Mia’s face flickered behind my eyelids: her breath, her fear, the fire she tried to hide.The heat of her body against the cold wall.That moment was burned into me.
Anticipation unfurled—more than lust.Possession.Not to break her, but to bind her willingly.
Control was an art I’d mastered long ago.Men, markets, empires—bent by my will.
Mia would be my masterpiece.Not a possession.Proof.A new era was coming, and when it did, she would stand beside me—my equal in name, my counterpart in power.
My queen.
13
MIA
I traced the rim of my cup, the soft clink echoing in the quiet.My father sat across from me, a fortress of a man—every line on his face carved by sacrifice, survival, and the price of our world.
“Father.”My voice barely disturbed the silence.“Enrico’s persistence...it makes me feel like I’m walking a razor’s edge.”
He lifted his gaze from the newspaper, eyes shadowed and unreadable.
“Do you not fear what binding ourselves to him might bring?”I pressed, fingers tightening around the cup.
He folded the paper.“Fear is a tool.We use it.We don’t surrender to it.”
“But Enrico?—”
“Enrico is power,” he interrupted.“And power is something we understand.”
The cryptic answer soothed nothing.I nodded anyway; the conversation ended like a door closing.
By dusk, restlessness crawled beneath my skin.I wandered through the halls, my reflection flickering across dark glass and polished marble.Enrico’s presence lingered even when he wasn’t there—magnetic, dangerous.
I stopped before the grand mirror in the foyer and stared at the woman staring back.A woman caught in a web, bound to a man who terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.
Was it love making my heart race—or fear?
That kiss had undone me.I wanted more—God help me; I did—but I was grateful he hadn’t pushed for it.If he had, I wasn’t sure I would’ve stopped him.Maybe I should just give in.Let him have what he wanted.Let myself feel something wild, reckless, alive.But I knew better.With Enrico, surrender was never just physical—it was permanent.
Whatever I decided would change everything.Being single in our world was dangerous.But being his wife might be worse.Still, I slipped into an evening gown and painted on composure like armor.Tonight, I would face him again—and whatever game he had planned.
Parties were an every week occurrence when you had my last name, but at least the alcohol was free.It made it a little more bearable.I’d never been one for small talk and pretending to like someone just because of their last name.My father though, he was an expert by now.You couldn’t look at him and tell.He’d gotten so good at faking it.
“Are you ready?Guests will start to arrive soon.”My father tweaked his tie and took another drink of his scotch.“That dress is beautiful, honey.Really brings out your eyes.Remember, just mingle and have a good time.”
Within ten minutes, the six families were gathered, all silk and polish, pretending not to notice the cracks beneath their own perfection.My fingers tightened around the stem of my wineglass as I scanned the room.Masks of civility smiled back.No one here feared anything—they were feared.
Relief flickered when I spotted Catrina near the far wall, a familiar anchor in a sea of wolves.What was she doing here?Her dark hair was twisted into a perfect updo, pearls glinting at her throat.When our eyes met, she moved toward me.
“Chin up,” she murmured, squeezing my arm.“He hasn’t arrived yet.”
Her reassurance did little to quiet the drum in my chest.“What are you even doing here?”I whispered.Before she could answer, silence swept in like a tide.Heads turned.Enrico entered.The cut of his suit, the sharpness of his jaw, the weight of his gaze—all of it commanded attention.And my lungs burned.Ever since that kiss… my whole body had been waiting for another.
“I’ll be right back,” Catrina said, slipping away.
I stood alone.The orchestra began a slow waltz, strings haunting as a heartbeat.Enrico’s gaze found mine.I tried to fight myself to breathe as he made his way toward me.He is just a guy.Stop making him into god.
“May I have this dance?”he asked.
My throat went dry.I placed my hand in his.He led; I followed.His palm rested firm against my back, steady, possessive.The scent of spice and cedar wrapped around me.
