Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Blood Debt

"Five million."

The voice was cold, echoing through the empty cathedral where the deal was being struck.

My father’s hands shook as he gripped the back of my chair. "She’s worth ten, Moretti. Look at her. She’s not just a face. She’s the best strategist in the tri-state area. She can quadruple your revenue in a month."

I stared at the man sitting in the front pew.

Dante Moretti. The Silent Don.

He didn't look at my father. He didn't look at the bodyguards flanking the altar.

His eyes were locked on me. They were dark, bottomless, and utterly predatory.

He didn't say a word. He didn't have to.

Dante raised a single finger.

"Six million," his Consigliere, Lorenzo, translated from the shadows. "And the Moretti family clears your gambling debt. Final offer."

"Deal!" my father gasped, his relief sickening. "She’s yours. Take her."

I stood up so fast the chair scraped against the marble floor like a scream. "I am not a piece of property to be traded between a coward and a mute."

The room went deathly silent.

The bodyguards reached for their holsters. My father turned pale.

"Bianca, shut up!" he hissed. "You're going to get us killed."

"Let them," I snapped, glaring at Dante. "If he wants my mind, he can ask for it. If he wants my body, he’ll have to take it from a corpse."

Dante finally moved.

He stood up slowly. He was a mountain of muscle wrapped in charcoal silk. He walked toward me, his footsteps heavy and deliberate.

Every step felt like a drumbeat of doom.

He stopped inches from me. The scent of sandalwood and expensive bourbon hit me, thick and intoxicating.

He didn't speak. He just looked down at me, his jaw tight.

"What?" I challenged, tilting my chin up. "No clever comeback? No threats? I forgot—you don't talk, do you?"

Dante’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around the back of my neck.

I gasped, the heat of his palm burning into my skin. He pulled me closer until our chests touched.

"Don’t," I whispered, though my heart was hammering against my ribs.

He leaned down, his lips ghosting over my ear. I expected a whisper. I expected a growl.

Instead, he bit the lobe of my ear—hard enough to make me jump, soft enough to send a shiver down my spine.

"The Don doesn't negotiate with his property," Lorenzo said, stepping forward. "He owns it."

"He owns nothing," I spat, trying to pull away.

Dante’s grip tightened. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box. He flipped it open.

Inside was a ring. But it wasn't a diamond. It was a jagged piece of black onyx set in blood-red gold.

"Put it on," Lorenzo commanded.

"No."

Dante didn't wait. He grabbed my left hand. His fingers were twice the size of mine, calloused and rough. He forced the ring onto my finger.

It was freezing cold.

"Congratulations, Bianca," my father said, already backing toward the exit. "You’re a Moretti now."

"You coward!" I screamed at his retreating back. "You sold your own daughter!"

"He saved your life," Lorenzo countered, his voice flat. "The Romanovs were coming for you tonight. Dante just moved the target to his own chest."

I turned back to Dante. He was watching me with an unreadable expression.

"Is that true?" I demanded. "You bought me to protect me?"

Dante didn't nod. He didn't blink.

He reached out and traced the line of my jaw with his thumb. It was a possessive, terrifying gesture.

He then leaned in and pressed his forehead against mine. For a second, it felt almost intimate.

Then, he shoved a piece of paper into my hand and turned away.

I unfolded it.

It wasn't a marriage license. It was a list of names. My names.

Bianca the Prodigy. Bianca the Ghost. Bianca the Thief.

At the bottom, a single sentence was written in elegant, sharp handwriting:

Show me the vault, or I’ll show you the grave.

"Wait!" I called out as he started walking toward the doors. "How do you even know about the Romanov vault? Nobody knows that exists!"

Dante stopped. He didn't turn around.

He raised his hand and made a sharp cutting motion across his throat.

"He says the dead told him," Lorenzo translated. "And if you keep talking, you'll be the next one to give him a tip."

"I'm not helping you," I said, even as my mind started racing through the security protocols of the vault. "You can't force me to think."

Dante turned his head just enough for me to see the corner of his mouth twitch. A smirk?

He snapped his fingers.

Two giants grabbed my arms, lifting me off the ground.

"Hey! Put me down!"

They ignored me, dragging me toward a waiting armored SUV.

"Dante! Look at me!" I yelled.

He stood by the car door, waiting.

When they reached him, he didn't help me inside. He grabbed my chin again, forcing me to look at the ring on my finger.

He tapped the onyx stone twice.

Suddenly, a small needle pricked my skin.

"What... what did you do?" I stumbled, my legs suddenly feeling like lead.

The world began to tilt. The dark cathedral started to blur into a haze of shadows.

Dante caught me before I hit the pavement.

For the first time, I felt the rough texture of his suit against my cheek. He lifted me into his arms like I weighed nothing.

As my eyes struggled to stay open, I saw him lean down.

This time, his lips touched mine. It wasn't a kiss. It was a claim. Cold, hard, and absolute.

"Sleep, little genius," a voice rumbled.

It was deep. It was gravelly. It sounded like it hadn't been used in a century.

My heart skipped a beat.

He spoke.

But as darkness took me, I realized the terrifying truth.

He hadn't spoken to comfort me.

He had spoken to let me know that the silence was a choice—and now that he had me, he didn't need to be quiet anymore.

The car door slammed shut, sealing me into his world.