••Luciana••

The ballroom gleamed like a jewel box, all gold light and polished marble, but there was an undercurrent of intimidation. I wasn't really nervous; I had been raised among wolves and knew how to keep my head high while they prowled around me. Still, my heartbeat betrayed me, pulsing with a steady stream of what-ifs.

Matteo stood on my right, hands casually tucked into his pockets, while Antonio lingered on my left with that smug little grin that always made me want to shove him down a staircase.

Matteo nudged me lightly.

"There," he murmured. "Far side of the room, near the chandeliers."

I followed his gaze.

Adrian Orlov.

He looked carved out of winter-composed, and entirely unbothered by the world buzzing around him. His posture alone held more authority than half the men in the room.

Antonio let out a low whistle.

"Well," he said, "the Gentleman Devil cleans up nicely."

Then Antonio's expression shifted.

"Oh, fantastic. He's walking this way."

My heart kicked once-just once, but I masked it with a raised chin.

"Good luck, sis." Antonio teased, already backing away. Matteo gave me a reassuring squeeze on the arm. "You'll be fine. Try not to stab him in the first five minutes."

"Depends on his attitude," I muttered.

Matteo snorted and stepped aside.

Just like that, they left me to face the Russian heir alone as he approached with smooth, measured steps.

"Princess Luciana," he greeted, my name wrapped in the richness of his accent, somehow less formal and more intimate than it should have been. "I've heard quite a lot about you."

"I can imagine," I said. "Rumors travel faster than bullets in our world."

"Sometimes they hit harder," he replied.

For a moment, silence stretched between us. The music swelled, glasses clinked, and the world continued its charade.

Then, out of nowhere, one of the servers hurried past, and his tray slipped from his grip. The crystal shattered, and champagne sprayed like liquid gold across Adrian's cuff. The crash was sharp enough to slice through the music.

The room stilled. Heads turned. Eyes pricked with judgment. A few murmurs, then... silence.

No one intervened. No one dared.

The server went pale. I could almost feel the fear pouring off him. In our world, mistakes were dangerous currency.

Adrian, however, did the unthinkable. He crouched-not to berate, not to strike, but to help gather the shards.

"It's okay," he said softly. "Mistakes happen."

My breath hitched. It was such a simple phrase, yet astonishingly uncommon. Mafia men don't offer reassurances like that. They certainly don't stoop to help someone they perceive as inferior.

The young man stammered his gratitude and hurried away. Adrian stood tall, brushing off his hands with an air of composed elegance. Then he turned his gaze back to me.

Conversations around us resumed as if nothing had happened. I was still trying to catch up with the fact that the Gentleman Devil had just knelt to pick up broken glass.

Adrian stood and dusted off his hands, eyes drifting back to mine.

"What?" he asked, soft amusement tugging at his mouth. "Did I disappoint your expectations?"

"You apologized," I said slowly. "I've never seen a mafia do that, especially not an heir."

His smile was warm, subtle but devastating.

"Would it be better if I shot him instead?"

The unexpected humor slipped past my defenses. A laugh escaped me, light and unwilling. He looked at me like he'd just found something unexpected.

At that moment, I wondered if the rumors were wrong. Maybe there were men who ruled the underworld and still had a conscience.

For a heartbeat, my mask slipped. Then I remembered who I was-a Moretti-and composed myself, spine straightening as if the moment hadn't rattled me at all.

"Do all Sicilian princesses look this breathtaking when they're surprised?" he asked. Heat crawled up my neck.

"We ought to focus on the important matter."

"No reason to feel anxious, Princess." His confident grin held a compelling assurance. "We'll be spending a significant amount of time together."

That certainty was unnerving, especially when he added, "You look quite striking in person."

His tone softened. "I returned from New York because our engagement has already been arranged."

I took a sip of my margarita to steady myself. "This alliance benefits both families."

"It does." His gaze sharpened. "But there are specific expectations for my future wife."

"And what might those entail?" I inquired.

You'll live with me in Russia, with my family. We'll make an heir when the time is right. You'll follow the instructions I give. That's all."

My breath hitched at the bluntness.

"I-"

He lifted a hand. "This is the most generous proposal you'll receive."

His seriousness locked the moment into something iron-shaped. Something I couldn't escape.

"Deal," I finally agreed, though I really had no choice, my father wouldn't let me off the hook if the alliance fell apart.

He nodded once, looking pleased, and took a step back.

"Until next time, Princess."

With a wink, he turned away before I could decide if I liked him or despised him.

Just then, a hand grasped the back of my neck.

Only one fool would be bold enough to do that.

"You were smiling the whole time, sister." Antonio teased, laughter bubbling out of him. "Looks like you found your spark."

"Asshole." I pushed him away and made my way to the bar, trying to ignore the way my heart was still racing.

---

Sometimes, even now, I hear Antonio's mocking voice echoing through my head.

"I saw you smiling at him the entire time."

He said it like it meant nothing. It meant everything.

It was the first crack in my armor.

The first time someone made me feel seen.

The first string tied me to a man who would never survive the world we lived in.

Three months earlier, Adrian Orlov stood under the glow of winter lights, looking at me with a smile that made me feel like I wasn't just a political pawn. He listened. He noticed.

Maybe that tenderness was why he died.

Now all that's left of him is the ghost of his laugh and the ache in my ribs-a physical reminder of the explosion that tore us both apart. The scar sits just under my left side, a thin white line that burns whenever I breathe too deep, like my body refuses to forget what my mind is trying to survive.

The scent of burning tires still clings to my nightmares.

Adrian is dead, and the world has never felt colder.

A sudden knock cuts through the quiet of my room.

"Come in," I whisper.

Antonio steps through the door, closing it gently behind him. The moment I see him, my breath hitches. My brother, typically so expressive, appears emotionless tonight, as if he's been chiseled from stone.

The playful banter is absent. The familiar cheeky smile is nowhere to be found. In his place stands a Moretti heir-my brother, my flesh and blood-carrying a heavy sorrow he struggles to mask.

"Luci." His voice wavers briefly before he regains his composure. "They discovered something."

I grip the sheets tightly. "What is it?"

He inches closer, cautiously, as though any sudden movement might fracture me.

"It wasn't an accident," he murmurs. "The brakes were tampered with."

Everything around me fades.

For a fleeting moment-an eternity, really-time stands still.

"What?" I barely manage to whisper.

Antonio gives a single, terse nod. It's sharp, almost painful, like the weight of the truth is too much to bear.

"The Valerios. Rumor has it they wanted to dismantle the alliance before it could grow stronger."

A bitter, hollow laugh escapes me. "But how could they even know?"

Father kept everything a secret until the ceremony. No one outside the family was supposed to know."

Antonio's expression darkens.

"There are eyes everywhere, sorella. Even in the shadows we think we own."

Those words slice deeper than the news itself.

I push up to my feet so fast the chair scrapes loudly.

My pulse is a frenzy. My chest tightens like a fist is forming inside it.

"You're saying they killed him?" My voice shakes. "They planned this? They murdered him as a warning?"

Antonio says nothing.

His silence is confirmation.

I approach him slowly, my breath unsteady.

"Why now? Why..." My voice falters. "Why take him like that?"

"They didn't want to wait," Antonio says softly. "They wanted a message."

A message.

Delivered through the man I could have loved.

My throat feels like it's on fire. "And what? Are we just supposed to sit here? Pretend everything's fine? Sweep this under the guise of an alliance and wait for answers?"

Antonio's jaw tightens.

He's holding himself together with sheer will.

"Father says we hold off," he replies. "Not until we know exactly who gave the order." Antonio closes his eyes.

I feel the rage bubbling under my ribs, searing, expanding, clawing for release.

"They killed him," I whisper. "They killed my fiancé.

Antonio's voice trembles. "Don't think for a second that I don't crave revenge for what they did to you, Luci."

Tears threaten to spill, but I refuse to let them fall.

"Then why aren't we doing something?"

He steps forward, gently gripping my arms, grounding me.

"We will," he says. "Just... not yet. Father wants to hear from the Orlovs first."

He moves toward the door, hesitant.

"Luci... I'm sorry." His voice softens. "I didn't want you to hear it alone."

When the door clicks shut behind him, the rage spills over like a dam breaking.

They've taken Adrian Orlov from us.

And now they believe they can evade the storm I'm capable of unleashing.

I pivot toward the window. The morning brightens outside, yet it feels as though the world has dimmed.

Night settled over the Moretti estate like a heavy curtain drawn too quickly, muffling sound, hope, and every breath we tried to take. The house felt colder than usual, tense with unspoken things. By the time Don Orlov arrived, grief had already seeped into the walls.

Father and I waited in his study. The room usually smelled of leather and expensive ink; tonight the air carried sorrow sharp enough to taste.

Don Orlov stepped inside, looking carved from grief itself. His eyes were rimmed in exhaustion, but beneath that-steel.

Father stood. "Lorenzo... I'm sorry for your loss."

Don Orlov offered a single stiff nod. "Condolences don't resurrect the dead. I didn't come for sympathy."

Father gestured for him to sit. He didn't.

"We know who cut the brakes," Don Orlov said, voice low and controlled. "The Valerios wanted blood, and they took my son."

Father's jaw tightened. "We suspect them, yes, but nothing is confirmed. We must think before we move."

A bitter sound escaped Don Orlov; part laugh, part wound. "Thinking didn't save Adrian. They struck first and murdered my son. They think we are weak."

My heart twisted.

Father pressed gently, "Rushing into war will not bring him back."

"It will make them regret touching my family," Don Orlov replied. His voice didn't rise; it didn't have to. It was the kind of calm that came right before an earthquake.

He turned his gaze to me then. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

"The alliance stands," he said quietly. "Stronger than before."

Father stiffened. "Adrian was the bond between our families."

"Then another bond will take his place."

Father hesitated. The silence was thin and fragile.

"Lorenzo..."

He took a breath. "Luciana needs time..."

"There is no time," Don Orlov said, but his tone softened-not command, but fact. "My son is dead. The Valerios think this alliance will crumble. We cannot allow that."

That felt like a slap.

My voice escaped before I could stop it. "What exactly are you saying?"

Don Orlov looked at me, grief flickering through his expression like a glitch in armor. "Roman will step into his brother's place."

My stomach plummeted.

Roman.

Cold eyes. Sharper words. The smirk that made me wish violence on sight.

I shook my head. "No. I can't..."

Father's eyes held mine, firm but pained. "Luciana."

My breath stuttered.

"You expect me to marry Roman? Just like that?"

Father didn't answer. That was my answer.

Rage rose like fire up my throat. "I won't be used as a replacement."

Don Orlov's expression didn't shift. "You won't be a replacement. You'll be the reason the Valerios realize their plan failed."

The room closed in. My pulse thundered.

I didn't wait for permission. I turned, yanked the door open, and slammed it behind me with every ounce of fury boiling under my skin.

The hallway blurred. My heels echoed like gunshots. By the time I reached my room, my hands were trembling.

I locked the door and pressed my back to it.

Stared into my reflection-pale, furious, barely holding together.

A Moretti doesn't cry in public.

A Moretti doesn't crack in private either.

Yet my throat burned.

I was meant for Adrian, not his ghost. Not his brother.

I stood there for what seemed like minutes. Then a knock came, soft but persistent.

"Luci. Let me in."

Matteo.

I opened the door a fraction. He took one look at my face and pushed the rest of the way in, shutting the world out behind him.

"You look like you're about to stab the next person who speaks," he murmured.

"I might."

He moved closer. "Then let's get you out of here before you commit a diplomatic incident."

A humorless laugh slipped out. "I don't want company."

"You have me."

He tapped my chin lightly. "And sadly for you, I am extremely good company."

Despite the storm brewing in my chest, I cracked a smile.

He hooked an arm around my shoulders. "Come on, Luci. Let's go somewhere with bad decisions and stronger drinks."

I sighed. "Matteo.."

He stepped forward and tugged gently on a strand of my hair. "Luci, you need air. You need a night that isn't soaked in grief and politics."

My walls cracked. "You're not wrong."

"I'm never wrong," he said smugly. "Now get dressed. Something black. Something that says, "Touch me and die."

"You're ridiculous."

"At your service." He smirked.

And somehow, somehow, I followed him out.

----

Noise hit like a slap the moment we stepped in. Lights darted across the ceiling. Heat rolled through the air. Bodies moved in unsteady rhythm. It was chaotic enough to distract me, and tonight, distraction was mercy.

Matteo and I found a booth tucked into the corner. He ordered whiskey; I took shots until my throat warmed and my mind loosened.

"So," Matteo said, watching me over the rim of his glass. "Roman Orlov, huh?"

I groaned. "Don't."

"Just saying. If anyone needs a therapist after tonight, it's you."

"That obvious?"

"That loud."

I sagged into the booth. "I don't want this marriage."

"I know." His voice was gentle. "But you're not facing it alone. Luciana... we'll figure this out. You're not a pawn."

"I feel like one."

"You're a queen. Queens get moved last."

His expression, for a moment, carried the weight of an oath.

He finished his drink and slid out of the booth. "I'm going to take a leak. Don't start a war while I'm gone."

"No promises." I shouted; he probably wouldn't hear because of the loud music.

It took less than two minutes for trouble to find me.

Three men approached with polished suits and predator smiles. Their eyes swept over me like I was something they could buy.

"Sicilian royalty in a place like this," one murmured. "Didn't believe the rumors."

I didn't bother hiding my glare. "Walk away."

He let out a light laugh. "Oh! Princess, I'm merely being friendly."

His hand edged closer to my waist.

My fingers grazed the blade sheathed at my thigh. "Touch me and you lose the hand."

He halted, a look of surprise crossing his face. "You're quite the firecracker."

"That's not what your surgeon will call it."

His friends chuckled, mistaking our exchange for playful banter rather than a serious threat.

I adjusted my stance. Alert. Ready. A heartbeat away from drawing blood.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over the table-cold, tall, and immovable. A hand descended onto the man's shoulder.

He jumped as if struck by lightning, his complexion fading as the figure leaned closer, whispering something that got lost in the music's din.

The stranger retreated, hands raised in a gesture of surrender, apologizing as he dragged his friends away.

I remained still. Not because I was unaware of who had intervened.

I recognized him all too well.

My breath hitched in my throat. him.

He didn't cast a glance in my direction-not once.

He simply turned and melted into the throng, consumed by smoke and flashing lights, leaving my heart thundering against my ribs.

I blinked hard, my pulse trembling.

He shouldn't have been here watching me.

My lips parted in disbelief as the truth sank in-

I knew exactly whose hand that was.

But I refused to say his name.

Not even in my mind.

"Luci, are you alright?" Matteo asked as soon as he returned. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Roman," I replied.

"Roman?"

"He was here."

"He helped me out with some strange guys who were trying to cause trouble. He didn't even stick around for a thank you; he just left."

"Don't worry, he probably just took a quick look at you and decided to handle things himself."

"Can we please just leave now?" I downed the last bit of the margarita in my glass.

As we made our way out, I caught Matteo still scanning the club, checking if Roman was still there. He couldn't have been watching me, so I was curious about why he had just walked away like that. My thoughts kept circling around the moment, replaying the way he appeared and vanished as if the shadows themselves carried him out.

Once we got home, I saw Father sitting in the living room, giving off the impression that he'd been waiting for us. Matteo greeted him with a bow, while I stood at the entrance, my anger evident in my gaze. Matteo gestured for me to show some respect, so I approached him, gave a slight bow, and turned to head toward my room.

His voice stopped me.

"Luciana," he declared firmly, "no matter what happens, the engagement will go ahead. There's no going back now."

"Even after everything that's happened?" I shot back, my voice steady yet edged with intensity. "You would marry me to the brother of the man who just passed away?"

His expression hardened. "This isn't about love. It's about survival. Do you grasp that?"

"I see that you've prioritized power over your own daughter," I replied, locking my gaze onto him.

For a fleeting moment, a flicker of something-perhaps guilt-crossed his face, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. It almost made me wonder if he ever regretted the world he dragged me into, or if wielding power mattered more than his children.

"This discussion is finished."

He rose abruptly and strode away, the echo of his footsteps gradually diminishing down the corridor.

I remained there in the stillness, my heart steady, the warmth of the blade still pressing against my skin.

Matteo came over, his hands enveloping mine as he motioned for me to step inside.

He handed me a glass of my favorite wine. "You should enjoy this," he said, settling down beside me on the bed. The room felt softer with him in it, less suffocating, as though he brought a piece of normalcy wherever he went.

He turned on the TV to the show we used to binge-watch as teenagers, and we both fell into a comfortable silence.

"I remember those times when we would watch this every single time during those years," I broke the silence, nostalgia washing over me.

"Absolutely, we would mimic the lines perfectly since we knew it by heart," he laughed, his eyes sparkling with memories.

"But now, time slips away from us, with responsibilities demanding our attention," I replied, a hint of melancholy in my voice.

As our favorite scene unfolded, the villain had captured the young girl.

"... and now I'm going to eliminate you, so everyone can see just how great I am..." We both belted out the lines in unison, as if we had rehearsed them countless times before.

Matteo met my gaze, and we erupted into laughter.

"This is just as entertaining as it ever was," he remarked, still chuckling.

"Absolutely!" I agreed, my laughter still echoing in the air.

As I glanced around my room, I inhaled the calming scent of lavender-my favorite fragrance. I reached for a photo resting on the bedside table, featuring Antonio, Matteo, and me.

"This picture always makes me laugh," he said, pointing at the ice cream smeared on Antonio's nose.

"That little rascal was determined to have two ice creams at once because he couldn't decide on just one flavor!"

"Poor Antonio," he remarked casually.

"So I'm really going to leave everything behind to live with a man I hate-my fiancé's younger brother," I muttered softly.

"Andrian is no longer your fiancé; he's gone," Matteo replied.

"But Roman? No... you know that can't be right." My voice dropped as I spoke. "Did Father really need to go through with this? Surely it could have been someone else, anyone but the Orlovs."

Matteo remained silent, simply resting my head on his shoulder and gently running his fingers through my hair. Tears began to fill my eyes, and this time, instead of resisting, I allowed them to flow. It was the first time I had let my feelings surface since the accident. With my best friend, I felt safe enough to cry. Outside, I had to maintain the façade of a fierce Sicilian princess. It felt so unfair!

----

When I finally woke up, I found myself cozily tucked in bed, and Matteo was nowhere in sight. He must have left while I was asleep. Lying there, I reflected on the whirlwind of events that had recently unfolded. Just then, the door creaked open.

"Luci, are you awake?" It was Antonio.

"Why are you stopping by so early?" I asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"Early, you say? Allow me to point out that it's nearly noon, and you've missed breakfast. If Father hadn't been away, he probably would have knocked on your door himself," he replied, rolling his eyes at me.

"What?" I looked at the clock on the table and saw it was already past 10 a.m. "I must have slept in! So, what's up?"

"You've got a letter," he said, extending it towards me. "I've got other matters to attend to, sister." With that, he turned and left the room.

I turned my attention to the letter. It was adorned with gold embossing and sealed with the Orlov crest. Curiosity piqued, I opened it to see what it contained.

A strange heaviness settled in my stomach.