MARKED BY THE WRONG BROTHER

The scent of copper and expensive scotch filled the air. It was a thick, cloying smell that coated the back of the throat, but neither of the men in the room seemed to notice.

"Please," the man on his knees gurgled, blood bubbling past his lips. "I didn't... I didn't know."

Andre Volkov didn't blink. He just adjusted the diamond cufflink on his left wrist, checking his reflection in the grand mirror of the vestry. He looked impeccable. A tuxedo blacker than a sinner’s soul, hair slicked back, the ink of his tattoos creeping up his neck like ivy strangling a tree.

"You didn't know?" Andre asked, his voice a deceptively light baritone. He turned, "You tried to plant a bomb under the altar of my wedding, and you say you didn't know?"

Thud.

Andre’s polished shoe connected with the man’s ribs. The crack was sickeningly loud in the silent room.

"I’m getting married in twenty minutes," Andre roared, his composure snapping.

 "This is supposed to be the merger of the century. The union of the Volkov and Rossi packs. And you bring a bomb to my house?"

He kicked the man again. Harder.

In the corner, sitting in a velvet armchair was Theo.

While Andre shouted and broke bones, Theo hadn't moved a muscle.

He held a glass of whiskey loosely in one hand, his eyes—identical to Andre’s in color but slightly darker in depth was staring at the dying man with boredom.

"He’s bleeding on the rug, Andre," Theo said. His voice was softer, "Bella will trip on the stain."

"Let her trip," Andre spat, wiping a speck of blood from his knuckles. "She needs to learn the ground she walks on is paid for with blood. Get rid of him."

Theo finally moved. He stood up, set the glass down, and walked over to the whimpering intruder.

He didn't shout. He simply reached down, gripped the man’s chin, and with a swift, brutal jerk, snapped his neck.

Silence fell over the room.

Theo looked at his brother. "Clean yourself up. You look like a butcher, not a groom."

"I am both," Andre scoffed, though he grabbed a towel. "Are the security perimeters secure?"

"I handled it," Theo said, stepping back as the door handle jiggled. "Remember the plan. Tonight is about the alliance. Don't scare the little bird too much before the cage door shuts."

"I'll do what I want with my wife," Andre growled.

The door opened, and the wedding planner bustled in, face pale, clearly pretending she didn't smell the blood in the room.

By the time she looked fully inside, Theo was gone. Vanished through the servant's entrance.

To the outside world, there was only one Volkov heir.

Bella Rossi stared at herself in the mirror, but the woman looking back felt like a stranger.

The dress was a masterpiece but It was tight enough to restrict her breathing, the corset digging into her ribs as if to remind her of her new reality. Suffocation.

"You look beautiful, Bella," her father said from the doorway.

He didn't sound like a proud father. He sounded like a businessman who had just closed a big deal.

"I look like a sacrifice," Bella replied. She turned to face him. "Is the money in your account yet? Or do I have to say 'I do' before the transfer clears?"

Her father’s face hardened. "This isn't about money. It's about survival. The Volkovs are the most powerful house in Europe. Andre Volkov can protect you."

"Protect me?" Bella let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Andre Volkov is a monster. I’ve seen the headlines."

"He is your husband," her father said, checking his watch. "And you will respect him. Now, let’s go. He doesn't like to wait."

The walk to the altar felt like a march between life and death and the guests watching her walk down the aisle weren't smiling.

They were soldiers, mobsters, dangerous men in designer clothes. Why would they?

And at the end of the aisle, he waited.

Andre.

He was devastatingly handsome, she would give him that.

Tall, broad, with a well defined face But his eyes were cold.

There was no love in them, only possession. He looked at her the way a dragon looks at a pile of gold.

When she reached him, he didn't offer a reassuring smile.

He only reached out and grabbed her hand, his grip tight, almost painful.

"You're late," he whispered.

"My veil got caught," Bella lied, lifting her chin defiantly.

Andre’s eyes narrowed.

He leaned in close, invading her personal space, smelling of musk and something metallic. "Do not lie to me, Bella. I will know. And I will punish you for it."

A shiver of genuine fear raced down her spine, but she locked her knees to keep them from trembling. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

The ceremony was a blur of Latin phrases and ancient pack laws. When it came time for the vows, Andre spoke them like an order. When it was her turn, the words tasted like a bile of blood.

"I, Bella, take you, Andre..."

She choked on the name.

Andre squeezed her hand, his nails digging into her palm.

"...to be my husband."

"You may kiss the bride."

Andre didn't wait.

He seized the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, and crushed his mouth to hers.

It was aggressive, wet, and dominating.

He bit her lower lip hard enough to draw a drop of blood, asserting his dominance in front of the hundreds of witnesses.

When he pulled back, he smirked at the shock on her face. "You taste sweet," he murmured, loud enough for the front row to hear. "I can't wait to taste the rest of you."

Bella felt sick.

She looked away, scanning the crowd, desperate for a friendly face.

That’s when she saw him.

Or she thought she did.

Standing near the back of large stone pillar, was a man. He looked exactly like Andre. The same height, the same build, the same dark hair. But he was watching her with an intensity that made Andre’s glare feel like a playful glance.

She blinked, and he was gone.

I’m losing my mind, she thought. The stress is making me hallucinate.

"Let's go," Andre said, pulling her arm. "The reception is just a formality. I have business to attend to before the night is over."

"Business?" Bella asked, struggling to keep up with his long strides as he dragged her back down the aisle. "On our wedding night?"

"The pack doesn't stop for a wedding, tesoro," Andre sneered. "And neither do I."

The reception was a nightmare of loud music and fake smiles. Andre paraded her around like a trophy for an hour, his hand constantly on the small of her back.

Then, chaos erupted.

A guard whispered something in Andre’s ear. Andre’s face went rigid. The playful cruelty vanished, replaced by pure anger.

"Excuse me, wife," he said, dropping her arm. "It seems the rat I killed earlier had friends."

"Andre, wait—"

"Stay here," he barked. "Do not move from this table."

He disappeared into the crowd, followed by a dozen armed guards.

Bella stood alone at the head table, her heart hammering against her ribs. She watched the doors Andre had exited through, waiting for gunshots.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

The air in the ballroom was getting stifling. She needed to breathe.

Disobeying his order, she turned and slipped through the heavy velvet curtains behind the head table, finding a quiet corridor that led to the library.

She just wanted a moment to herself.

She pushed open the door of the library and got inside.

The room was dark, lit only by the fireplace crackling at the far end.

"I told you to stay at the table."

The voice came from the place near the fire.

Bella jumped, spinning around. "Andre?"

He stepped into the light.

He had discarded his tuxedo jacket. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing the dark ink on his chest.

He held a glass of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid.

It was him. But... he seemed different. The chaotic, loud energy was gone.

"I... I needed air," Bella stammered, backing up until she hit the door. "Is everything okay? The guard said..."

"The threat is handled," he said and took a slow step toward her.

This wasn't Andre. It couldn't be. Andre moved fast; this man moved slower. But it had to be him. Who else could it be?

"You disobeyed me," he said softly. He was standing right in front of her now. He smelled different, too. Andre smelled of expensive cologne and gun powder. This man smelled like rain, cedarwood, and blood.

"I'm not one of your soldiers, Andre," Bella whispered, her breath hitching. "I don't follow orders blindly."

He tilted his head, studying her. For the first time all day, she didn't feel like a trophy. She felt like prey being assessed by a predator who hadn't decided whether to eat her or play with her.

"Intriguing," he murmured.

He reached out.

Bella flinched, expecting him to grab her like he had at the altar.

Instead, his fingers grazed her cheek. He traced the line of her jaw, his thumb brushing over her pulse, which was fluttering wildly.

"You're terrified," he noted. It wasn't an accusation. It sounded almost... regretful.

"You forced me into this," she shot back, finding a shred of courage.

"I force many things," he said enigmatically. His gaze dropped to her lips, then to the pulse point on her neck. "But I have never forced a woman to want me."

The air between them crackled. This chemistry was visceral. It was nothing like the cold revulsion she felt at the altar.

"Who are you?" she whispered, the question slipping out before she could stop it. "You don't seem like yourself."

A dark, dangerous smile played on his lips. It was a secret smile, one that didn't reach his eyes.

"Tonight, Bella," Theo lied, stepping closer until his chest brushed hers, "I am whoever you need me to be."

He didn't give her time to think. He leaned down and buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. Bella gasped, her hands instinctively clutching his shirt

.

"Mine," he growled against her skin, the sound vibrating through her bones.

It wasn't the loud claim of a man. It was the promise of a monster who intended to keep her forever.

And as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin over her mating gland, Bella realized with terrifying clarity that she wasn't just in danger of being hurt.

She was in danger of liking it.