Florence, Italy
24 Hours Later
The city's bells echoed in the cold morning light as Arohi stood motionless in front of the mirror, staring at a version of herself she didn't recognize.
A silk ivory wedding gown —delicate, hand-embroidered, draped over her like a soft noose. Her hair pinned up in waves, skin pale under the weight of fear. Eyes rimmed with kohl but empty inside.
She looked like a bride.
But she felt like a pawn.
Behind her, the rusted door to her apartment creaked open. Two tall men in black suits entered without a word. Silent shadows. She didn't ask who they were. She already knew.
Dante had come through on his word. He didn't return, but his presence was everywhere—in the unread contract on her nightstand, in the silver car parked outside her building all morning, in the finality of this moment.
She was choosing it.
Not for love.
Not for survival.
But because the alternative meant disappearing without a trace.
Somewhere in the Hills Outside Florence
A Private Villa, 7:00 p.m.
The wedding wasn't in a church.
It was in a stone courtyard, hidden deep within the hills—ancient, haunted, and closed off from the world. Ivy crawled up cracked walls. Candle flames flickered in the wind like whispers.
No guests.
No music.
Only shadows. And Dante.
He stood at the altar like a god carved from vengeance and fire—clad in an all-black suit, no tie, sharp jaw tense, eyes unreadable. A red rose in his lapel, a cruel contrast to the void in his expression.
When Arohi stepped out of the car, their eyes met.
Something shifted.
She expected dominance. Arrogance.
But instead… there was a flicker of something else.
Regret?
It vanished quickly. He turned away.
She walked down the aisle alone.
No father. No music. No hope.
The priest spoke in Italian, fast and emotionless.
"Vuoi prendere questa donna come tua sposa legittima?"
Dante's jaw ticked. "Sì."
The priest turned to her. "Vuoi prendere quest'uomo come tuo sposo legittimo?"
Arohi's hands trembled. Her breath caught.
She could still say no.
She could run.
She could—
"Sì," she whispered.
The moment the words left her lips, a tremor passed through the earth. Or maybe… just through her soul.
He slid a black diamond ring onto her finger. Cold. Heavy. Final.
And just like that, the vows were done.
She was Arohi Salvatore now.
But the silence that followed was louder than any celebration.
---
Later That Night
Inside the Villa
The bedroom was massive. Antique furniture. Marble floors. A four-poster bed too big for comfort.
And only one bed.
Arohi stood at the edge of the room, heart pounding as she clutched the edge of her gown. She didn't know what would come next.
But Dante didn't move toward her.
Instead, he walked to the window, pulling out a cigarette, lighting it slowly.
"I don't sleep with strangers," he said without looking back.
His voice was low. Hollow.
She didn't know whether to feel relieved or insulted.
"You married one," she murmured.
He turned, eyes meeting hers across the room.
And something in him cracked.
"You think this is what I wanted?" he said sharply. "You think I planned to be stitched up by a girl who smells like lilies and walks into fire for people she doesn't know?"
She blinked. "Then why—"
"Because they would've killed you otherwise!" he snapped, walking toward her, cigarette discarded, fury building in every step. "Because the second you saved me, you became bait! And I—"
He stopped, inches from her face, breathing heavily.
"I don't lose the people I care about," he said hoarsely.
Her heart stuttered. "You care?"
His eyes darkened. "I didn't say that."
Silence.
Only the sound of her shaky breath and the fire crackling in the corner.
"Why are they after you?" she asked finally. "Who tried to kill you?"
His jaw clenched.
"You don't need to know."
"But I'm your wife now," she said bitterly.
Something twisted in his face at that word. Wife.
He stepped away.
"I made enemies a long time ago," he said slowly. "One of them betrayed me. Someone I trusted."
Arohi watched the way his shoulders tensed. Like he was haunted by a ghost only he could see.
"Someone you loved?" she asked gently.
His silence was the answer.
After a long pause, he spoke, voice quieter. "She handed me over to my enemies. Set up the ambush. Laughed while they stabbed me."
Arohi's breath caught.
"She was my fiancée."
The air grew heavy.
He looked at her, something raw flickering behind his mask. "So, no, Arohi. I don't trust easily. I don't love. I don't forgive."
He stepped toward the door.
"You're safe here. There are guards outside. You'll find clothes in the closet. Don't try to leave."
And just before he shut the door, he looked back at her one last time.
"I may be the devil, Arohi… but you're the first light I've seen in a long time."
The door closed behind him.
And Arohi… sank to the bed, her heart drowning in questions.
Who betrayed him?
Was this truly protection—or revenge in disguise?
And why… did her heart ache for the monster she'd just married?
---
Cliffhanger for Chapter 4:
Arohi begins to uncover secrets in the villa. A shadow follows her. A coded letter arrives—signed by someone from Dante's past. And when danger creeps into her room one night… it won't be Dante who finds her first.