Chapter Two: Jason’s World

The city never slept where Jason lived. Its heartbeat was the sound of engines revving, gunshots echoing in the distance, and men whispering about debts that could only be repaid in blood. Skyscrapers glittered above, but down in the alleys, shadows ruled. To most, the streets were dangerous. To Jason, they were home.

Jason DeLuca was the eldest son of Antonio DeLuca—the man who controlled half underground empire with an iron fist and a cold stare. While Emily grew up beneath chandeliers and stained-glass windows, Jason’s life was shaped in smoke-filled rooms where power and betrayal were traded like currency.

His childhood was not built on innocence. At ten years old, his father had placed a gun in his

hands for the first time. At twelve, he had been dragged to a warehouse where a traitor was

executed. At sixteen, Jason had pulled the trigger himself. Not because he wanted to, but

because hesitation was punished.

Antonio raised him with rules, not affection. “You are not just my son, ” he’d remind him, you are my heir. Weakness in you is weakness in me. And I will not have a weak heir.

Jason listened. He obeyed. But obedience had sharpened him into something else—something that both terrified and fascinated the men who worked under him.

On the streets, his name carried weight. Jason DeLuca was not a man people crossed lightly. Rivals cursed him in whispers, women chased him like a dangerous thrill, and his allies respected him because he demanded it. He walked with the kind of confidence that came from knowing he could kill a man before he finished blinking.

But beneath the cold exterior, there were cracks—small ones, buried deep. He still carried the locket his mother had left behind, though he never wore it. He rarely spoke of her, but at night, when the noise of the city dulled, he found himself wondering what kind of man he would have become if she had lived. Would he have been softer? Would love have been possible?

His father would scoff at the thought.

“Love is a trap, ”Antonio often said. “It makes men foolish. It makes them blind. You don’t need love you need loyalty. You don’t need affection—you need fear. Men who love die early. Men who are feared live forever.

”So Jason buried the ache. He let his world revolve around loyalty, duty, and the empire that

would one day be his.

He had few people he truly trusted. Ryan, his closest friend, was one of them. Ryan had grown up in the mafia the same way Jason had—his family loyal to the DeLucas for generations. Where Jason was calculated, Ryan was reckless. Where Jason thought three steps ahead, Ryan liked the thrill of the moment. But together, they made a brutal pair.

Then there was Peter—his younger brother. Peter was different. He had Antonio’s intelligence but not his brutality. He was quieter, more thoughtful, always scribbling in notebooks when others were drinking or training. Antonio thought Peter was too soft to inherit the empire, but Jason knew better. His brother was sharp, observant, and far more dangerous than he let on.

Still, Jason protected Peter from the harshest edges of their world. Someone in the family had to remain untouched, he thought. Even if Peter would never admit it, Jason carried the weight so his brother wouldn’t have to.

One night, Jason stood on the balcony of the DeLuca estate, cigarette between his fingers,

watching the city lights glitter like shards of glass below. His life stretched before him like a road paved with blood. Respect, fear, power—they were his constant companions. But freedom? That had never been an option.

His future had been chosen the moment he was born: inherit the empire, marry for alliance, die as a DeLuca.

He still remembered the day his father first made that clear. They had been in the study—Antonio sitting behind his oak desk, whiskey in hand, eyes sharp as steel.

“Our world isn’t built on love, Jason, “Antonio said.

“It’s built on loyalty and fear. Love makes men reckless. Weak. I didn’t raise you to be weak. You’ll marry when I say, to whom I say. Not for you—for the empire.

”Jason hadn’t flinched. He’d only nodded. But that night, when he was alone, he’d wondered what it would be like to choose for himself. To live for himself.

That thought vanished the moment King Edward entered his life.

Jason had walked into the dining hall one evening to find his father seated across from the king himself. King Edward carried himself with quiet authority, dressed in royal regality that clashed against Antonio’s ruthless edge. Yet the two men shook hands like equals, sealing something with their gaze before Jason even sat down.

“Jason, ” Antonio said, beckoning him closer,

family will be bound to ours.

“Jason’s sharp gaze flicked from his father to the king. His instincts pricked. This wasn’t just a meeting. This was a deal.

King Edward studied him with cool eyes before saying, “A fine heir. Strong. Fierce. Perhaps even worthy of my daughter”.

Jason didn’t speak, but his jaw tightened. The Rose Princess. Emily. He had heard of her, though faintly—a symbol of innocence, adored by the public, untouchable. And now, she was being offered like a pawn on a chessboard.

When the two men excused themselves to finalize their terms, Jason lingered in the hall, leaning against the wall as he lit another cigarette. He didn’t need to hear the words. He already knew. An arranged marriage. A bond between a crown and a kingdom of blood.

He exhaled smoke and smirked bitterly. A princess. They wanted to tie him to a doll wrapped in silk.

He expected her to be delicate, naive, maybe even frightened of the dark world he lived in.

So be it, he thought. He would play the role his father demanded. He would marry the Rose Princess if it secured the empire. She would be his queen on paper, his prisoner in truth.

But even as he told himself that, a flicker of curiosity stirred in his chest. Who was Emily, really? Was she the fragile girl painted by the media? Or was there something hidden beneath the roses?

Jason didn’t know. But he would find out.

And when their worlds collided, he knew one thing for certain—nothing would remain untouched.