The church smelled of white roses and betrayal.
Elara Moretti stood at the altar, dressed in a wedding gown she had never chosen, beside a man she had never loved.
Her hands weren't trembling.
Her heart wasn't breaking.
It had already broken three years ago.
Tall. Graceful. Composed.
Elara didn't look like a woman being forced into a mafia alliance marriage. She looked like a queen walking into a throne room.
The guests whispered.
"Poor girl."
"She doesn't know what she's marrying into."
"She's going to belong to him now."
Belong.
Elara hated that word.
A week ago, her life had been painfully normal.
University lectures. Coffee-stained notes. Late-night arguments with her father about selling the last family property.
And then—
One phone call.
One accusation.
One meeting with men who didn't blink when they threatened.
Her father had been accused of laundering money through international auctions — a pawn in a game far bigger than he ever understood. The media called him a criminal. The rival families called him a liability.
But the De Luca family called him… useful.
The solution had come disguised as protection.
Marriage.
Not love.
Not choice.
Not destiny.
A contract.
If she married Adrian De Luca, the charges would vanish. The Moretti name would survive. A potential mafia war would dissolve before it began.
In one night, she had gone from an art student to a bargaining chip between empires.
And now she stood at the altar, realizing—
Her life hadn't fallen apart.
It had been rearranged.
Adrian De Luca.
The ruthless heir.
Cold. Untouchable. Dangerous.
He hadn't arrived yet.
Typical.
He never rushed.
The world waited for him.
Elara lifted her chin slightly, dark eyes scanning the cathedral doors. She had made one silent promise to herself—
If she was going to be trapped in this world, she would not be weak in it.
The doors opened.
Heavy footsteps echoed.
The air shifted.
Adrian De Luca entered like a storm in a tailored black suit. Broad shoulders. Controlled steps. Expression unreadable. His presence silenced the entire church without a word.
His gaze found her instantly.
Not soft.
Not warm.
Evaluating.
Like she was an asset.
Or a weapon.
He stopped in front of her. Close enough that she could smell his cologne — dark, expensive, dangerous.
"You don't look afraid," he said quietly.
His voice was deep. Controlled. Cold.
Elara met his eyes without blinking.
"I'm not marrying you because I'm afraid," she replied smoothly. "I'm marrying you because I choose to survive."
A flicker.
Just a flicker of interest crossed his face.
Most women lowered their eyes around him.
She didn't.
The priest began speaking, but neither of them listened.
This wasn't love.
This was a transaction.
But as Adrian slipped the ring onto her finger, his grip tightened slightly.
"From today," he murmured low enough only she could hear, "you carry my name. My enemies become yours."
Elara's lips curved faintly.
"And yours?" she whispered back. "Do they become mine too?"
For the first time, Adrian smiled.
It wasn't kind.
It was intrigued.
"You're not what I expected, Mrs. De Luca."
She leaned closer, voice silk over steel.
"And you," she said softly, "have no idea what you just married."
The vow was sealed.
But neither of them knew—
This marriage wouldn't destroy her.
It would awaken her.
The De Luca mansion did not feel like a home.
It felt like a fortress.
Black marble floors. Silent hallways. Guards at every corner. Windows that didn't just look out — they watched.
Elara stepped inside like she belonged there.
The heavy doors shut behind her.
Locked.
Adrian removed his suit jacket slowly, handing it to a waiting staff member without breaking eye contact with her.
"Everyone out."
The house emptied in seconds.
Now it was just them.
Silence stretched.
He walked closer. Not rushed. Not impatient.
Predator calm.
"You understand the rules?" he asked.
Elara removed her veil carefully, placing it on the table.
"Enlighten me."
His jaw tightened slightly at her tone.
"You don't interfere in business. You don't question my decisions in front of others. You stay protected."
"And in return?" she asked softly.
His eyes darkened.
"You live comfortably. Safely. Untouched."
Untouched.
So he didn't plan to claim her tonight.
Interesting.
She walked past him slowly, her fingers lightly brushing his sleeve — deliberate.
"I didn't marry for comfort," she said quietly. "And I don't need protection."
He caught her wrist instantly.
Firm. Controlled. Not hurting — but commanding.
"You're in my world now."
Elara looked down at his grip… then back at him.
"I've survived worse worlds."
For a split second, something changed in his expression.
Curiosity.
"You're hiding something," he murmured.
She stepped closer instead of stepping back.
"You married me without asking questions. That was your first mistake."
His thumb brushed her pulse unconsciously.
Her heartbeat was steady.
No fear.
Adrian slowly released her.
"Sleep in the master bedroom," he said finally. "I'll use the office."
So he was keeping distance.
Respect? Or strategy?
As he turned to leave, Elara spoke.
"Adrian."
He stopped.
She had never said his name before.
"If your enemies come for me… I won't scream."
He looked over his shoulder.
"And what will you do?"
Her lips curved slightly.
"I'll make them regret it."
He studied her for a long moment.
Then—
"Good."
And he walked away.
Later that night…
Elara stood alone on the balcony, wind playing with her long dark hair.
She wasn't forced.
She wasn't broken.
She was calculating.
From her small clutch, she pulled out a thin silver chain.
Hidden inside — a tiny encrypted drive.
Her past wasn't innocent.
And she hadn't entered this marriage empty-handed.
Footsteps behind her.
Adrian.
He didn't speak at first.
Just stood beside her.
The city lights reflected in his sharp eyes.
"Why Italy?" she asked suddenly.
"Because here," he replied calmly, "power doesn't hide. It rules."
She looked at him.
"And love?"
He didn't hesitate.
"Love is a liability."
Something flickered in her eyes.
"Good," she whispered. "Then we won't have a problem."
But as the cold wind brushed between them…
Their hands almost touched.
Almost.
Neither moved away.
And somewhere deep beneath their walls—
Something dangerous had begun.