Chapter 1: The Dark Wedding Night

The silk of my bridal gown didn’t feel like luxury. It felt like a shroud.

I stood in the center of the master suite at the Rossi estate, my fingers trembling as I unlaced the delicate silk ribbons at the back of my corset. The mansion was dead silent, tucked away in the pine-dense hills outside New York, isolated from the rest of the world. Outside, thunder rolled across the night sky, sending low, ominous vibrations through the heavy oak floorboards under my bare feet.

I was twenty-two, and six hours ago, I had been traded away like a piece of livestock to settle my father’s crushing debt.

My husband was Lucian Rossi.

The name alone made hardened mob bosses speak in hushed, guarded tones. He was the undisputed Don of the East Coast, a man known for a merciless mind and an unforgiving hand. But six months ago, an ambush had left him bound to a wheelchair, a silent, brooding invalid who barely looked at me during our ten-minute chapel ceremony. He hadn't said a single word as he slipped a massive platinum band onto my finger. He had just stared straight ahead, cold and unblinking, while his brutal enforcers hovered around us like hungry vultures.

A sharp clap of thunder shook the floor, and the grand crystal chandelier above me flickered once, twice, before plunging the room into pitch black.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

"Lucian?" I called out, my voice barely a whisper against the vast silence of the room.

No answer. Only the rhythmic, heavy downpour of rain against the glass balcony doors.

I took a cautious step backward, feeling along the wall for a light switch, but a sudden breeze swept through the room as the balcony door clicked open. The scent of rain, cedar, and expensive woodsmoke filled the air, overpowering, dark, and distinctly masculine.

Before I could turn, a pair of large, heavy hands reached out from the shadows and seized my waist.

I gasped, my instinct pushing me to struggle, but the grip was like warm iron. In one swift, effortless movement, I was spun around and slammed gently yet firmly back against the plush mattress.

"Don't scream, little wife," a voice rasped into the dark.

The voice sent a jolt of pure electricity straight down my spine. It was deep, low, and smooth as aged whiskey, carrying a command that made my knees feel like water. This wasn't the voice of a frail, quiet man in a wheelchair.

This was the voice of a predator.

"Lucian?" I panted, my heart hammering against my ribs as his massive frame pressed down over mine in the blackness. I couldn't see a single feature, but the heat radiating off his body was scorching. He felt broad, impossibly built, and terrifyingly strong. "You... you can walk?"

A low, dark chuckle echoed against my throat. "You worry about the wrong things, Valerie."

His hand moved up my ribcage, his calloused thumb tracing the line of my collarbone before slipping into the loose neck of my gown. The contrast of his rough, burning skin against my sensitive surface sent a shudder running through me.

"Please," I whispered, though I wasn't even sure if I was begging him to stop or begging him to touch me more.

"Please what?" he purred, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, his breath hot against my sensitive skin. "Please fulfill the contract? Please give me what your father sold you for?"

He didn't give me time to answer. His mouth found mine in the dark, and any thought of resistance evaporated.

The kiss was brutal, possessive, and completely intoxicating. He took my breath like he owned it, his tongue parted my lips with practiced, ruthless dominance. I let out a soft whimper, my fingers instinctively digging into his shoulders. Beneath my palms, his muscles were coiled, hard, and pulsing with raw power.

He moved over me with practiced ease, his knee parting my legs as his hands made short work of the remaining lace on my wedding dress. The fabric tore slightly under his impatience, exposing my chest to the cool night air before his hot palms covered me, squeezing with a possessive intensity that made my head roll back into the pillows.

"You're shaking," he murmured against my throat, his teeth lightly grazing my pulse point.

"Because you're... you're terrifying," I gasped, arching into his touch as his hand slid down over my flat stomach, trailing fire everywhere he touched.

"Good," he growled. "Fear keeps you alive in this house. But right now, I don't want your fear, Valerie. I want your surrender."

His hand slipped beneath the hem of my silk skirt, sliding up the inside of my thigh with a slow, agonizing deliberation that made me arch off the bed. When his fingers found the damp silk of my underwear, he didn't ask for permission. He pushed the fabric aside, his long fingers finding the core of my heat with a precision that drew a sharp, helpless groan from my lips.

"So wet for a man you were forced to marry," he taunted softly, his thumb working in dark, rhythmic circles that sent sparks straight through my lower belly.

"Stop... teasing me," I begged, my fingers tangling in his thick, dark hair.

"I'm just getting started, my little bride."

He shifted down, his mouth following the trail of his hands. He dragged his lips down my chest, taking one hardened peak into his warm mouth, sucking deeply until I was twisting beneath him, completely out of my mind with desire. The sensory overload of the pitch-black room, the sound of the raging storm outside, and the sheer, overwhelming heat of his body tore away every ounce of my self-control.

When he drove two fingers deep inside me, I cried out his name, my hips lifting instinctively to meet his rhythm. He stroked me with a dark, relentless pace, building a tight, coiled knot of pleasure deep in my stomach that grew hotter with every second.

"Look at me," he commanded softly.

"I can't see you," I whimpered, my eyes wide in the darkness, trying desperately to trace the outline of his jaw, his shoulders, anything.

"You don't need to see me to know who owns you," he growled.

With a slick, deliberate motion, he pulled his fingers back, only to replace them with the broad, throbbing head of his length. He rested his weight over me, his chest crushing against mine as he pushed slowly, relentlessly into my tight heat.

The stretch was intense, filling me so completely that I gasped for air, clutching at his biceps. He paused for a single breath, letting me adjust to his massive size, before he buried himself all the way to the hilt with one long, heavy thrust.

I screamed softly into the dark, my eyes fluttering shut as a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over me.

He didn't give me time to catch my breath. He set a punishing, rhythmic pace, sliding out until he almost lost connection, only to plunge back in with possessive, ground-shaking force. The bed groaned under his weight, the wet sound of our joining filling the dark room alongside my frantic, breathless moans.

Every stroke was precise, hitting the exact spot inside me that made my toes curl and my vision turn to liquid gold. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, completely lost in the feral, intoxicating storm he was creating inside me.

"Lucian... Lucian!" I sobbed out, my climax hitting me like an absolute tidal wave.

My inner walls clamped around him violently. He groaned, a deep, animalistic sound from the back of his throat, and drove into me three more times with wild, uninhibited force before he stiffened, spilling his hot, heavy seed deep inside me with a shudder that shook his entire frame.

He collapsed over me, his heavy chest rising and falling against mine as we both panted into the dark air. For long minutes, neither of us moved. He kept his weight resting over me, his lips gently nuzzling the sensitive skin behind my ear as the storm outside slowly began to subside.

Eventually, he pulled out with a wet slide that left me feeling completely hollow and aching. He stood up in the dark, the rustle of his clothes returning as he dressed in silence.

"Sleep, Valerie," he said softly, his voice returning to that cold, distant tone. "Tomorrow, your new life begins."

I was too exhausted, too thoroughly wrecked by pleasure to argue. My eyelids felt heavy, and within minutes, the darkness pulled me under into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When the morning sun broke through the heavy velvet curtains, I woke up feeling sore, bruised, and intensely flushed. The memory of the night hit me all at once, making my skin burn with shame and lingering desire.

I wrapped a thick satin robe around myself and walked out toward the grand dining hall, my heart pounding. I needed to see him. I needed to look into the eyes of the man who had undone me so completely in the dark.

When I pushed open the double doors of the dining room, my steps faltered.

The morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the long oak table. Sitting at the head of the table was Lucian Rossi.

He was wearing an impeccably tailored gray suit, sitting motionless in a high-backed black leather wheelchair. His face was pale, his dark eyes hollow, and his hands rested limp and helpless on his lap. He looked frail, cold, and entirely broken.

"Good morning, Valerie," Lucian said, his voice flat, weak, and barely above a whisper. "I hope you slept comfortably. I apologize for not joining you last night. As you can see, my condition makes fulfilling marital obligations... quite impossible."

My stomach dropped. My blood turned to liquid ice.

What?

Before I could speak, a door on the side of the dining room swung open, and another man walked in.

He wore a dark fitted shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick, tattooed forearms. He walked with a smooth, lethal grace, carrying a glass of scotch despite it being nine in the morning.

I gasped, stumbling back a step.

He had the exact same razor-sharp jawline. The exact same dark, messy hair. The exact same towering, powerful frame.

It was his twin brother, Damian Rossi.

As Damian stepped into the light, his dark eyes locked onto mine. A slow, dangerous smirk spread across his lips as his gaze drifted down the length of my body, lingering on the subtle marks on my neck hidden beneath my robe.

He walked right up to me, stopping so close I could feel the intense heat radiating off his chest. He bent down, leaning close to my ear, his breath smelling of rich woodsmoke and whiskey.

"You look tired, sister-in-law," Damian whispered, his voice sending a violent shudder straight down my spine. "Did the shadows keep you up all night?”