They say the devil wears a tailored suit, but when I saw Alessio DeLuca, I realized—he doesn't need to be a man at all.
The storm raged like a warning from the heavens, as if the universe itself was trying to stop this unholy union. Thunder cracked across the sky, shaking the ground beneath the wheels of the black SUV that carried me to my fate. The rain poured in violent sheets, drowning out the sound of my erratic heartbeat.
This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
But there was nothing happy about being forced into a contract of survival.
This is the definition of a perfect wedding_for anyone who hated me.
I sat in the back seat, my hands curled into trembling fists against the suffocating fabric of my wedding dress. White. The color of purity. A cruel mockery of what I was being turned into—a sacrificial lamb dressed up for slaughter.
My father had chosen this gown. Not me.
Two months ago, he lost everything. He was a king who gambled too much and fell from his throne, dragging his daughters down with him. He made a deadly deal with the DeLuca crime family, a deal that crumbled faster than he could control. And when it came time to pay his debt, they offered him a choice.
Me. Or my little sister, Emilie.
He never hesitated.
Without hesitation, he sold me off to Alessio DeLuca, the ruthless Don of the most feared crime syndicate in Italy.
I could still hear the way he spoke of it, as if it were a logical business transaction and not the selling of his own daughter. "It's for the family's survival, Sierra," he had said, his tone devoid of any remorse. "You should be grateful."
Grateful?
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream. I wanted to rip this dress off my body and run until my feet bled, but I knew the truth: there was nowhere to run.
The DeLucas were more than just a mafia family. They were untouchable. Unstoppable. Once they had you in their grip, you never got out.
My younger sister, Emilie, had sobbed when she found out. I was supposed to have a love story. A grand, sweeping romance like the ones in fairy tales. But love doesn't exist in our world. Only power and possession.
The scent of leather and gunmetal clung to the two men sitting beside me, DeLuca guards who had dragged me from my father's house without a single word. Their faces were void of emotion, their hands resting lightly over the holsters of their guns—silent threats that told me my choices had already been made for me.
They hadn't spoken.
They hadn't needed to.
I had been ripped from my home and shoved into this car, treated like a package instead of a person. A bride with no say.
Through the rain-streaked window, I caught a glimpse of my own reflection. My caramel hair clung damply to my pale skin, strands sticking to my lips with the nervous sweat that had broken over my body. My wild green eyes stared back at me—not with hope, not with excitement, but with raw, unfiltered terror.
I looked nothing like a mafia princess.
I looked like a prisoner.
The car jerked to a stop, and my stomach twisted violently. My pulse thundered as the massive iron gates of the DeLuca estate groaned open, their sheer size alone swallowing us whole. The driver barely slowed as we pulled through, the vehicle gliding over the cobblestone path that led to a house that looked more like a Gothic nightmare than a home.
But God help me—it was beautiful
The DeLuca mansion rose from the ground like something out of a dark fairytale, its towering windows glowing with the soft golden light of chandeliers. The black stone walls were wrapped in ivy, a haunting contrast between beauty and death. The estate was breathtaking, and yet all I could think was—
This is the place where my soul will wither and die.
A movement by the entrance caught my eye.
Men in ruthlessly tailored suits stood near the grand doors, watching, waiting. They were sharks in expensive cologne, men who had built their empire on blood, deception, and power. I had grown up around men like this. My father had been one of them.
But none of them were him.
Alessio DeLuca.
I didn't see him yet, but I felt his presence, like a ghost wrapping its fingers around my throat.
He was the man no one defied.
The man no one crossed.
The man I was about to marry.
A bolt of lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the night in a blinding flash. The storm raged louder, as if the universe itself was warning them—this marriage should not happen.
But the world did not listen.
The mafia did not listen.
And I had no choice.
The car door opened, and the guards moved.
It was time.
Time to meet the devil himself.
The closer we got, the harder my pulse pounded, every instinct screaming at me to run.
But there was nowhere left to go.
This was it.
The night I would become Alessio Deluca's wife.
The night I would lose myself forever.