Chapter 1: Black Silk Noose

The veil itches against my cheek. I walk down the aisle anyway, heels clicking on cold marble that echoes through the empty chapel like gunshots. Every step feels like trading my future for the lives of what’s left of my family.

My mother sits in the front row, her face a porcelain mask, fingers white around a gin and tonic disguised as tea. Tommy isn’t here—he’s been stashed in a safe house with armed guards who work for the same monster I’m about to marry. The scent of lilies clogs my throat.

Matteo Castellano stands motionless in his tailored black suit, ice-blue eyes locked on me like I’m already his. Those eyes have watched me for years. I felt them at my graduation, at my twenty-first birthday party, in the shadows outside my favorite café where I used to sketch in peace.

The priest’s voice drones on in Latin that means nothing here. I stare at Matteo’s scarred knuckles as he reaches for my hand. The ring slides on too easily, cold platinum biting into my skin. His thumb presses against my pulse point.

"You belong to me now, Simone," he murmurs, so low only I can hear. His breath brushes my ear, carrying gun oil and expensive cologne. "Body and blood. Try to run and I’ll drag you back by that pretty hair."

I want to spit in his face. Instead I smile for the hidden cameras, cheeks tight with the effort. My thighs clench under the silk. I trace the scar on my wrist without thinking.

When he kisses me, his mouth crashes against mine, bruising, demanding. His hand cups the back of my neck, fingers tangling in the pins holding my hair. I taste blood—mine or his, I can’t tell.

I pull away gasping, lips swollen. The priest pronounces us husband and wife to scattered applause. Matteo’s eyes gleam with triumph. My mother’s warning from last night echoes in my head: find the cracks.

---

The reception is a suffocating affair in the estate’s grand ballroom. Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light across black tablecloths. I stand beside my new husband accepting congratulations from men whose hands are stained with my father’s death.

My mother pulls me aside near the bar, her grip surprisingly strong on my elbow.

"Don’t fight him too hard, sweetheart," she whispers, breath heavy with gin. "This world breaks the ones who resist openly. Find the cracks. Use them." Her eyes dart toward Matteo, who’s watching us with that predatory stillness.

I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper. "He killed Dad, Mom. How can you stand there and—"

"Your father made his choices," she cuts in, voice cracking just slightly. "We all did. Now survive them." She squeezes my arm once more before gliding away.

Luca Rossi approaches next, his dark curls disheveled as usual. He swirls whiskey in a glass, silver lighter clicking open and shut in his other hand.

"Boss, you sure about this one?" Luca says, not bothering to lower his voice. "She’s got that look—like she’s measuring your neck for a rope. Can’t say I blame her after what we did to her old man."

Matteo’s hand settles at the small of my back, possessive and warm through the silk. "Enough, Luca. Simone understands the price of peace." His fingers press harder, a silent command.

I smile at Luca, all teeth. "Call me Mrs. Castellano. Or don’t call me at all." The words come out sharper than I intended, but Luca just laughs again.

Hours blur into forced smiles and veiled threats disguised as toasts. My feet ache in the black heels that match my dress. Matteo never leaves my side, his presence a constant pressure at my back.

When the last guests finally depart, he leads me upstairs without a word. The estate corridors stretch long and shadowed. His bedroom—our bedroom now—looms at the end of the hall, double doors like the gates to some private hell.

Inside, everything is black silk and dark wood. The bed dominates the room, sheets pulled tight like a challenge. I stand in the center, arms wrapped around myself.

Matteo loosens his tie with one scarred hand, the motion practiced and deliberate. His eyes never leave mine as he shrugs off his jacket, revealing the gun holstered at his side. He sets it on the nightstand with careful precision.

"Take off the dress," he says, voice low and rough now that we’re alone.

I hesitate, fingers trembling on the zipper. My skin flushes hot under his stare. "I hate you," I whisper, but my nipples tighten against the silk.

He steps closer, backing me against the bed until my knees hit the mattress. "Good. Hate me while you come on my cock, Simone. I want to feel every ounce of that fire when I’m inside you." His hand comes up to trace my jaw.

I shove at his chest, but he catches my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand. His other slides down my side, bunching the black silk until it rides up my thighs. Cool air hits my skin and I shiver.

His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing the pulse point there. I arch against him before I can stop myself. A small sound escapes my throat. His free hand slips between my legs, fingers brushing against the lace of my panties.

"Already wet for me," he murmurs against my skin. His voice is thick with satisfaction. "Your father begged at the end, Simone. Got on his knees and offered everything. But you—you’ll beg for something very different."

His words hit like ice water, yet my hips roll against his hand anyway. I turn my face away, biting hard on the inside of my cheek. The grief sits heavy in my chest, pressing against my ribs until it’s hard to breathe.

Matteo releases my wrists but doesn’t step back. Instead he cups my face, forcing me to look at him. Those blue-grey eyes are stormier than usual, a flicker of something unreadable tightening his jaw for half a second.

Then it’s gone. He kisses me again, slower this time, coaxing my mouth open with his tongue. I hate how easily I respond, how my hands fist in his shirt instead of pushing him away.

His fingers hook into my panties, sliding them down my legs with deliberate care. The silk dress pools around my waist as he pushes me back onto the bed, following me down. The mattress dips under his weight.

His mouth trails down my body, leaving marks that will bruise tomorrow. His scarred knuckles brush my inner thigh, spreading me open. When his tongue finds my clit, I bite back a moan that feels like surrender.

My fingers tangle in his dark hair, pulling hard enough to hurt. He growls against me, the vibration shooting straight to my core. Two thick fingers slide inside me without warning, curling just right.

The orgasm rips through me, my thighs clamping around his head. I cry out his name before I can stop myself. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes as my body shakes.

Matteo rises over me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are wild now, control fraying at the edges. He frees himself from his pants, cock thick and heavy as he notches it against my entrance.

"Look at me," he commands, voice gravel-rough. When I do, he thrusts inside in one brutal stroke, stretching me so perfectly I see stars.

We move together in a rhythm that feels too natural. His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining above my head as he drives deeper. The scar on my wrist presses against his.

I’m close again when the first gunshot shatters the night.

The bedroom door explodes inward in a spray of wood and plaster. Matteo’s body covers mine instantly, shielding me even as he reaches for the gun on the nightstand. His weight presses me into the mattress, heart hammering against my chest.

"Stay down," he growls, voice deadly calm now. But his eyes when they meet mine hold something raw—fear, not for himself, but for me.

Another shot rings out, closer this time. Glass shatters somewhere down the hall. I clutch at his shirt, silk and blood and terror mixing as I realize this might be how it ends.

Matteo’s hand tightens on the gun, knuckles white. "They won’t touch you," he promises, but his voice carries the weight of secrets I haven’t uncovered yet. "Not while I’m breathing."

The hallway fills with shouts and running feet. Luca’s voice bellows something crude and furious. But all I can focus on is the man above me, the one whose body still connects with mine even as death closes in.

His blue-grey eyes bore into mine. "This isn’t over, Simone. Not by a fucking long shot."

I don’t know if he means the attack or us. Both possibilities terrify me equally. As another bullet whines past the doorway, I realize with sickening clarity that I don’t want him to die.

And that might be the most dangerous truth of all.