Blood.
It coated the marble floor, glistened under the silver moonlight pouring through shattered windows, and dripped from the sharp claws of the man—no, the beast—that stood at the heart of the massacre.
Dante Valerio, the Mafia King. Feared. Untouched. Unchallenged.
And no longer human.
His chest rose and fell with each breath, the low growl in his throat vibrating through the silence. Around him, bodies lay twisted and broken—rivals who had dared to cross him. Men who had thought bullets and fire would be enough.
They didn't know what he truly was. They didn't know the ancient, cursed blood that ran through his veins. But they would learn. They all would.
From the shadows, a soft gasp escaped.
He turned.
She stood there, barefoot, trembling, her nightgown torn. Blood stained her cheek—not her own.
Selena.
The girl he had claimed as his. The girl fate had cruelly placed in his path.
His mate.
His obsession.
Her eyes met his glowing ones. No scream came. No tears. Just the rise of her chin, the fire of defiance.
Even now, she wasn't afraid of him. Not truly.
And that terrified him more than anything.
"You're a monster," she whispered.
Dante stepped closer, each movement slow and controlled. "I warned you, little dove."
"You didn't tell me the truth."
"I didn't have to. You felt it. The bond."
Her voice cracked. "I'm not yours."
He stopped inches from her, his clawed hand reaching up—not to harm, but to brush a lock of hair behind her ear.
His touch was gentle. His power was not.
"You were mine the moment you stepped into my world," he said, voice rough with ancient magic and lust.
"And I'll burn that truth into your soul... until you never forget who you belong to."