THALIA

The chapel was small. Salvatore made sure of that, like he wanted to keep this wedding as quiet as possible, a shameful thing done in the dark. There were maybe thirty people scattered in the pews, most of them wearing expressions that ranged from uncomfortable to openly hostile. My family sat on one side, the Torrisis on the other, and the divide between them felt like a chasm nobody wanted to cross.

I stood in the back room alone, staring at myself in a full-length mirror that had probably seen better, happier brides. The dress Rosa had arranged for me was simple. Black, because apparently wearing white twice in one week when your first husband died on your wedding night was too much even for this world. The fabric was nice, expensive, but it hung on me wrong. Everything felt wrong.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I pressed them flat against my thighs, tried to steady myself, but it didn't work. Three days ago I'd married Rafael. Three days ago I'd watched him die. And now I was about to marry his twin brother, who hated me so much he could barely stand to be in the same room as me.

This was my life now.

The door opened without a knock. Rosa stood there in a dark green dress, her face carefully composed in that way people do when they're trying not to show you how much they pity you.

"It's time," she said softly.

I nodded because what else was I supposed to do? Argue? Run? I'd already agreed to this nightmare.

Rosa walked me down the short hallway to the chapel doors. There was no music, no processional, nothing that made this feel like an actual wedding. Just Rosa's hand on my arm and the sound of our heels clicking against marble floors that echoed too loud in the silence.

"He'll come around," Rosa whispered just before we reached the doors. "Dante isn't as hard as he pretends to be."

I didn't believe her but I appreciated the lie anyway.

The doors opened and I saw him.

Dante stood at the altar next to a priest who looked about as thrilled to be here as I felt. Dante wore a black suit, perfectly tailored, and he stared straight ahead like I wasn't even walking toward him. His jaw was set so tight I could see the muscle jumping. The scar through his eyebrow looked even more pronounced in the candlelight, making him look dangerous and unapproachable and nothing like Rafael.

Rafael had smiled at me during our wedding. Nervous but genuine. Like maybe we could make this work.

Dante looked like he was attending an execution. Maybe his own.

I walked down the aisle with Rosa beside me because my father had refused to give me away twice. Said once was enough, said this second marriage was Torrisi business and he'd already done his part. So Rosa played the role, delivered me to Dante like a package nobody wanted.

When we reached the altar, Rosa stepped back. I stood next to Dante, close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him, and he still wouldn't look at me. Just kept his eyes fixed on some point above the priest's head.

Salvatore sat in the front pew. He'd aged ten years in three days. The man who'd buried his son was now marrying off his remaining son to that same son's widow, and there was something deeply wrong about all of it that nobody wanted to acknowledge out loud.

The priest started talking. I didn't hear most of it. Something about marriage and duty and family. The words ran together into white noise. I was too focused on Dante's complete stillness beside me, the way he held himself like he was carved from stone.

We got to the vows. The priest asked Dante if he took me as his wife.

Silence.

It stretched out for three seconds too long. Long enough that people started shifting in their seats. Long enough that I felt my face go hot with humiliation.

Finally Dante said, "I do." Flat. Emotionless. Like he was confirming a business transaction.

The priest turned to me. Asked if I took Dante as my husband.

I looked at Dante's profile, this man who blamed me for his brother's death, this man I was about to legally bind myself to, and I wanted to scream. Wanted to run. Wanted to do anything except say the words that would trap me here.

But I'd already made my choice. I was staying. I was going to find out who killed Rafael.

"I do," I said.

My voice came out steadier than I felt. Small victory.

The priest blessed our union with all the enthusiasm of someone reading a grocery list. Then came the part I'd been dreading. The rings.

Marco stepped forward with a small box. Opened it. Inside were two plain gold bands, nothing like the ornate rings Rafael and I had exchanged. These were simple, functional, cold.

Dante took my hand without looking at me. His fingers were warm and calloused and they wrapped around mine with clinical efficiency. He slid the ring onto my finger like he was checking off a box on a to-do list. The metal was cold. It felt like a shackle. I guess it is in a way.

I took his ring with shaking hands. His hand dwarfed mine, scarred knuckles and long fingers that had definitely killed people. I slid the band on and it fit perfectly. Of course it did. Someone had measured, had planned this, had made sure everything would go smoothly even though nothing about this was smooth.

"You may kiss the bride," the priest said.

Dante finally looked at me. For the first time since I'd walked down the aisle, his eyes met mine. They were the same brown as Rafael's but completely different. Cold where Rafael's had been warm. Empty where Rafael's had shown kindness.

He leaned in. I held my breath.

His lips brushed mine for maybe half a second. Barely even contact. So fast I almost thought I'd imagined it. Then he pulled back, jaw still tight, and turned away from me to face the sparse crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the priest said with obvious relief that this was almost over, "I present Mr. and Mrs. Dante Torrisi."

No applause. Just silence and the sound of people standing up, ready to leave as fast as possible.

I stood there next to my new husband who was already walking away from me, heading down the aisle without waiting, without offering his arm, without acknowledging I existed. I watched him go, watched him shake hands with Salvatore, watched him head straight for the exit.

Rosa appeared at my side again. "Come on, cara. There's a small reception."

"He left."

"I know."

"He just married me and walked away."

Rosa's hand tightened on my arm. "He's grieving. Give him time."

Time. Right. Like time would make Dante stop hating me. Like time would make this marriage anything other than a prison sentence we were both serving.

The reception was held in one of the compound's dining rooms. Salvatore had set out food and wine like this was a normal celebration and not the saddest thing I'd ever been part of. My family clustered on one side, the Torrisis on the other, and nobody mixed. Nobody talked. We all just stood there with drinks we weren't drinking and food we weren't eating.

Dante wasn't even there.

I'd been married to him for twenty minutes and he'd already disappeared. I wanted to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both.

Nico found me standing alone near the windows. "You okay?"

"Does it matter?"

He studied my face. "Dad wants to know if you need anything."

"A time machine would be nice."

Nico almost smiled. "Fresh out of those."

Across the room, Salvatore was talking to Marco in low, intense tones. They kept glancing at me. I was definitely the topic of conversation. Probably discussing how to handle their new daughter-in-law who was clearly not welcome but couldn't be gotten rid of without destroying the alliance.

"Where did Dante go?" I asked.

Nico shrugged. "Dante does what Dante wants. Always has."

"That's comforting."

"Look, I'm not going to pretend this situation doesn't suck. It does. But you knew what you were signing up for." Nico's voice was matter of fact, not unkind but not particularly sympathetic either. "You wanted to stay, to.... investigate. This is the price. Though honestly I don't know if you had much of a choice and dad wasn't forthcoming with his thoughts."

He was right. I had chosen this. Didn't make it easier.

The reception lasted maybe an hour before people started making excuses to leave. My father shook Salvatore's hand with the enthusiasm of someone touching a dead fish. My brothers each hugged me, told me to call if I needed anything, and left looking relieved to be escaping. Even my own family couldn't wait to get away from me.

Eventually it was just me, Rosa, Salvatore, and Marco in that too-big dining room with barely touched food and full wine glasses.

"Rosa will show you to your room," Salvatore said and then left.

Rosa led me through the compound's winding hallways. We climbed stairs, turned corners, walked past closed doors and family photos that felt like they were judging me. Finally she stopped at a door at the far end of a long corridor.

"This is you," she said, opening it.

The room was nice. Bigger than the room I had at my father's house. Queen bed with expensive linens, furniture that matched, windows overlooking the gardens. It was also completely impersonal, like a hotel room. Nothing in here suggested anyone actually lived here.

"Dante's room is at the other end of the hall," Rosa continued. "You'll have privacy."

Privacy. That was one word for it. Isolation was another.

"Thank you," I managed.

Rosa hesitated in the doorway. "I know this isn't what you wanted. But you're part of this family now. We take care of our own."

She left before I could point out that Dante clearly didn't see me as family. Didn't see me as anything except an obligation.

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the ring on my finger. Mrs. Dante Torrisi. The name felt foreign. Wrong.

Someone had brought my things from my father's house. My clothes hung in the closet, my toiletries arranged in the bathroom. Someone had unpacked for me, made this space ready, and I hadn't even been here to see it happen.

I changed out of the black dress into pajamas even though it was only seven in the evening. Washed my face. Braided my hair. Went through all the motions of normal life while feeling completely numb.

The room had a lock on the door. I used it.

Then I lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling and tried to process the fact that I'd just married a man who hated me, who'd left me standing alone at our wedding reception, who couldn't even look at me during our vows.

This was going to be so much worse than I'd thought.

My phone buzzed. Text from Nico: Security is tight. You're safe there.

I texted back: Safe from who?

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. No response.

Great. Even my brother wouldn't tell me who I needed to be afraid of.

I thought about getting up, about exploring the compound, about trying to start my investigation into Rafael's murder. But exhaustion pulled at me like a weight. I'd been running on adrenaline for days and it was finally catching up.

Tomorrow. I'd start tomorrow.

I closed my eyes and tried not to think about Dante somewhere in this massive house, probably relieved to be away from me. Tried not to think about Rafael, about how different this should have been. Tried not to think about the fact that someone had tried to kill me and I was now living in a house full of possible suspects.

Sleep didn't come easy but eventually it came.

I dreamed about gunshots and blood and shadows in doorways. Woke up twice gasping, heart pounding, convinced someone was in the room with me. But the door was still locked. I was alone.

Around three in the morning I gave up on sleep entirely. Got out of bed and went to the window. The compound grounds were lit up, security lights everywhere. I could see guards patrolling, pairs of men walking the perimeter. All this protection and Rafael had still died.

A movement caught my eye. Someone was walking across the lawn toward the main gate. Even from this distance I recognized the build, the way he moved. Dante.

I watched him get into a car and drive away into the night. He'd been my husband for less than twelve hours and he was already running.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and wondered what the hell I'd gotten myself into. Wondered if I'd survive long enough to find Rafael's killer. Wondered if Dante would ever stop hating me or if this cold distance was all I had to look forward to. To be honest I hate him too for all the reasons he hates me and more

The ring on my finger caught the light from outside. Gold band, simple and plain, binding me to a man who couldn't stand to be in the same room as me.

This was my life now.

And I had no idea how to survive it.

THALIA

I woke up to someone knocking on my door. Soft but persistent, and I knew the person wasn't going away until I answered.

Sunlight was streaming through the windows. I'd finally fallen asleep around four and apparently slept straight through to nine. My body felt heavy, like I'd been awake for days instead of just getting rest.

"Thalia?" Rosa's voice came through the door. "Are you awake?"

I dragged myself out of bed, unlocked the door, and opened it. Rosa stood there with a breakfast tray, already dressed perfectly in slacks and a cream-colored blouse. She looked me over, taking in my wrinkled pajamas and the braid that had mostly fallen apart during the night.

"I thought you might want to eat in your room this morning," she said, which was probably code for 'I think it will be better for you to eat in your room.'

"Thank you." I stepped back to let her in.

She set the tray on the small table by the window. Coffee, toast, fruit, eggs. More food than I could possibly eat but I appreciated the thought. Rosa lingered, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the tablecloth.

"Dante asked me to let you know that your things should be moved to his wing today," she said carefully. "He's arranged a room for you there."

Of course he had. Arranged a room. Not invited me to share his space, not that I wanted to of course, just assigned me a location like I was furniture that needed storing.

"When?" I asked.

"This afternoon, if that works for you. I can help you pack."

I looked around at the room I'd barely spent six hours in. "There's not much to pack. Someone already did most of it."

Rosa nodded. "I'll have the staff move everything over after lunch then. Dante's wing is more secure. Salvatore thinks it's better."

Better for who, I wanted to ask, but didn't. "Okay."

Rosa headed for the door, then paused with her hand on the handle. "He's not trying to be cruel. He's just processing things the only way he knows how."

"By pretending I don't exist?"

She didn't answer that. Just gave me a sad smile and left.

I ate what I could of the breakfast, which wasn't much. My stomach was still in knots from yesterday, from the wedding that wasn't really a wedding, from watching Dante walk away from me like I was nothing.

Around noon, Rosa came back and helped me gather the few personal items I'd unpacked. We walked through the compound together, taking different hallways than I'd seen before. The place was massive, easy to get lost in. Every corridor looked similar, expensive artwork on the walls and thick carpets that muffled footsteps.

"This is Dante's wing," Rosa said as we turned down a hallway that somehow felt different from the rest of the house. More private. The doors were spaced farther apart, the ceilings slightly higher. "His room is at that end. Yours is here."

She opened a door near the opposite end of the hall and I stepped inside.

The room was nice. Bigger than the one I'd spent last night in, with floor to ceiling windows and a bathroom that was almost obscene in its size. The furniture was dark wood, expensive and well made. Everything was perfectly arranged, perfectly clean, perfectly impersonal.

It felt like a hotel. A really nice hotel where nobody actually lived.

"I know it's not very warm," Rosa said, reading my thoughts. "But you can decorate however you like. Make it yours."

Make it mine. Right. Like hanging a few pictures would make me feel less like a prisoner in a very nice cell.

"It's fine," I lied. "Thank you for helping."

Rosa squeezed my shoulder and left me alone to unpack.

I spent the next hour hanging clothes in the enormous closet and arranging toiletries in the bathroom. My things looked lost in all that space, like they knew they didn't belong here either. When I was done, the room still felt empty. Cold.

I walked down the hallway, taking in my new surroundings. There were only four doors on this corridor. Mine, Dante's, and two others that were closed. The walls were decorated with family photos, mostly older ones. Salvatore and Rosa on their wedding day. The boys as children, two identical faces grinning at the camera. As I walked, I watched Rafael and Dante grow up in still frames. Birthday parties, graduations, family dinners.

Then I found one that stopped me cold.

It was recent, maybe a year old. Rafael stood in a garden somewhere, sunlight catching his hair, smiling at whoever was taking the photo. He looked happy. Relaxed in a way I'd never gotten to see in person. This was Rafael before the engagement, before the alliance, before any of this nightmare started.

"He was always the one who smiled for pictures."

I jumped. Turned around. Rosa had come back down the hallway so quietly I hadn't heard her.

She moved to stand beside me, looking at the photo with an expression I couldn't quite read. Sadness, definitely. But something else underneath it. Something that looked almost like guilt.

"Dante hated having his picture taken," Rosa continued. "But Rafael would just smile and make it easy. That was always the difference between them. Rafael wanted to make things easy."

I didn't know what to say to that. We stood there in silence, both staring at a dead man's face.

"I should have known," Rosa said softly. "I should have seen that he was unhappy with this life. Should have realized he was planning to leave."

"He told you?"

"No. But a mother should know her child." She reached up like she was going to touch the photo, then dropped her hand. "I failed him."

The raw pain in her voice made my chest tight. "You didn't kill him. Someone else did that."

Rosa turned to look at me, studying my face like she was searching for something. "You really don't know who, do you?"

"No. But I'm going to find out."

She nodded slowly. "Be careful, Thalia. This family has many secrets. Some of them are dangerous to uncover."

Before I could ask what she meant, she walked away, leaving me alone in the hallway with Rafael's smiling face.

I went back to my room and tried to make myself busy. Rearranged things that didn't need rearranging. Stared out the window at the grounds below.

Around six in the evening, I heard a door open and close. Footsteps in the hallway, heavy and deliberate. Dante was back.

I stood frozen in my room, listening to him walk past my door without pausing, without slowing down. His door opened and slammed shut hard enough that I felt it through the walls.

Silence for maybe ten minutes.

Then the sound of something breaking. Glass shattering, sharp and violent. Another crash, something heavier hitting the floor or maybe a wall.

I moved to my door, pressed my ear against it. More sounds of destruction. Something else breaking, a dull thud that vibrated through the floor.

I should go check on him. That's what a normal person would do, right? Your husband is clearly losing it, you go make sure he's okay.

But I didn't move. Just stood there with my hand on the door handle, listening to Dante tear his room apart.

The sounds went on for maybe five minutes. Then they stopped as abruptly as they'd started. I heard him moving around, footsteps that sounded unsteady. A door opened and closed, probably the bathroom.

I waited but there was nothing else. Just silence.

Slowly, I backed away from my door and sat on the edge of my bed. My hands were shaking slightly, adrenaline or nerves or both.

That was grief. I knew what it sounded like. I'd done my own version after my father had the man I loved killed, after they'd forced me to terminate my pregnancy. I'd screamed and broken things and fallen apart until there was nothing left to break.

Dante was breaking now. For Rafael. For his twin who'd died trying to save me.

I should feel something. Sympathy, maybe. Compassion. The man just lost his brother.

But sitting there in my cold, impersonal room at the far end of a hallway that felt like it went on forever, all I felt was tired. Tired of being blamed for something I didn't do. Tired of being treated like I was the enemy. Tired of this entire situation.

Yes, Dante was grieving. Yes, he'd lost someone he loved. But so had I, in a way. I'd lost the chance at a different life. Lost Rafael before I'd even gotten to know him. Lost any illusion that this world could be anything other than violent and cruel.

I didn't go check on him. Didn't knock on his door or ask if he was okay.

He'd made it clear he didn't want me around. So I'd stay in my room, in my assigned space at the far end of the hall, and let him destroy whatever he needed to destroy.

His grief wasn't my responsibility. I had enough of my own to deal with.

This was my marriage. My life now.

God, what a mess.

I must have dozed off at some point because when I opened my eyes again, the room was dark. I fumbled for my phone. Almost midnight.

I got up to use the bathroom and that's when I heard it. Footsteps in the hallway. Slow and deliberate, coming from the direction of Dante's room.

They stopped right outside my door.

I held my breath, waiting. Was he going to knock? Come in?

The footsteps started again, moving past my door and continuing down the hallway. I heard stairs creaking as he descended them, headed somewhere else in the house.

I walked to my door, opened it carefully, and looked out into the empty corridor. The hallway was dark except for dim security lights at each end. Rafael's portrait was barely visible in the shadows.

My door was the only one open. Dante's was closed. The whole wing felt abandoned.

I was about to go back inside when I noticed something. My door handle was warm, like someone had been holding it and I knew it was Dante.

I went to sleep thinking about the fact that he didn't open my door, small mercies, I don't think I would have liked to deal with him especially considering his mood.