Chapter Eight: The Red Night

Sophia’s POV

“Come, let’s get you to your room,” Grace said, her voice a little too sweet, like honey masking venom. The other maids behind her giggled, sharing mischievous glances.

The post-wedding party roared on downstairs—laughter, clinking of wine glasses, and music vibrating off the marble floors. The chandeliers sparkled like a thousand stars, casting a warm glow over women dressed in glittering gowns and men in polished tuxedos. Couples swayed gently on the dance floor while others toasted near the grand buffet. It was a picture-perfect celebration, but all I could feel was a storm brewing in my chest.

“No, I’m okay. I want to stay here for a while,” I replied, hoping to delay the inevitable.

Grace didn’t take no for an answer. She grabbed my wrist—not harshly, but with firmness. “Girl, this is your wedding night. You must prove your worth to Sir Leonard.”

“But…”

“There’s no buts,” she snapped, eyes narrowed. “You can’t deny your husband your body. Let’s go.”

She pulled me up, and I had no choice but to follow her. The other maids trailed behind, whispering things that made my skin crawl.

“I really want to see how Sir claims her,” one said with a smirk.

“Seriously… I’m so jealous,” another giggled.

“He’s going to devour her.”

Their laughter rang behind me like the closing of a prison door.

Grace opened the door to a room on the highest floor of the estate. I stepped in—and stopped. My breath hitched. The room looked like it had been pulled out of a romance novel—or a sacrificial ceremony. Dim red lights bathed the room in a surreal glow. White silk sheets covered the massive bed, layered with blood-red rose petals. Scented candles flickered from ornate holders placed carefully at every corner.

But the beauty did nothing to calm my racing heart. If anything, the setup made my stomach twist.

“Go in,” Grace said, motioning with her hand. I stepped inside, each step feeling like I was walking into the mouth of something dangerous.

She approached me once more. “This is your wedding night—but not your black wedding. Tonight, you must satisfy your husband, quench his thirst. If you’re wise and want to keep your place in this house, you’ll do everything in your power to please him.”

“Wait… what do you mean by black wedding?” I asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Grace’s expression shifted—her voice dropped to a whisper. “Your husband isn’t just a man. He’s a ruler. A king in this underworld. A black wedding is a sacred blood oath that binds two souls in the Mafia. It’s done only after the white wedding... but only if the bride proves herself worthy.”

My mouth went dry. “Blood oath? And what if I don’t prove myself worthy?”

Grace looked around as if someone was listening, then leaned close. “They silence you. And find a replacement.”

She didn’t wait for my reaction. She walked out, shutting the door quietly behind her.

I sat there, the weight of her words pressing on my chest. Silence me? Find a replacement?

What the hell had I gotten myself into? Had my father known about this?

Before I could process more, the door creaked open again. I stood quickly, every nerve in my body alert.

Leonard Morano walked in slowly, closing the door behind him and locking it with a soft click.

My heart pounded. He looked different—his suit jacket was gone, sleeves rolled up, eyes unreadable and sharp. He noticed my stiff posture and the way I gripped the bedsheet. His lips curled in something between amusement and mockery.

He walked forward slowly, plucked a candle from a nearby table, and blew it out—just inches from my face. His eyes met mine, and something about them sent a shiver through me. Cold. Intense. Burdened.

He stepped back and dropped into a velvet chair like a monarch about to deliver a decree.

“This wasn’t in the contract,” I blurted out. “And what you said earlier… about being your puppet—”

“I’m not in any way attracted to you,” he said, cutting me off with a flick of his fingers.

The words landed like a slap. “Then what’s with the marriage? Are you planning to kill me?”

A shadow passed over his face. “That was the original plan,” he said, voice low. “To kill your entire family. But death is too easy. Too merciful.”

My knees buckled.

“What? You wanted to kill my family? Isn’t my dad your friend?”

His gaze darkened. In one swift motion, he slammed a nearby glass candle holder against the wall. It shattered, and his hand bled freely. Before I could react, he stormed toward me and grabbed my jaw with his bloody fingers, holding me still as if I were nothing but a doll.

“Friends?” he spat. “Being friends with your lowlife father was the biggest mistake of my life.”

Pain bloomed across my jaw and waist from the pressure of his grip. I couldn’t speak.

“When my father gave me a choice—to have you in exchange for saving your family—I laughed at the idea. You were nothing to me. Just a desperate pawn your father offered to save his family but he ruined mine.”

He let go suddenly, shoving me backward. I fell to the floor, breath knocked from my lungs. He turned away and punched the wall several times, blood splattering across the cream wallpaper.

“What did my father do to you?” I managed to say, struggling to sit up.

He paused. Then, slowly, he walked back toward me. His eyes had changed—now blazing with something deeper. Rage… and pain?

He squatted, forced my face up by the chin, and locked eyes with me.

“He took what was precious to me. And now…” he said, voice trembling with fury, “I will make sure what’s precious to him lives in pain. Misery. And under my rule. Every. Single. Day.”

I stared at him, my mind reeling. His eyes, so close to mine, glinted with an emotion I couldn’t decipher—loss… hatred… or both?

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The room around me felt like it was closing in. The petals on the bed, the red glow, the scent of roses—they no longer looked romantic. They looked like a carefully arranged grave.

He glared at me with eyes filled with fury. I couldn’t capture what was happening at the moment. Then he said something strange to me

"Do you remember the day we met after I returned? Do you remember what I said to you? You’ll never shed another tear unless it’s on my pillow"