Bound By Vengeance

The silk gown hanging on the bed might as well have been a noose.

White lace, long sleeves, pearls stitched into the bodice—perfect for a princess. Except I wasn’t a princess. I was a prisoner.

Tomorrow, I would marry Dante Moretti, the heir to the Italian Mafia. My father called it an alliance. I called it a death sentence.

I stood in front of the mirror, my dark hair spilling over my shoulders like a storm I couldn’t contain. My red dress clung to me like defiance. I wasn’t supposed to wear red tonight. Too bold. Too sinful. Too much like me. But if the men in this world wanted a meek bride, they’d chosen the wrong daughter.

A sharp knock rattled my door.

“Selena,” came my father’s voice. Stern, commanding. “Don’t make me wait.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbed my lipstick, and painted my mouth blood-red. If I had to walk into the lion’s den, I’d do it looking like sin itself.

The grand dining hall glittered with crystal chandeliers and polished silver. Every chair was filled with men in dark suits and women adorned like trophies. Glasses clinked, deals were whispered, and at the head of the table sat Dante Moretti.

My future husband.

He leaned back in his chair like he owned the world. Sharp jaw, midnight hair, a mouth carved in cruelty. His black suit looked like it had been stitched onto his body. But it wasn’t his beauty that made the air vanish from the room. It was his eyes. Cold, assessing, as if he already knew every secret I had ever kept.

Our gazes collided. Heat licked my spine—not desire, no, never desire. Fury. Hatred. A dangerous spark that neither of us could look away from.

“Selena,” my father said, motioning me forward. “Greet your fiancé.”

My fiancé. The word tasted like poison.

I sauntered toward Dante, hips swaying deliberately. If I had to be sold like cattle, I would at least enjoy the way his jaw tightened when he looked at me. I stopped in front of him, close enough that he could smell my perfume—vanilla laced with fire.

“Dante,” I said sweetly, extending my hand. “Or do you prefer Il Falco?”

His mouth curved, not into a smile but something darker. “I prefer husband. You’ll use it soon enough.”

The room went still. A challenge had been thrown, and every man and woman present knew it.

I leaned down, close to his ear, my lips brushing the air between us. “Don’t count on it.”

For a heartbeat, I thought I saw amusement flicker in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by something colder. Something that promised he wasn’t a man who lost.

And as I pulled away, my pulse racing, I realized one terrifying truth.

The game had already begun.

Dante POV

The moment she walked into the hall in that red dress, I knew Selena Cruz was going to be a problem.

Not the kind of problem you erase with a bullet to the head.

No—she was the kind that got under your skin, the kind that made you want to taste fire even if you knew it would burn you alive.

She didn’t bow her head like the other women. She didn’t smile politely, or keep her voice soft. She walked into a room full of killers dressed like a temptress, painted her lips blood-red, and dared me to break her.

And God help me, I wanted to.

Dinner passed in a blur of meaningless chatter—our fathers talking money, territory, loyalty. I played along, but my eyes kept returning to her. The way she rolled hers at her father. The way she refused to touch her wine when he ordered her to. The way her laughter was sharp, almost mocking, like a blade sliding between ribs.

She wasn’t just rebelling. She was testing me.

When the meal ended, I rose from my chair and offered her my arm. “A word, fiancée.”

Her chin lifted in defiance. “No, thank you.”

Gasps fluttered through the room. My jaw ticked, but I didn’t let the mask crack. I simply leaned closer, my voice dropping low enough for her alone.

“You have a choice, Selena,” I murmured, my lips brushing her ear. “Walk with me now, or I’ll carry you out in front of everyone.”

Her eyes flashed—furious, wild—but after a long, tense beat, she slipped her hand into mine. Her nails dug into my skin. I almost smiled.

I led her down a quiet corridor, away from prying eyes, until the noise of the dining hall faded into silence. Only then did I turn, pressing her back against the wall with one hand braced beside her head.

She glared up at me, fire burning in her gaze. “Touch me again and I’ll cut off your hand.”

“Careful,” I drawled, leaning closer, inhaling her scent—sweet vanilla with an edge of spice. “Threats excite me.”

Her breath hitched, just slightly. Not fear. Something else. Desire? Rage? Both were the same in my world.

“You think you scare me, Dante Moretti?” she spat. “I’d rather die than be your obedient little wife.”

I studied her face, the fury carved into every perfect line. God, she was magnificent when she was angry. “Good,” I said softly. “Because I don’t want obedience, Selena. I want your fight. I want every ounce of that hatred you carry.”

Her lips parted in shock.

I smirked, dragging my thumb across the edge of her jaw. “You’ll be mine either way. But I’d rather you come to me burning.”

And before she could retort, I stepped back, leaving her pressed against the wall, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

The game had begun. And unlike her, I never lost.