I woke up to the sound of silence—a cold, expensive silence that only exists in houses built with blood money.
Sunlight sliced through the heavy velvet curtains of the Moretti master suite, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. For a split second, I forgot where I was. Then, I felt the weight of the platinum band on my finger and the unfamiliar softness of the silk sheets.
I wasn't in the De Luca compound. I was in the heart of enemy territory, and the man sleeping—or awake—on the other side of the massive bed was my husband.
I sat up, clutching the sheets to my chest. The room was empty. The door to the balcony was open, letting in the sharp, salty breeze of the Valerra coast.
"You're late, Bianca."
Dante was standing on the balcony, leaning against the stone railing. He was dressed in a crisp black shirt and slacks, looking like he had been awake for hours. He held a cup of espresso in one hand, his eyes tracking something in the distance.
"I didn't realize there was a schedule for being a trophy wife," I said, my voice raspy from sleep.
Dante turned, his gaze raking over me. It wasn't the look of a lover; it was the look of an architect inspecting a foundation. "There is when your uncle is downstairs for breakfast."
The name Vittorio felt like a bucket of ice water over my head. My fingers curled into the silk. "He's here? Already?"
"He wanted to 'check on his favorite niece,'" Dante said, his lips curling into a dry, mirthless smile. "He brought a gift. A box of traditional De Luca pastries. He's playing the doting patriarch for the benefit of my guards."
I felt a surge of nausea. I thought of the recording—the way Vittorio had called me a tool. "I can't see him. Not yet. I'll kill him the moment I look at his face."
Dante walked back into the room, setting his cup on the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the bed, invading my space until I was forced to look up at him. "No, you won't. You're going to walk down those stairs, you're going to sit at my right hand, and you're going to look at that man with the same blind devotion you've given him for five years."
"I'm not that good an actress, Dante."
"You have to be," he said, his hand reaching out to tilt my chin up. His thumb brushed my lower lip, a gesture that felt dangerously intimate for a man who had just dismantled my life. "If he sees even a spark of doubt in your eyes, he'll know the mission has failed. And if he knows that, he'll pull the trigger on the rest of your father's loyalists before we can get to them."
I swallowed hard. The stakes weren't just my revenge; they were the lives of the few men who had actually cared for my father.
"How do we play it?" I asked.
"We play it like I'm obsessed with you," Dante murmured, his eyes dropping to my mouth. "And you? You play it like you're finally beginning to see the man behind the monster. A little bit of soft light in your eyes. A little bit of hesitation when you touch me. Make him think the De Luca charm is working. Make him think I'm losing my edge because of a pretty face."
He stood up and walked to the closet, pulling out a dress. It was a deep, bruised purple—the color of royalty and mourning. "Wear this. It matches the bruises Vittorio thinks I'm leaving on your heart."
Ten minutes later, I walked down the grand staircase. My heart was a drum in my chest, but my face was as smooth as glass.
Vittorio was seated at the long mahogany table in the breakfast room. He looked smaller than I remembered, or perhaps it was just that the shadow of his betrayal made him look withered. He was laughing at something Marco, Dante's right-hand man, had said.
Dante was already there, seated at the head of the table. He looked up as I entered, his expression softening in a way that felt terrifyingly real.
"Bianca, mia cara," he said, standing up to meet me.
He took my hand and kissed the knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine. It was a performance, but the heat of his lips against my skin made my breath hitch. He guided me to the chair beside him.
"Uncle," I said, turning to Vittorio. I made sure my voice had just a hint of tiredness, as if the wedding night had been… eventful. "I didn't expect you so early."
Vittorio's eyes scanned me, looking for the cracks. "I couldn't sleep, Bianca. The house felt too quiet without you. I wanted to make sure the Moretti hospitality was up to our standards."
"It's been… enlightening," I replied, taking a sip of the coffee a servant placed before me. It tasted like ash.
"Dante and I were just discussing the docks," Vittorio said, leaning back. "He's agreed to let De Luca ships pass through the northern terminal without the usual… taxes. It's a beautiful sign of our new alliance."
I looked at Dante. He was watching Vittorio with a look of bored arrogance. "A wedding gift, Vittorio. Nothing more. My wife shouldn't have to worry about her family's ledgers."
Vittorio chuckled, but his eyes remained sharp. "You've grown soft, Moretti. I told the Council you'd be a different man once you had a De Luca in your bed."
I felt my jaw tighten. I wanted to reach across the table and drive my breakfast knife through his throat. I wanted to scream that I knew about the car, the docks, and the five years of lies.
Instead, I reached out and placed my hand over Dante's on the table.
"Dante isn't soft, Uncle," I said, my voice low and sweet, like poisoned honey. I looked at my husband, forcing a small, shy smile to my lips. "He just knows how to appreciate what is his. Don't you, Dante?"
Dante's fingers twined with mine, his grip tightening. He looked at me, and for a second, I forgot we were acting. The intensity in his gaze was enough to burn. "I don't let go of what belongs to me, Bianca. Ever."
Vittorio's smile faltered for the briefest of seconds. He saw it—the shift. He thought he was seeing his weapon successfully seducing the King. He didn't realize he was looking at two hunters closing the cage.
"Good," Vittorio said, standing up. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. He smelled of old tobacco and treachery. "I'll leave you two to your honeymoon. We have a Council meeting on Friday. I expect to see you both there, looking… united."
"We wouldn't dream of missing it," Dante said.
As soon as the front doors closed behind Vittorio, I ripped my hand away from Dante's. I pushed back from the table, my breath coming in jagged gasps.
"I hate him," I whispered. "I hate him more than I ever hated you."
"Good," Dante said, standing up. He didn't move toward me. He stayed at the head of the table, looking like the king of a darkening world. "Hate is a better motivator than loyalty. But you did well, Bianca. He's convinced."
"What now?" I asked, looking up at him.
"Now, we stop playing defense," Dante said. He walked over to a sideboard and picked up a file Vittorio had conveniently 'left behind.' He tossed it onto the table. It was a list of shipping manifests for the following week. "Vittorio thinks he's using my docks to smuggle weapons. He doesn't know I've already contacted the port authorities."
"You're going to get him arrested?"
"Arrest is too good for him," Dante said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I'm going to let him ship the crates. But when they open them at the border, they won't find guns. They'll find the evidence of your father's murder. I've had my men diving the docks for weeks, Bianca. We found the car. And we found the one thing your uncle forgot to destroy."
My heart stopped. "What?"
Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, water-damaged silver lighter. It had the De Luca crest on it. But on the side, there were three distinct notches.
"Your father's lighter," I whispered, reaching out to touch it.
"It wasn't in the car," Dante said. "It was wedged in the pier pilings. Along with a piece of a silk tie that matches the one Vittorio wore the night your father disappeared. We have the DNA, Bianca. We have the motive. And on Friday, we're going to have his head."
I looked at the lighter, then at the man who had found it. The enemy I had married was the only person in the world who had bothered to look for the truth.
"Why did you do it?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Why help me?"
Dante stepped forward, stopping just inches from me. He didn't touch me, but I could feel the heat radiating from him.
"Because a King needs a Queen who knows how to hold a blade," he said. "And because I wanted to see what you'd do when you finally realized the only person you can trust in this city is the man you vowed to kill."
He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. "Get ready, Bianca. The masquerade is over. The war starts tonight."