LOGINElena Moretti has spent her life fighting for scraps of affection from a father who never truly wanted her. So when she is offered in marriage to Luca De Santis: the cold, powerful mafia heir who has every reason to hate her family, Elena knows exactly what she is: a sacrifice. To Luca, the wedding is revenge dressed in silk. Elena is the daughter of the man he blames for his parents' deaths, and taking her as his wife is the perfect way to make the Morettis pay. He doesn't want her love, her trust, or her heart. He wants obedience, distance, and control. But Elena is not what he expected. Beneath her gentle smile is a woman shaped by quiet neglect, and the more Luca watches her, the harder it becomes to see her as the enemy. As his walls begin to crack, jealousy, resentment, and old hatred gather in the shadows of his home. When stolen secrets go missing and Elena is framed for betrayal, Luca makes the cruelest mistake of all - he believes she is her father's daughter. By the time the truth is uncovered, it is too late. The woman who returns from prison is no longer the soft, hopeful bride he married. Silent, shattered, and carrying wounds he can never undo, Elena becomes the living proof of Luca's failure. Now the man who married her for vengeance must face something far worse than hate: the unbearable ruin of losing the only woman he was too blind to love until he broke her.
View MoreThe next morning, Luca was impossible.Not absent.That would have been easier.He was present.Completely.At breakfast. In the corridor. In the west hall while speaking to two of his men. At lunch, where he sat at the head of the smaller table and discussed shipments as if he had not kissed her breathless against a chair twelve hours earlier.He didn't look away from her.He also did not speak of it.Elena hated him for that a little.Possibly more because she admired it.Adriana noticed something by midmorning. Of course she did. She noticed the way Elena went too still when Luca entered a room. The way Luca's gaze found Elena before anyone else and then moved on too carefully. The way silence between them had turned dense enough to be visible if one looked directly at it.But if Adriana knew, she said nothing.Camilla, however, noticed the atmosphere without understanding its cause, which made her brittle all day.By afternoon, Elena had escaped to the greenhouse for air.The work
There it was again. Mine. Not gentle. Never gentle. But no less powerful for that. Elena's mouth went dry. She should have looked away. She didn't. And because she didn't, the room changed. Not all at once. Just enough. A shift in the silence. A sharpening of his gaze. The slow, dangerous awareness of standing too close to something that could ruin her if she leaned even a little further. Luca took one step toward her. Then stopped. The distance between them was still respectable. Safe, if either of them truly wanted safety. His voice dropped another fraction. "Does that frighten you?" Elena could have lied. She almost did. Instead she answered with the truth that had been stalking her for days. "Not as much as it should." Something flashed in his eyes. Not triumph. Something darker. Hunger restrained so hard it was beginning to look like pain. Elena's breath caught. The silence deepened again. Then Luca lifted one hand and, very slowly, tucked a loose strand
That night, Luca came to her rooms long after midnight smelling of cold air, smoke, and the faint metallic trace of blood. Elena was awake. Not because she meant to be. Because sleep had never come properly after the courtyard. She had changed into a cream nightgown and sat in the small sitting room beside the dying fire with a book open on her lap and no memory at all of what she'd read. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the kneeling man again. Heard Luca's voice asking who had ordered the shot on his wife. My wife. The words had lodged somewhere under her ribs and refused to move. When the knock came, soft and unexpected, her heart jumped once before settling into a harder rhythm. She opened the door herself. Luca stood there alone. His coat was unbuttoned, dark hair slightly disordered, his expression carved into that familiar unreadable severity. But tonight there was something else too. Not just fatigue. A tension that seemed wound tighter than usual under the skin
But the next morning, Tomas arrived at the greenhouse with six trays of white lily bulbs and said only, "Orders." Elena said nothing. She only touched one of the bulbs with her fingertip and felt something warm and painful unfold inside her chest. He had listened. He always listened. He simply preferred pretending he didn't. By the end of that week, the greenhouse had begun to change. Broken panes were replaced. Vines were trimmed back rather than stripped entirely. The eastern corner became hers, a place for climbing jasmine, old stone benches, and a reading chair once everything was clean enough to allow one inside. Workers moved around her with respectful quiet. Guards remained outside, always outside, because Luca had apparently decided there were still ways to watch over her without making the act unbearable. And slowly, dangerously, the house began to notice a shift in her too. She laughed once with Tomas when he told her a story about Luca as a furious child pulling up
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