thumb brushed across my lower lip, and I had the strangest urge to bite it. “Then what do you want, mo stór? Tell me exactly.”

I want you to destroy me. I want you to ruin me so thoroughly that my future husband will know exactly what kind of woman he’s getting. I want you to put a baby in me so I can watch my father’s face when he realizes his perfect little alliance is built on a lie.

But I couldn’t say that to the arrogant sex god I was about to steal from.

“I want…” I swallowed hard, gathering every ounce of courage I possessed. “I want you to show me what I’ll never have.”

His brows lifted like he’d heard something in my voice that I hadn’t meant to reveal.

“And what makes you think you’ll never have this?” His hand slid down to rest at my throat, not squeezing but possessive. “You think your arranged husband is going to be too old to give you an orgasm?”

Clever bastard.

“That’s not—”

“Love, you’re not exactly subtle.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “I need you to understand that I’ll kill you with the same hands I’ll use to give you multiple orgasms tonight if you intend to make me a major plot point in your Damsel In Distress life story.”

I swallowed. “What?”

His fingers traced down my throat to the swell of my breasts above my bra. “Think about that really hard while I fuck you.”

Oh.

But instead of turning around and running out of this room, I did something that surprised even me. I reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt.

His hand caught my wrist instantly, stopping me. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” I tried to pull free, but his grip was iron. “You said you were going to fuck me—”

“I am.” His voice had gone dangerously soft. “But I'm a dominant. So we do this my way, at my pace. You don’t get to control anything that happens here. Understood?”

I nodded once.

“By letting me fuck you, you’ll be agreeing to becoming my submissive for the night.”

I nodded again.

He shook his head. “That’s not enough. I need you to sign an NDA stating that I have your consent.”

My jaw dropped. “A legal contract just to have sex?”

He backed away towards a drawer, eyes still holding mine, and produced a single file and a biro which he held out in front of me. “You don’t have to read it. Just sign.”

Holding his eyes, I took the biro and drew a simple ‘Lucia’ across the required space before handing it back to him.

He smirked. “Good girl.”

A thrill shot through me at his words, equal parts terror and excitement. “I’m very curious now. Kiss me.”

For a moment, he just stared at me. Then his mouth curved in a smile that was pure predator. “Save your lips for your husband,” he said, and my heart plummeted. “I don’t do kisses.”

No. No, no, no.

Panic flooded through me. If he didn’t kiss, what else didn’t he do? What if he insisted on protection? What if he was one of those careful men who thought everything through? My entire plan would crumble before it even began.

“I’m very clean,” I began. “I’m AA. No STDs. Blood type O. No previous sex partners. HIV negative. No Herpes. I could show you all the test results if you’d just let me get my phone from my purse. I swear I’m very…”

“Not interested.” His hands moved to my shoulders, turning me to face the window. I could see our reflection in the glass—him fully clothed and in control, me barely dressed and completely at his mercy. “You want to know what you’ll be missing? Then shut up and let me show you.”

His hands skimmed down my sides, and I shivered at the contact. This was nothing like the fumbling touches and the few chaste pecks I’d experienced with my late fiancé under my father’s watchful eye.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this?” His fingers traced the edge of my panties, not quite where I needed them but close enough to make me gasp.

“No.” The word came out strangled.

“Good.” There was satisfaction in his voice, dark and possessive. “I like being first.”

If only you knew just how many firsts you’re going to be.

His hand slipped beneath the lace, and I nearly jumped out of my skin at the contact. I’d touched myself before—what girl hadn’t?—but having someone else’s hands on me was an entirely different experience.

“Jesus, you’re responsive,” he murmured, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already trembling.”

I wanted to say something clever, something that would make me seem less pathetically innocent, but then his fingers moved in a way that made coherent thought impossible.

Oh. Oh my.

This was what all the whispers were about. This was why married women got that secretive look when they thought no one was watching. This was what I’d been missing, locked away in my ivory tower of virtue and propriety.

“Stop thinking,” Dante murmured against my ear, his free hand moving to brace against the window beside my head. “Just feel.”

But I couldn’t stop thinking.

With his eyes solely holding my gaze, he shifted my panties aside and flicked a single finger over my already sloppy clit. The gasp that escaped my lips made him raise a single brow.

“Either you find me extremely hot, which is weird considering I’m still dressed, or you’re just a natural creamer.” He grinned, "Whichever it is, rest assured I’m going to enjoy ruining this pussy.”

Is this what it feels like to burn?

Wait. What was I burning from? Embarrassment, shame, or desire?

Chapter 3~ Begged Me To Ruin Her

CHAPTER 3

DANTE

⪼⚔︎♛⚔︎⪻

She was a fucking contradiction wrapped in black lace.

Standing there against my windows like some fallen angel, all trembling innocence and desperate courage. She’d practically begged me to ruin her, and Christ, I was more than willing to oblige.

But watching her now, pulse hammering in that delicate throat, eyes wide with want and terror, I found myself wanting to take my time with her corruption.

Too bad the universe had other fucking plans.

“You’re thinking again,” I murmured as I let my fingers trace the edge of her panties. The little gasp she made went straight to my cock. “Didn’t I tell you to stop that?”

“I can’t help it.” Her voice was breathless and honest. Most women who ended up in my bed knew how to perform, knew exactly what sounds to make and when. But Lucia was real. Raw.

Dangerous as fuck.

“What’s going through that pretty head of yours?”

She turned to meet my eyes in the reflection, and the honesty there nearly undid me. “I’m thinking about what you’re going to do to me.”

“And?”

“It feels too good.” The admission came out like a confession, and I felt my control slip another notch. “Even the parts that scare me.”

Jesus. When was the last time a woman had admitted to being scared of me while simultaneously begging for more? When was the last time I’d cared what they were thinking about while I fucked them senseless?

My hand moved against her clit, drawing another sweet little moan from those perfect lips. “You should be scared, love. I’m not known for being gentle with my toys.”

“I don’t want gentle.” She pressed back against me, and the trust in that simple movement made my chest tight. “I want—”

The sound of my private elevator engaging made her eyes go wide with fear.

I stopped.

Only three people had access to that lift. My housekeeper, Mrs. O’Brien, who was visiting her grandchildren in Cork. My driver, Tommy, who was currently parked outside with strict orders to stay put until I called. And my second-in-command, who knew better than to interrupt me unless the world was literally on fire.

“Fuck.” I stepped back from Lucia, already reaching for a gun. “Get dressed. Now.”

“What?” She spun around, confusion and hurt flickering across her flushed features. “What’s wrong?”

The elevator doors chimed open, and Cian O’Sullivan’s voice echoed through my penthouse like a gunshot in a cathedral.

“Dante! Where the hell are you, brother?”

I’d known Cian since we were fifteen, running numbers in the slums of Ballymun. Been through three wars and a dozen smaller conflicts with him watching my back. I’d heard him angry, desperate, even scared. But I’d never heard him sound like this.

Like the world was ending.

“Stay here,” I ordered Lucia, grabbing a silk robe and tossing it to her. “Don’t make a fucking sound.”

I barely had time to button my shirt before Cian appeared in my bedroom doorway. His usually pristine appearance was wrecked—blood spattered across his white shirt, knuckles split and raw, that perfectly styled hair disheveled like he’d been running his hands through it.

When his eyes found Lucia cowering behind me in nothing but silk, he stopped short.

“Jesus Christ, Dante. Tonight? Really fucking tonight?”

“This better be life or death, brother.” My voice came out deadly quiet. “Because if it’s not, I’m going to feed you your own bollocks.”

“It is.” Cian’s gaze flicked to Lucia again, then back to me. “Fintan, Ronan, and Callum are dead.”

The words stole the breath from my lungs. Three of my most trusted lieutenants. Men I’d known since we were teenagers, scraping by in the gutters of Dublin. Gone.

“How?” The question came out strangled.

“Single shots to the back of the head, execution style. Found them an hour ago in the warehouse on the southside.” Cian’s jaw was tight enough to crack teeth. “But that’s not the worst part, brother.”

Of course it fucking wasn’t.

“The Italians are here. In Dublin. Right fucking now.” He paused, letting that sink in. “They’re waiting downstairs in your lobby with enough firepower for a small war, demanding an immediate meeting with you. Marco himself flew in with his sons and half his crew.”

My blood went cold. The Italians weren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow morning. Their early arrival, combined with the murders of my men, could only mean one thing.

Someone had sold us out.

“How long have they been waiting?” I asked as my mind rummaged through a thousand ways to turn this clusterfuck to my advantage.

“Twenty minutes. I’ve been stalling them with offers of food and drink, but they’re getting restless. Marco keeps checking his watch like he’s on some kind of schedule.” Cian’s voice dropped lower. “Dante, they know something we don’t. This has ‘we’re utterly fucked’ written all over it.”

I glanced back at Lucia, who was listening to every word with those wide, terrified eyes. She’d heard too much already. Seen too much. In the space of an hour, she’d gone from being a pleasant distraction to a massive fucking liability.

“Give me two minutes,” I told Cian.

He nodded and disappeared back into the main living area, leaving me alone with the girl who’d just complicated my life in ways I couldn’t even begin to calculate.

“I have to go handle this,” I said, turning to face her fully. The fear on her face made something twist in my gut. “And you need to stay exactly where you are until I get back.”

“What’s happening?” Her voice was small, young. It reminded me uncomfortably of how innocent she actually was, despite her bold plans for corruption.

“Business, love. Nothing for you to worry about.” I moved to my dresser, pulling out a fresh shirt and my shoulder holster. The familiar weight of my Sig Sauer was oddly comforting. “It’ll be handled.”

“Those men who died…” She clutched the robe tighter around herself. “Did you know them well?”

The question caught me off guard. Most people in my world learned early not to ask about casualties. Death was just another cost of doing business, another line item in the ledger of violence that kept our world spinning.

“They were good men,” I said finally, checking the clip and chambering a round. “They didn’t deserve what happened to them.”

“I’m sorry.”

Two simple words, but the genuine sympathy in her voice made me pause. When was the last time anyone had cared about my losses without wanting something in return?

“Dante!” Cian’s voice carried a note of urgency. “They’re getting antsy out here!”

“I have to go,” I repeated, holstering the weapon and shrugging into my jacket. “The penthouse security system will engage automatically when I leave. Don’t open the door for anyone, understand? Don’t even fucking answer if someone knocks.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know.” I paused at the bedroom doorway, drinking in the sight of her one last time. Small and vulnerable in that oversized robe, dark hair spilling over her shoulders like silk. “Could be an hour. Could be all night. Depends on what the bastards want.”

“What if you don’t come back?”

The question was a smart one. Because the truth was, I might not come back. The Italians didn’t fly halfway across Europe for a social call, and the timing of those murders wasn’t coincidental.

“I’ll come back,” I said, though we both knew it wasn’t a promise I could guarantee. “Just… stay put. Stay quiet. And don’t trust anyone who comes to that door, even if they claim to be helping you.”

Her eyes widened at that last part, and I realized I’d revealed more than I’d intended. But there was no time to explain, no time to reassure her that she was probably safe here.

Probably wasn’t good enough, but it was all I had to offer.

“Dante.” She took a step toward me, and I had to force myself not to reach for her. “Can’t I just—”

“Leave?” I finished for her, “Unless in a body bag, no.”

I left her standing there in my bedroom, looking like some fairy tale princess trapped in a tower, and followed Cian toward what was almost certainly going to be the fight of my life.

The elevator ride down felt like descending into the ninth circle of hell. Through the glass walls, I could see Marco Moretti and his entourage in my building’s reception area.

The old bastard was exactly as I remembered—silver-haired, immaculately dressed, radiating the kind of quiet menace that came from decades of spilled blood and broken bones.

“What do we know?” I asked Cian quietly.

“Nothing good. They arrived with enough hardware to level half of Temple Bar, but they’re not acting like they’re here to start a war. More like…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “More like they’re here to collect on a debt.”

“What debt? The alliance terms were hammered out months ago. Everything was agreed upon.”

“That’s what I’d like to fucking know.”

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and I stepped into the lobby wearing my best approximation of casual confidence. In my world, showing weakness—even for a heartbeat—was a death sentence.

“Marco,” I called out, extending my hand in greeting. “You’re early. The ceremony isn’t until tomorrow.”

The old man studied my outstretched hand for a long moment before taking it. His grip was firm, his smile sharp as a freshly honed blade.

“Plans change, Mr. Cummiskey,” he said in heavily accented English. “Recent developments require immediate discussion.”

Recent developments. The murders, obviously. But what else?

“Of course. My office upstairs has—”

“Not here.” His dark eyes swept the lobby, tracking exits and sight lines carefully. “Somewhere more… private. Somewhere we can discuss family business without curious ears.”

Family business. Christ, I didn’t like the sound of that.

“There’s a conference room on the fifteenth floor,” I offered. “Completely secure.”

“Perfetto.” Marco gestured to his sons, and the entire group moved toward the elevators like a pack of well-dressed wolves.

Christ, why do I feel utterly fucked now?

Chapter 4~ Hate Him

CHAPTER 4

LUCIA

⪼⚔︎♛⚔︎⪻

“Leave? Unless in a body bag, no.”

His words echoed in my head like a broken record as I paced the length of Dante’s penthouse for what felt like the hundredth time.

Four hours.

Four fucking hours I’d been waiting for him to return and finish what we’d started. Four hours of watching the clock tick away precious minutes of my last night of freedom. Every second that passed was another nail in the coffin of my carefully orchestrated plan.

By now, I should have been home, sneaking back into my bedroom with Dante’s seed still warm inside me. I should have been lying in my virgin bed with a secret smile, knowing that tomorrow’s wedding would reveal exactly what kind of woman my future husband was really getting.

Instead, I was pacing like a caged animal in a silk robe that smelled like his cologne, watching my one chance at revenge slip through my fingers.

What if he didn’t come back at all? What if those men in the lobby had killed him? What if right now, my father’s men were searching Dublin for me, ready to drag me back home to face whatever monster they’d chosen as my husband?

The thought made my chest hurt.

I’d heard enough whispered conversations between my father and his associates to know what happened to disobedient daughters. Beatings. Isolation. Sometimes worse. And if they discovered I’d tried to ruin myself the night before my wedding…

Madonna mia, they’d probably kill me.

But maybe that would be better than a lifetime of missionary position with some ancient, slobbering stranger who’d treat me like livestock.

I moved to the massive windows, pressing my palms against the cool glass as I stared down at the street far below. Dublin looked so peaceful from up here, so normal. People walking their dogs, couples stumbling out of pubs, life continuing like my world wasn’t crumbling.

Four hours and thirty-seven minutes.

That’s how long I’d been waiting. How long my plan had been stalled, gathering dust like everything else in my pathetic excuse for a life.

Fuck this.

Fuck waiting around like some helpless damsel for a man who might never return. Fuck letting my father control every aspect of my existence. And fuck letting my last chance at autonomy slip away because I was too scared to take action.

If Dante wasn’t coming back to ruin me, then I’d find someone else who would.

The decision crystallized in my mind with startling clarity. I had maybe three hours before dawn, before my father would expect me to be home and preparing for the wedding. Three hours to find another man who could help me execute my plan.

It wouldn’t be as satisfying as having the King of Dublin himself corrupt me, but it would serve the same purpose. Any man’s seed would do, as long as my future husband knew he wasn’t getting an untouched bride.

The problem was getting out of this fortress Dante called home.

I’d already tried the elevator– it required a key card that was nowhere to be found. The emergency stairs were locked from this side, probably another security measure. Even the windows were sealed shut, and we were forty stories up anyway.

But I hadn’t gotten this far in life by giving up easily.

I started searching the penthouse methodically, looking for anything that might help. In the kitchen, I found a drawer full of tools – screwdrivers, pliers, even a small crowbar. In his office, I discovered a safe that was obviously beyond my abilities, but also a desk drawer that contained spare key cards.

My hands shook as I picked up one of the plastic cards. It looked identical to the ones hotel guests used, silver with a magnetic strip. Would it work on the elevator?

Only one way to find out.

I clutched the robe tighter around myself as I approached the elevator, my bare feet silent on the marble floors. The card slot glowed red, waiting. I slid the card through and held my breath.

Green light. A soft chime.

The doors opened like the gates of heaven.

I was so focused on my small victory that I didn’t hear the footsteps in the hallway until it was too late. As the elevator doors slid open to reveal the lobby level, I found myself face-to-face with a mountain of a man in an expensive suit.

Not just any man. One of the security guards I’d seen earlier, when Dante had left with his brother. He was easily six and a half feet tall, with shoulders that could block out the sun and hands the size of dinner plates.

His eyes widened when he saw me standing there in nothing but a silk robe.

“Miss, you shouldn’t be—”

I didn’t let him finish. Pure desperation gave me strength I didn’t know I possessed. I swung the small crowbar I’d grabbed from the kitchen, connecting with the side of his head with a sickening thud.

He dropped like a stone.

Oh God. Oh God, what have I done?

But there was no time for regret. I stepped over his unconscious form and ran for the exit, my bare feet slapping against the cold marble of the lobby floor. The night air swamped me when pushed through the glass doors, but I didn’t stop.

I ran.

Through empty streets, past closed shops and darkened windows, with nothing but Dante’s silk robe protecting me from the Dublin night. My feet were already bloody from the rough pavement, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was finding someone– anyone–who could help me complete my mission.

But I’d barely made it three blocks when I saw them.

Headlights. Multiple sets, moving slowly down the street like predators hunting prey. Black cars with tinted windows, the kind my father’s men always drove.

My blood froze.

They found me.

I tried to run, but my legs felt like lead. The cars accelerated, boxing me in from both sides until I had nowhere to go. The headlights were blinding, turning the empty street into a stage where I was the unwilling star.

Car doors slammed. Footsteps approached from multiple directions.

“Nyx Lucia.”

The voice was cold, disappointed, and achingly familiar. My eldest brother Mario emerged from between the headlights, his face a mask of controlled fury.

“What have you done to our family name?”

I tried to run again, but my feet slipped on the wet pavement. Strong hands grabbed my arms before I could scramble away, hauling me upright like a rag doll.

“Please,” I whispered, though I knew it was useless. “Please, just let me go. I’ll disappear. I’ll never—”

The slap came out of nowhere, snapping my head to the side and filling my mouth with the taste of blood. My brother’s ring had caught my cheek, and I could feel warmth trickling down my face.

“You stupid, selfish little whore.” Mario’s voice was deadly quiet. “Do you have any idea what you’ve cost us tonight? What your little adventure has put at risk?”

Tears burned my eyes, blinding me. “I don’t care about your business deals. I don’t care about any of it.”

“No?” He grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Well, you’re about to learn exactly how much your feelings matter in this family.”

He nodded to his men, and I felt myself being dragged toward one of the cars. I fought them every step of the way, kicking and scratching and screaming curses that would have made a sailor blush, but it was useless. They were too strong, too many.

“Get her in the car,” Mario ordered. “And make sure she understands that if she tries to run again, there will be consequences for more than just her.”

The threat in his words was unmistakable. My younger sister. My nurse. Anyone I’d ever cared about would pay for my disobedience.

They shoved me into the back seat like a piece of cargo, and I finally let the tears fall. Great, heaving sobs that shook my entire body as the reality of my situation crashed over me like a tsunami.

I was fucked. Completely, utterly fucked.

Whatever monster they’d chosen as my husband would get exactly what he’d paid for– a virgin bride, pure and untouched and properly broken to his will. My plan had failed spectacularly, and now I had nothing left but the wedding that awaited me in just a few hours.

As the car pulled away from the curb, I found myself thinking about Dante. Wondering if he was alive, if he’d returned to his penthouse to find me gone. Would he care? Would he even notice?

Probably not. I was just another conquest to him, another night’s entertainment that hadn’t quite worked out as planned.

Bastard, I thought bitterly. If you’d just finished what you started, none of this would have happened.

Lord knows I hate him even more than I hate my husband.

Chapter 5~ About The Bride

CHAPTER 5

DANTE

⪼⚔︎♛⚔︎⪻

Marco Moretti sat in my fucking chair behind my fucking desk like he owned the fucking place, his three sons arranged around my office like guard dogs waiting for the command to attack.

“Comfortable?” I asked, letting every ounce of barely contained fury bleed into my voice. “Because if you’d given me a heads up, I could have had the place redecorated to match your Italian sensibilities.”

Marco’s smile was all teeth and winter. “Your hospitality has always been… adequate, Cummiskey. Please, sit.”

He gestured to one of the chairs in front of my own desk like I was a visitor in my own fucking home. The disrespect was designed to put me off balance.

It was working.

Cian caught my eye from where he stood near the window, his expression tense. His hand rested casually near his jacket—close enough to his Glock to matter if this went sideways.

Good man. Always thinking three moves ahead.

“You mentioned recent developments,” I said, claiming the chair Marco had indicated but making it clear I was choosing to sit, not following orders. “I assume you’re referring to the unfortunate deaths of my lieutenants.”

“Unfortunate.” Alessandro—Marco’s middle son and current heir—rolled the word around his mouth like he was tasting wine. “Interesting choice of words.”

“Would you prefer ‘fucking tragic’? Because I’ve got plenty of those words too.”

Giovanni, the youngest, laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “He’s got spirit, Papa. I like that in a man.”

“Spirit,” Marco mused. “Yes, you’ve always had that, haven’t you, Dante? Even as a boy, running errands for Mickey Doyle in those Ballymun slums. Always ready to fight battles you couldn’t win.”

The mention of Mickey—my first Don, dead eight years now—made my jaws clench tight. How much did these bastards know about my past?

“Those battles made me who I am,” I said. “And who I am is someone you don’t want to fuck with lightly.”

“Indeed.” Marco leaned back in my chair, steepling his fingers. “Which brings us to why we’re here. Tell me, Dante, do you remember a warehouse fire in Finglas? December, four years ago?”

“Lot of warehouse fires in Dublin,” I said carefully. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“The one where my son Alejandro burned alive while you chose to save your own men instead.”

Cian’s hand moved closer to his weapon, and I could feel the temperature in the room drop ten degrees.

“That was a tactical decision in an impossible situation,” I said. “Your son knew the risks when he signed up for this life.”

“My son was twenty-three years old.” Marco’s voice stayed level, but something deadly flickered behind his eyes. “He had a fiancée. Plans for children. A future.”

“So did my men.”

“Your men weren’t my blood.”

“Neither was your son mine.”

The rage on Marco’s face told me he had been planning this moment for longer than I’d been planning anything. Every seemingly random business decision had been leading to this room, this conversation, this reckoning.

“You want revenge,” I said. “I can respect that. But if you think I’m going to roll over and let you—”

“Revenge?” Marco’s laugh was like breaking glass. “Oh, figlio mio, revenge would be burning your entire organization to the ground and making you watch. What I want is business.”

“What kind of business requires this dramatic entrance?”

“One that ensures your continued existence,” Raffaele said from behind me. “And keeps you breathing long enough to be useful.”

I spun in my chair to face him, and that’s when I saw the rest of Marco’s men filing into my office. Eight of them, all armed, all positioned to cut off every exit. How had I missed it?

Because you were distracted, you dumb fuck. Distracted by thoughts of the pussy you’d abandoned for this meeting.

“The situation is simple,” Marco continued. “My family needs an alliance with Irish interests. Your family needs protection from certain…complications that are heading your way.”

“What complications?”

“The ones that’ll arrive in the morning with enough firepower to burn Dublin Underworld to the ground.” Marco’s smile was pure shark. “I wonder how they’d act when they remember how you fucked them over during the Finglas situation.”

The Italians never forgot a fight, and they sure as fuck never forgave one.

Cian moved closer, his voice low and urgent. “They mean Fabrizio. We can handle Fabrizio ourselves—”

“You think?” Raffaele echoed. “Our intelligence suggests they’re bringing friends this time. Lots of friends.”

“And you know all this how?” Cian demanded.

“Had to weigh what my soon to be son-in-law would be up against.”

“Son-in-law.” I repeated. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Before you go on to spew all those Irish curses,” Alessandro casually filed his nails as he said this. “Keep in mind that whatever is left of your men after my brothers and I are done with you if you refuse our offer tonight would be no good against Fabrizio and their battalion.”

“I still don’t get.”

“You’re getting married to my daughter.” Marco simplified.

“Getting married,” I said slowly. “Which daughter exactly are we talking about here? Because last I checked, one of them was getting hitched tomorrow to some ancient Italian fuck, and the other’s still in pigtails doing algebra homework.”

“About that,” Marco said, his smile never wavering. “There’s been a change of plans.”

“What change?”

“The groom won’t be needing a tuxedo anymore,” Giovanni said, his grin spreading like a stain. “Permanently.”

“You killed Fabrizio.”

“‘Killed’ is such an ugly word,” Raffaele mused. “We prefer ‘resolved a scheduling conflict.’”

“Jesus Christ.” I ran a hand through my hair as the magnitude of their stupidity dawned on me. “You murdered Fabrizio? The man with eight sons who could each fund their own small war?”

“Seven sons now,” Alessandro corrected cheerfully. “One of them had an unfortunate accident during our… negotiation.”

“Let me get this straight.” My tone was that of a man about to completely lose his shit. “You psychopaths went to a peace meeting, murdered the head of one of the most dangerous crime families in Europe, killed one of his sons for good measure, and now you want me to marry your daughter to clean up the mess?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“And I suppose in your infinite wisdom, you made it look like I was responsible for this clusterfuck?”

Marco’s expression told me everything I needed to know.

“Unfuckingbelievable.” I shook my head. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“It’s exactly why you need us,” Marco said simply. “And why you need this marriage.”

“To which daughter?” I demanded. “The fucking teenager or the one who was supposed to walk down the aisle tomorrow?”

“Wrong,” Alessandro said. “She’s twenty-five, not a teenager. And she’s… available.”

“Available because her fiancé is feeding worms instead of saying ‘I do.’” I stood up, pacing to the window where Cian stood. “This is completely fucking insane.”

“Yet necessary,” Marco said. “The Fabrizio family believes you killed their patriarch. When they arrive—and they will arrive—you’ll need allies. Strong ones.”

“How the fuck did you even mange to frame me?” I demanded.

“How I framed you is not the point now.” Marco stood as well, straightening his jacket. “Seven Fabrizio sons with unlimited resources and a burning need for revenge. How long do you think your tantrums would last against that?”

We’d barely survived our last war with the Italians, and that was when they were divided among themselves. A unified Fabrizio family coming for blood? That was a death sentence with a bow on top.

“I’ve never even seen this girl,” I said finally.

“She’s beautiful,” Giovanni offered. “Pure. Untouched. Everything a man could want in a wife.”

“A wife.” The word tasted like ash. “You want me to marry a stranger to bail you out of a murder you committed.”

“We want you to marry family,” Marco corrected. “To bind our families permanently. Think of it as… insurance.”

“Me and your family? Never.”

The sound of gunfire followed those words. Cian spun toward the door, his Glock already in his hand. Two of my men dropped in the hallway outside, blood pooling under the door.

I had my .45 out before their bodies hit the ground, putting three rounds into the closest Moretti soldier. He dropped like a sack of cement, and suddenly my office turned into a war zone.

Cian took out two more before diving behind my desk. I put Alessandro down with a shot to the chest, watching him crumple next to my filing cabinet. I didn’t even flinch as Alessandro’s body hit the floor—the bastard had it coming and so would everyone of them in the future.

The satisfaction was brief—Raffaele’s return fire shattered the window behind me.

“Enough!” Marco yelled on seeing his son gurgling blood.

The rest of them froze, but guns remained pointed.

“He has fucking killed Alessandro!” Giovanni cried.

I kept my gun pointed at Raffaele while Cian kept his on Giovanni, who was knelt beside his brother's corpse trying to stop the bleeding.

“We can all kill ourselves here, Dante.” Marco said calmly, stepping over his dead son like he was avoiding a puddle. “Every last one. But tomorrow morning, seven Fabrizio brothers will still be on their way here, and they’ll still believe you murdered their father.”

He pulled out a contract from his jacket, the paper pristine despite the blood and gunpowder filling the air.

“Sign this, marry my daughter tomorrow, and we stand together against what’s coming. You owe me that much after letting my son die in Finglas. A man is only as good as his word.” He set the contract on my desk, right next to Alessandro’s cooling corpse. “Your choice.”

I stared at the paper, at the blood, then back at him.

“For how long?”

“Until death do you part.”

The traditional wedding vow, but coming from Marco’s mouth, it sounded more like a threat than a promise.

“I want to meet her first,” I said. “Before I agree to anything.”

“No.” The refusal came from all three of them simultaneously.

“She’s pure, untouched.” Marco added. “She’ll remain that way until her wedding night.”

“How romantic.” I picked up the pen, my hand steady despite everything. “What guarantee do I have she’s not some ugly barren hag you’re pawning off on me?”

“You don’t.” Marco’s honesty was almost refreshing. “But you have my word that she will be a good wife. Loyal. Obedient. She’ll give you strong sons.”

“Assuming I live long enough to father them.”

I signed the contract with Alessandro’s blood still warm on the desk beside me. Twenty minutes ago I’d been about to fuck a nameless girl from the club who was running from a similar situation. Now I was engaged to marry a stranger to save my people from annihilation.

The irony.

“Welcome to the family,” Marco said, rolling up the contract. “We’ll see you at the altar tomorrow. Nine o’clock sharp.”

They filed out of my office, leaving their dead behind like unwanted furniture. The door clicked shut, and suddenly it was just me, Cian, and the corpses.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Cian muttered, holstering his weapon. “Dante, we can still—”

“No.” I walked back to my desk, stepping around Alessandro’s body. “We can’t. They’ve got us boxed in tighter than a confession booth.”

“They’re scared. We could use that to our advantage. Not a fucking marriage.”

“On the brighter side, I get to turn my vengeance and hatred out on their daughter for the rest of her life.” I said as I slumped into my chair.

I opened my desk drawer and pulled out the good whiskey—the bottle I saved for celebrations and catastrophes. Tonight definitely qualified as the latter.

“So what now?” Cian asked.

“What else? It’s my bachelor night. My last fucking night single.” I poured three fingers of whiskey and knocked it back in one burning gulp. “Think Hallmark makes cards for that?”

The whiskey hit my empty stomach like liquid fire, but it didn’t touch the cold reality settling in my bones.

In less than twenty-four hours, I’d be married to a stranger—no doubt a ugly one with the way her family refused to let me see her, allied with the family I’d been fighting for years, and preparing for a war that might destroy everything I’d built.

I poured another drink and tried not to think about the pussy I’d been about to fuck before all this.

Thinking of another pussy meant cheating on my wife, didn’t it?

“Cian,” I said finally. “Call the cleaners. Package Alessandro’s corpse and send it back to his family, that’s my wedding gift for them. And then call Father Murphy. Tell him we need the church ready for a wedding.”

“What do I tell him about the bride?”

“Tell him it’s a surprise.” I raised my glass in a mock toast to Alessandro’s corpse. “It sure as fuck surprised me.”

Chapter 6~ Young Girls Dream Of Princes

CHAPTER 6

LUCIA

⪼⚔︎♛⚔︎⪻

“Hold still, bambina,” Nonna Rosa whispered as she adjusted my veil for the hundredth time. Her weathered hands shook as she smoothed the antique lace—the same veil my mother had worn, and her mother before that. “You look beautiful. Just like Mama Elena would have wanted.”

Beautiful. What a fucking joke.

I stared at my reflection in the cracked mirror of this dingy church preparation room, seeing nothing but a lamb dressed for slaughter. The white silk dress hung on my frame like a shroud, and the veil might as well have been a burial cloth.

“I don’t want to be beautiful, Nonna,” I whispered back, my voice breaking. “I want to be free.”

“Shh, mia cara.” Her brown eyes, which were so much like my mother’s had been—filled with tears she tried to hide. “Your papa, he says if you are a good wife, if you make no trouble, maybe your husband will be kind. Maybe—”

“Maybe he won’t beat me unconscious on our wedding night?” I laughed bitterly. “What wonderful possibilities await.”

Nonna Rosa’s face crumpled. She’d raised me since I was nine years old, after mama died giving birth to my sister Caterina. She was the only mother I’d ever really known, and seeing her heartbreak over my fate was almost worse than facing it myself.

“At least you’ll be with me,” I said, forcing a smile for her sake. “Papa promised you could come.”

“Si, bambina. Wherever you go, Nonna Rosa goes too.” She squeezed my hands. “And Caterina—”

“No.” The word came before I even realized it. “Cat stays with them. That was the deal.”

The deal. As if my sixteen-year-old sister’s future was some business transaction to be negotiated. But that’s exactly what it was, wasn’t it? I marry this old stranger, and Cat gets to stay safe for a few more years. Maybe long enough to find someone who actually loves her, someone who won’t treat her like livestock.

It was the only reason I hadn’t tried to run again after Mario dragged me home last night. The only reason I’d put on this fucking dress and let them paint my face like a doll.

“She doesn’t understand,” I murmured, thinking of how Cat had cried when I told her I was getting married. How she’d begged Papa to let her come with us. “She thinks this is romantic. A fairy tale.”

“She’s young,” Nonna Rosa said gently. “Young girls dream of princes.”

“There are no princes in our world. Only monsters wearing crowns.”

A sharp knock interrupted our whispered conversation. Mario’s voice boomed through the door like a death knell.

“Time to go, sister. Your groom awaits.”

My hands started shaking so violently I had to grip the edge of the vanity to steady myself. This was it. No more delays, no more hoping for a miracle. In the next hour, I’d be bound to a stranger for the rest of my life.

“Lucia.” Nonna Rosa cupped my face in her palms. “Whatever happens, remember—you are Elena’s daughter. You have her strength. Her spirit. That man may own your body, but your soul belongs to you alone.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. She helped me to my feet, and I felt the burden of the dress, the veil, the expectations crushing down on me like a tomb.

Mario was waiting in the hallway with Papa, both dressed in their finest suits like they were going to a celebration and not my funeral. Papa’s eyes were cold, assessing, making sure I looked appropriately virginal and meek.

“Beautiful,” he said with satisfaction. “Your husband will be pleased.”

Husband. I didn’t even know his name.

“What’s he called?” I asked as we walked toward the church doors. “My… husband?”

Mario and Papa exchanged a look.

“Does it matter?” Papa replied. “You’ll call him whatever he wants you to call him.”

They flanked me like prison guards as we approached the massive oak doors. Through the stained glass windows, I could see the church was packed with hundreds of people I’d never seen before with several men in dark shades, suits and guns stationed all over the place.

How had they managed to fill a Dublin church overnight?

“Remember,” Papa murmured in my ear as we reached the entrance, “you smile. You say your vows. You sign the papers. And you keep your fucking mouth shut about everything else. Cat’s future depends on your behavior today.”

The threat was crystal clear. One wrong move, one moment of defiance, and my baby sister would pay the price.

The doors opened with a groan that sounded like the gates of hell, and suddenly I was walking down an endless aisle lined with strangers. All eyes were on me, but I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead on the altar where my fate waited.

Through the haze of my veil, I could see him standing there—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing an elegant black tuxedo that surprisingly fit his masculine frame.

Surprise. He wasn’t frail and shaky yet, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t old. His face, however, was hidden behind a sleek black mask that covered everything from his forehead to his cheekbones.

What kind of man hides his face at his own wedding?

An ugly one, probably.

Or maybe it was some twisted Irish tradition I’d never heard of. Either way, the mask made him look like a figure from a nightmare, standing there waiting to claim his prize.

As we got closer, I noticed other details that didn’t match my expectations. His hands were long-fingered, elegant, adorned with rings that you could just tell was a symbol of his position in the mafia—the Don. Yeah, definitely not the gnarled claws of an old man.

His hair was dark and perfectly styled, not thin or gray. His posture was confident, predatory even, like a wolf waiting for dinner to be delivered.

He was younger than I’d expected. Maybe even handsome under that mask.

But it didn’t matter. Young and handsome could be just as cruel as old and ugly. Sometimes more so.

Papa and Mario deposited me at the altar like a package being delivered, then stepped back to give us room. The priest—a thin, nervous-looking man who kept glancing around like he expected someone to object—cleared his throat.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

The words washed over me like white noise. I focused on breathing, on staying upright, on not running screaming from the church. The masked stranger beside me stood perfectly still, but I could feel his eyes on me through the veil.

Was he pleased with what he saw? Disappointed? Did it even matter to him, or was I just another business acquisition?

“Do you, Dante Lorcan Cummiskey, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Dante. His name was Dante.

Wait.

Dante Cummiskey.

The King of Dublin.

I’d heard whispers about my husband from the maids in Papa’s house, hushed conversations about the Irishman who’d built an empire on the bones of his enemies. They said he was old and ruthless, that he’d killed his first man at thirteen. That he collected debts in blood and ruled Dublin’s underworld with an iron fist.

That was who they’d sold me to. Not just any monster, but the most dangerous predator in the city. But I didn’t imagine…

Wait, I met a Dante last night. I almost fucked a Dante last night.

“I do,” he said, his voice low and smooth with just a hint of an Irish accent. There was something achingly familiar about it that made my skin crawl.

Coincidence. Yes, it’s just a coincidence.

“And do you, Lucia Nyx Moretti, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love, honor, serve and obey him until death do you part?”

The words stuck in my throat like broken glass. Love? This stranger who’d bought me like cattle? Honor? A man whose reputation was built on violence and fear? Serve? Like a slave would her master?

Mario’s warning echoed in my head. Cat’s face flashed before my eyes.

“I… I do.”

The lie nearly made me throw up.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The priest’s voice shook slightly. “You may now remove your masks and kiss the bride.”

I held my breath in agitation, not daring to swallow the lump in my throat.

My husband reached up with steady hands and pulled off his mask, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud.

Lord knows my spirit left my body that minute.

The face that greeted me was achingly familiar. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, piercing eyes that had haunted my dreams all night. Full lips that had whispered dark, dirty things to my skin in that penthouse right before leaving me hanging.

It was him.

Dante. The stranger I’d tried to seduce. So when his name implied he was the King of Dublin, it meant literally. Like the mafia king type shit. Anger slowly replaced surprise. He was the same bastard who’d left me waiting while he went off to handle “business.”

My business, apparently.

All this time, he’d known. When I told him about my arranged marriage, when I begged him to ruin me, when I offered him my virginity—he’d known he was the groom. He’d known I was his bride, and he’d played with me like a cat with a mouse.

The realization was harsh. My knees nearly buckled, and I had to grab his arm to stay upright. The straight face he kept made me want to punch him right where the sun doesn't shine, the sick bastard.

“Hello, wife.” he murmured, low enough that only I could hear.

But his surprise didn’t last long either. When the priest gestured for him to lift my veil, when those clouded eyes finally saw my face clearly, his blank expression faltered.

Recognition dawned in his gaze like a sunrise, followed quickly by something that might have been regret. Or maybe just annoyance that his little game had complications.

We stood there frozen, two players in a cosmic joke that neither of us was laughing at.

“You may kiss the bride,” the priest prompted nervously.

Dante’s shock was gradually replaced by a frown, then a scowl, and then another frown. When the priest tapped him slightly, his shock melted away, replaced by a strict look I remembered from the club.

“Looks like I get to keep you after all, little rabbit. And I do believe I promised you something last night about these sweet lips.”

Oh my God, he fucking knew!

His breath fanned against my skin as he slowly leaned down, his voice dark with promise and threat in equal measure.

“I guess I wrapped the perfect wedding gift for myself.”

I had to fight really hard to keep my hands from wrapping around his throat and squeezing until there was no oxygen left in him. But I’d need a ladder to do that, so I just stood there, perfectly still as he leaned down and briefly, very briefly brushed his lips over my tightly shut lips.

Everyone applauded like they’d witnessed something beautiful instead of a predator claiming his prey.

Dante drew back, fingers brushing an imaginary stain from my lips. His gaze locked on mine as he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear:

“If you fucked someone else last night, better say it now… so your father still has a daughter to call his own tomorrow.”

“Fuck you,” I hissed, my eyes frozen on his face. “I wish I did. And thank God you didn’t get to touch me—because you never will. Ever.”

He smirked, eyes glinting. “I think I hate you already, wife.”

And just like that, I realized the nightmare was real. I was married to the King of Dublin.