Bianca's Pov

I stood at the back of the cathedral with my hands folded because no one had told me what else to do with them.

The doors were still closed. The music hadn’t started. Everything felt paused, like the room was holding its breath and waiting for something bad to happen. My father stood beside me, stiff in his suit, smelling like sweat covered up by expensive cologne. He didn’t look at me once. He kept adjusting his cufflinks like they mattered more than I did.

“Straighten your shoulders,” he said under his breath. “You look nervous.”

I didn’t answer. If I spoke, I might say something that would ruin this. And ruining this wasn’t allowed.

The dress was heavier than I expected. Not because of the fabric. Because of what it meant. It had been chosen by people I didn’t know, paid for with money that wasn’t mine, approved by a man who barely remembered my name. I wondered, not for the first time, if Don Moretti would even recognize me tomorrow.

The doors opened.

The music started, loud and echoing, filling the cathedral too fast. Heads turned. Phones came up. I didn’t look at the guests. I kept my eyes forward, fixed on the long aisle and the man waiting at the altar.

Don Alessandro Moretti looked older up close. Not just older hard. His face was carved into something permanent and cold. He didn’t smile when he saw me. Didn’t nod. He looked bored, like this was a task he wanted finished.

I took my first step.

My father’s arm was rigid under my fingers. He walked quickly, like he wanted this done as soon as possible. I matched his pace automatically. The faster it happened, the faster it would be over. That was the lie I kept telling myself.

People whispered as I passed. I caught pieces of it.

“So young…”

“Poor girl”

“Valenti made a smart deal.”

No one said my name.

When we reached the altar, my father placed my hand into Don Moretti’s like he was handing over documents. No squeeze. No pause. Just release.

I stood beside my husband and felt very small.

The priest started speaking. Words about unity. About commitment. About God. I heard them but didn’t absorb them. I focused on breathing instead. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. Slow. Controlled.

Don Moretti leaned slightly toward me. His grip tightened around my fingers.

“Don’t embarrass me,” he muttered.

I nodded once.

The priest asked the first question.

That was when I heard it.

A dull sound. Not loud. Almost easy to ignore. Like something heavy hitting stone far away.

Then another.

I lifted my head. The guards near the doors shifted. One of them reached for his radio.

The explosion came in a heartbeat later.

The cathedral doors blew inward. Smoke. Fire. Shattered glass. The force knocked people backward, sending screams ripping through the room. My ears rang so badly I thought I’d gone deaf.

Gunfire followed immediately. Sharp. Controlled. Not panicking.

Don Moretti cursed and yanked me closer.

Men in black flooded the cathedral, moving fast, spreading out like they’d practiced this. The guards didn’t last long. They dropped where they stood. Clean shots.

No hesitation.

I froze.

I didn’t run. I didn’t drop. I stood there and watched white marble turn red. Watched bodies collapse where people had been smiling seconds earlier.

Then I saw him.

He walked through the smoke like he owned it. He didn’t rush. His suit was dark. His steps were measured. He didn’t look around like someone afraid of getting shot. He already knew where everyone was.

His eyes locked on Don Moretti.

Don Moretti shoved me forward suddenly, pulling me tight against him. His hand crushed my arm.

“Dante,” he snapped. “This is a mistake.”

The man didn’t answer. He raised his gun.

The shot was loud. Close. Final.

Don Moretti dropped instantly. His grip loosened as his body hit the floor, dragging me down with him. I screamed without meaning to. The sound tore out of me, ugly and raw.

Blood soaked into the front of my dress.

Hands grabbed me. Not rough, but firm. I was pulled upright, turned away from the body, spun toward the man who had just killed my husband before the vows were finished.

He stood too close.

He was taller than I expected. Broad shoulders. Scar at the edge of his jaw. His eyes were dark, unreadable, like he was studying something already decided.

A drop of blood had splashed onto my cheek.

He reached up and wiped it away with his thumb.

I flinched.

“You’re wearing the wrong man’s ring,” he said quietly.

My knees almost buckled.

I tried to speak. Nothing came out.

Around us, the cathedral was in chaos. Screams. Footsteps. More gunfire. But he didn’t move. His attention stayed locked on me like the rest of the world had stopped existing.

He nodded once to his men.

They pulled me away.

I didn’t see my father. I didn’t look for him. I was dragged past shattered pews, past bodies I didn’t recognize, out into the open air where black vehicles waited with engines running.

They shoved me into the back of one.

The door slammed shut.

The silence inside was suffocating.

I stared down at my hands. They were shaking. Blood smeared my fingers. The ring on my finger caught the light. Gold. Heavy. Useless.

The door opened again.

He got in.

The car moved immediately, smooth and fast, like it had been waiting for him alone.

I pressed myself against the door without thinking.

He didn’t touch me. He didn’t look at me right away. He loosened his cuffs instead, calm, unbothered, like this was just another meeting.

Finally, he turned his head.

“My name is Dante,” he said. “Your husband owed me a blood debt.”

I swallowed hard.

“I didn’t know,” I whispered.

“That doesn’t matter.”

The city blurred past the windows.

“Since he’s dead,” Dante continued evenly, “the debt transferred.”

I stared at him, my chest tight.

“Transferred to who?”

His gaze held mine, steady and unyielding.

“To you.”

The car sped forward, carrying me away from the only life I’d ever known.

And I understood then this wasn’t a rescue.

It was a claim.

Bianca’s Pov

The car smelled like leather and gun oil.

I noticed it because my brain needed something small to hold onto. Something ordinary. If I thought about anything else about the blood soaking into my dress, about the way Don Moretti’s body hit the floor I felt like I might stop breathing.

Dante sat beside me, relaxed, one arm stretched along the back of the seat. He didn’t crowd me, didn’t touch me, and somehow that made it worse. The space between us felt intentional. Measured.

The car moved fast. Too fast for traffic. No one tried to stop us.

I kept my hands in my lap. They were still shaking. I pressed my fingers together until my nails dug into my skin, grounding myself in the sting. The ring on my finger caught the light again. I twisted it without thinking.

“Don’t,” Dante said.

My hand froze.

“That ring belonged to a dead man,” he continued. “You’ll take it off when I tell you to.”

I swallowed. My throat felt dry, like I’d been screaming for hours even though I hadn’t made a sound since the cathedral.

“I didn’t know,” I said again, because I didn’t know what else to say. “About any debt.”

Dante glanced at me, brief and assessing. “Ignorance doesn’t change ownership.”

The word hit harder than the explosion had.

Ownership.

I turned my face toward the window. The city blurred past, familiar streets turning into something distant and unrecognizable. My chest felt tight, like the air was thinner inside the car.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

“Home,” he replied.

I let out a short, humorless breath. “That’s not my home.”

He tilted his head slightly. “It is now.”

I stopped asking questions after that.

The drive felt endless. I watched the city disappear, replaced by winding roads and open space. My phone was gone. My purse too. I didn’t remember anyone taking them, but they were missing all the same.

When the car finally slowed, my stomach dropped.

The estate sat on the edge of a cliff, tall and isolated, lights glowing softly against the dark. It didn’t look like a prison. It looked worse. Permanent.

The gates opened without pause.

The car stopped in front of the entrance, and one of Dante’s men opened my door. I hesitated, my legs stiff, my body slow to obey. Dante stepped out smoothly and turned back toward me.

“Bianca,” he said.

It was the first time he’d said my name.

I looked up at him.

“Walk,” he added. “No one’s dragging you.”

I stepped out.

The cold hit me immediately. The night air brushed against the bare skin of my arms, and I shivered. Someone draped a coat over my shoulders before I could react. I didn’t see who. I didn’t thank them.

Inside, the estate was quiet. Too quiet. No shouting. No panic. Just controlled movement. People who knew exactly where they were meant to be and what they were meant to do.

I was led upstairs, past doors I wasn’t allowed to open, into a bedroom that was larger than my father’s entire apartment.

I stopped short.

The room wasn’t generic. It wasn’t cold. It was… prepared.

Books lined the shelves. The same kind I liked. Heavy curtains. A bed dressed in neutral colors. A small table by the window with a glass of water already waiting.

I turned slowly, my chest tightening.

“You’ve been here before,” I said quietly.

Dante stood in the doorway, watching me like he’d been waiting for the realization to hit.

“No,” he said. “But I knew you would be.”

I hugged the coat tighter around myself.

“How?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Not locking it. Just closing it.

“You’re not a hostage,” he said calmly.

“You’re not a guest either.”

I laughed, sharp and broken. “That’s comforting.”

“You are collateral,” he corrected. “A blood debt doesn’t vanish because the debtor dies. Don Moretti owed me. He failed to pay. Under our law, the debt is transferred to his widow.”

“I was married for less than an hour.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

My nails dug into my palms. “So what happens now?”

Dante studied me for a moment, like he was deciding how much truth to give.

“You stay,” he said. “You live. You follow my rules.”

“And if I don’t?”

His voice stayed even. “Then the people who want you will come looking. And they won’t be as patient as I am.”

I felt my knees weaken. I moved to the edge of the bed and sat down before they gave out completely.

“My father,” I said. “He’ll..”

“He already tried to negotiate,” Dante cut in.

I looked up sharply. “What?”

“He begged,” Dante continued,

unbothered. “He offered money he doesn’t have and loyalty he can’t afford. I declined.”

Something cold settled in my chest. “You killed my husband. You take me. And you just… turn him away?”

“He sold you,” Dante said flatly. “Twice.”

The words landed like a slap.

I shook my head. “No. He did what he had to.”

Dante’s expression didn’t change. “So did I.”

Silence stretched between us.

Finally, he turned toward the door. “You’ll eat. You’ll sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about rules.”

“And if I try to leave?” I asked.

He paused, his hand on the handle.

“Then I’ll stop you,” he said. “And you won’t like how.”

The door closed behind him.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the floor, listening to the quiet hum of a house that already knew me too well.

That was when it sank in.

This wasn’t temporary.

I wasn’t being held until something better came along.

I had been transferred.

Bianca’s Pov

I didn’t sleep.

I lay on the bed with my shoes still on, the coat Dante’s man had given me folded over my chest like a shield. The sheets smelled clean, faintly of soap, not hotel-clean but lived-in clean. That made it worse. It meant this room wasn’t staged last minute. It existed before me. It had been waiting.

Every sound in the house felt deliberate. Footsteps passed outside my door at regular intervals. Not pacing. Guarding. Somewhere below, a door opened and closed. A murmur of voices. The quiet never fully settled.

I stared at the ceiling until my eyes burned.

At some point, exhaustion dragged me under anyway.

When I woke up, it was morning.

Soft light filtered through the curtains, pale and wrong, like it didn’t belong to the world I’d woken up in. For half a second, I forgot where I was. Then I remembered everything at once. The wedding. The gunshot. The way Dante’s thumb wiped blood from my face like it meant nothing.

I sat up too fast and had to grab the edge of the bed to steady myself.

Someone had been in the room.

My shoes were gone. The coat too. The dress I’d slept in was folded neatly on a chair by the window. Cleaned. Pressed. The blood was gone.

My stomach twisted.

I slid off the bed and checked the door. It wasn’t locked. That almost irritated me more than if it had been.

I stepped into the hallway.

The estate was bigger in daylight. Long corridors. High ceilings. Windows that looked out over cliffs and open water. No neighbors. No nearby roads. Just distance.

A woman stood at the end of the hall, holding a tray.

She looked at me like she’d been expecting me to come out at that exact moment.

“Good morning,” she said politely. Not warm. Not cold.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Lucia,” she replied. “I’ll be attending to you.”

The word attending sat wrong in my chest.

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“I know,” she said calmly. “Breakfast?”

I almost laughed. My stomach chose that moment to twist painfully.

She led me downstairs without waiting for my answer.

The dining room was large but sparse. Long table. Minimal decoration. No unnecessary luxury. Everything here felt chosen for function, not comfort.

Food waited on the table. Simple. Eggs. Bread. Fruit. Coffee.

I stared at it like it might be poisoned.

“It isn’t,” Lucia said, setting the tray down.

“He doesn’t do that.”

“He?” I asked, though I already knew.

She didn’t answer.

I sat anyway. Hunger won. I hated myself a little for it. The eggs were warm. The bread is fresh. Normal. That was the worst part. It made it harder to stay angry.

“Did he order this?” I asked quietly.

Lucia nodded. “He likes routine.”

“I don’t.”

A flicker of something passed over her face. Not sympathy. Not quite fearful either.

“You’ll adjust,” she said.

I looked up sharply. “You don’t know that.”

She met my eyes evenly. “Everyone does.”

That stayed with me long after she left.

After breakfast, I explored.

No one stopped me. That was intentional. Freedom was controlled. Certain doors were unlocked. Others weren’t. I learned quickly which ones mattered.

There was a library. Not for show. Books with cracked spines. Marginal notes. Some of them are mine. I froze when I realized that.

I picked one up. A paperback I’d owned in university. My name was written inside the cover in my handwriting.

My chest tightened.

I put it back slowly.

I found a sitting room with a piano I didn’t know how to play. A balcony that looked out over the sea. Bedrooms that were clearly occupied but empty now. Lives paused.

This wasn’t just a house.

It was an operation.

I was in the hallway again when I heard footsteps behind me.

I didn’t turn right away. I didn’t need to. The air felt different when he was near. He filled space without touching it.

“You slept,” Dante said.

It wasn’t a question.

“Eventually.”

“You ate.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

I turned then. He stood a few feet away, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. He looked like he’d already had a full day while I’d been trying not to fall apart.

“Why are my things here?” I asked.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Because you need them.”

“From where?”

“Your father’s apartment. Your dorm room storage. A place you stayed briefly in Florence.”

My heart skipped. “I never told anyone about Florence.”

“I know.”

I swallowed. “How long?”

He considered me. “Long enough”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting today.”

Anger flared, sharp and sudden. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to plan my life like it’s a schedule.”

“I already did,” he replied evenly.

I stepped closer without thinking. “I’m not your sister.”

The silence that followed was immediate and heavy.

Dante’s jaw tightened. His eyes darkened, not with rage but something more controlled. Dangerous.

“Don’t speak about her,” he said.

“Then stop surrounding me with her things,” I shot back.

He took a step toward me. Just one. It was enough.

“You resemble her,” he said quietly. “You are not her.”

“That doesn’t make this better.”

“No,” he agreed. “It makes it honest.”

We stood there, the space between us tight and charged.

“Why me?” I asked.

He looked at me for a long moment.

“Because you survived long enough to be useful.”

“That’s not the truth.”

A pause.

“Because you were already being sold,” he corrected. “I just took ownership.”

The word made my skin crawl.

“I won’t stay forever,” I said.

“You won’t leave today.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

He shook his head once. “You’re thinking too small.”

I crossed my arms. “I’m thinking about breathing.”

“That’s why you’re alive.”

I stared at him. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

“No.”

He turned away then, like the conversation was over.

“Rules,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll learn them as you break them.”

“And if I break the wrong one?”

He stopped at the doorway and glanced back.

“Then we’ll both regret it.”

He left.

I stood there long after he was gone, my heart pounding, my mind racing.

This place wasn’t meant to cage me.

It was meant to shape me.

And that terrified me more than chains ever could.