Chapter 2. The Devil’s Arrival

Camila’s POV

A week passed before I had time to understand what was happening.

Then suddenly, the day of the gala arrived.

The day I would meet Dante Moretti.

My mother stood behind me, fastening the last buttons of my dress while I stared at my reflection. The ivory gown fit perfectly, the skirt falling around my legs in layers of silk and lace. My hair had been styled into soft waves, and my makeup made me look older than eighteen.

Older. More elegant.

More prepared to be offered to a stranger.

“Stop frowning,” Mom said gently. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

I tried to smile. “Thank you.”

She turned me toward her and took both my hands.

“Everything will be all right.”

She said it with such certainty that I almost wanted to believe her.

The gala had been arranged to introduce me to Dante and formalize the alliance between the Vega family and the Moretti Syndicate. Every powerful family in the underworld would be there. Men would wear tailored suits, women would arrive in gowns that cost more than most houses, and everyone would pretend the evening was about celebration.

It was not.

It was a transaction.

My father had told me that Dante would be free to choose another woman if he found someone more suitable. But the arrangement had already been made. Even if he wanted someone else, he would not be allowed to marry her.

Neither of us had a choice.

A knock sounded at the door.

Before I could answer, Alejandro stepped inside.

His eyes immediately dropped to my dress, then returned to my face. The anger in his expression had not faded since our father had announced the marriage.

“You ready?”

“No,” I admitted.

His jaw tightened.

He came toward me and offered his arm. “You don’t have to be.”

I slipped my arm through his, grateful for the warmth of his presence.

Together, we made our way downstairs.

The front doors stood open, allowing the cold air to sweep through the foyer. Outside, the sky had turned gray, and the first snow of the season drifted across the driveway.

My father emerged from his office just as we reached the entrance.

“The car is here,” he said.

His tone held no excitement. He looked at me the way a man might look at a package waiting to be delivered.

Alejandro stepped forward. “I am still against this.”

“Then keep your opinions to yourself.”

“She is your daughter.”

“She is part of this family, and this marriage benefits all of us.”

“Camila is not a business deal.”

My father’s eyes shifted toward him. “You do not get a say in this. None of you do.”

I lowered my gaze.

He turned toward me. “Take off that jacket before we arrive. I want them to see the dress.”

The command was unnecessary. I already knew he wanted me displayed like proof of the alliance.

The limousine pulled up in front of the house.

My brothers helped me gather the train of my dress as I climbed inside. Mom carefully lifted the fabric from the ground while my father watched from the driveway.

“Faster,” he snapped.

Mom flinched.

I looked at him. “You were the one who insisted I wear this dress.”

The words were barely out of my mouth before regret filled my chest.

My father’s eyes locked on mine.

The coldness in his stare made every part of me freeze.

“Do not speak to me that way.”

He stepped closer and caught my chin between his fingers. His grip tightened until pain shot through my jaw.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

He released me with a disgusted scoff.

Mom stared at him in disbelief. Alejandro immediately took my hand and held it tightly.

“You are sending her to another man,” Mom said, her voice shaking with anger. “The least you could do is give her one decent memory of you.”

My father ignored her.

None of my brothers spoke. They looked at me with the same helpless expression I felt trapped behind my own face.

Alejandro helped me into the limousine.

The moment the doors closed, I rested my head against the seat and tried to breathe.

No one said much during the drive.

The closer we came to the gala, the tighter the silence became.

When the limousine finally stopped, Alejandro stepped out first and offered me his arm. I accepted it, forcing myself to keep my head high.

The gala was being held at the Moretti estate, a sprawling mansion surrounded by iron gates and acres of dark, snow-covered gardens. Hundreds of lights illuminated the building, reflecting against the falling snow.

The moment I stepped inside, I shivered.

The hall was enormous, decorated with gold pillars, black marble floors, and red flowers arranged in tall glass vases. Music drifted through the room, but the conversations were louder.

People turned to look at us.

My father reached for the shawl around my shoulders and tore it away.

“Take that off.”

“But I’m cold.”

His expression changed instantly.

“Do not speak unless I tell you to. I am this close to beating you.”

He held his thumb and finger a fraction of an inch apart.

The threat was quiet enough for only me to hear, but it still sent fear crawling down my spine.

I swallowed and forced my hands to remain still.

The people around us were watching.

Of course they were.

In our world, privacy was a luxury no one could afford. Every smile was studied. Every movement was remembered. Every weakness became useful information.

“They are all staring,” I whispered to Alejandro.

“They are afraid of me,” he replied.

He glanced at me and offered a small smile. “They are staring at you because you look beautiful.”

“I don’t feel beautiful.”

“You look like a rose surrounded by knives.”

His voice softened.

“I’m sorry I can’t stop this.”

“You can’t control Father.”

“I wanted you to choose love for yourself.”

I looked at him. “Maybe it won’t be as bad as we think.”

I said it because he needed to hear it.

I said it because I needed to believe it.

Before he could answer, the main doors opened.

The music stopped.

Every conversation in the hall faded into silence.

Several armed guards entered first, scanning the room with alert expressions. Then Dante Moretti walked through the doorway.

The entire atmosphere changed.

Whispers rose around us.

“That’s him.”

“Dante Moretti.”

“The Devil.”

“I heard he never shows mercy.”

“He has ruined entire families.”

Dante did not react to any of it.

He walked with calm confidence, dressed in a black suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his expression was unreadable. Tattoos disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt and continued along his left arm.

Near his neck was a black emblem, a crowned skull wrapped in a thin serpent. It was the symbol of the Moretti Syndicate.

Even from across the room, the tattoo looked like a warning.

Dante slowly surveyed the gala.

Women watched him openly. Some whispered behind their hands. Others smiled as he passed, hoping to catch his attention.

He ignored them all.

Then his eyes found me.

He stopped.

The distance between us suddenly felt much smaller.

His gaze moved over me, slow and assessing, before returning to my face. There was no warmth in his expression, but there was interest.

My father hurried toward him.

“Mr. Moretti,” he said. “It is good to see you again.”

Dante barely looked at him.

“What is her name?”

My father paused.

“My daughter.”

Dante’s expression hardened. “That is not a name.”

My father turned toward me.

“Camila.”

Alejandro squeezed my hand before letting go.

“Good luck,” he murmured.

I wanted to ask him not to leave me, but my feet had already begun moving.

My brothers could not watch. Gabriel turned toward the windows. Matteo stared at the floor. Tomas looked away completely.

I understood them.

No one wanted to watch their sister being handed over to a stranger.

When I reached my father and Dante, Dante’s attention remained fixed on me.

My father gestured toward him. “This is Dante Moretti.”

Then he gestured toward me.

“This is my daughter.”

Dante looked at my father. “Does she have a name, or is she only your daughter?”

The amusement in my father’s face disappeared.

“She has a name.”

“Then say it.”

My father’s jaw tightened. “This is Camila Vega.”

Dante looked back at me.

“What is your name?”

“I’m Camila Vega.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were studying my voice.

He offered his hand.

When I reached for it, his fingers flinched before touching mine. The reaction was small, but I noticed it. A moment later, he seemed to regain control and shook my hand.

His grip was firm. His skin was warm.

“I assume you are the woman I’m marrying,” he said.

My father nodded. “Yes. Camila will be your wife.”

Dante’s gaze did not leave mine.

“Then we’re leaving.”

My father blinked. “The evening has barely begun.”

“I did not come here to socialize.”

Dante placed one hand around my waist.

The contact was not gentle, but it was not painful either. He guided me toward the exit, and my feet followed because I knew better than to resist him in front of everyone.

“Can I say goodbye to my brothers?” I asked.

Dante glanced over my shoulder.

Alejandro stood rigidly near the table, his hands clenched at his sides.

“No.”

My chest tightened.

Dante continued walking.

Outside, the cold air struck my bare shoulders. He opened the limousine door, and I climbed inside because there was no other choice.

Dante sat beside me.

The silence between us was heavier than the silence in my father’s office.

He looked younger than I expected. Handsome, yes, but not in a comforting way. His sharp features and unreadable eyes made him difficult to look away from.

He gave the impression of being empty inside, like a beautiful statue carved from stone.

“Gideon will have your room prepared when we return,” he said.

I nodded.

His eyes moved toward me. “I would prefer a thank-you.”

“Thank you.”

The words left my mouth without emotion.

Dante rolled his eyes and looked out the window.

I studied him from the corner of my eye.

The gala was supposed to strengthen alliances. Powerful families had gathered in one place to negotiate, celebrate, and secure future partnerships.

But Dante had spoken to no one.

He had not needed to.

Everyone in the room had watched him as though he already owned them.

The limousine stopped in front of the Moretti mansion.

A small woman hurried down the steps to meet us. She looked fragile, but her smile was warm.

“Dante, you’re home.”

“Mother,” he said as he stepped out. “I told you to rest.”

“I’m fine.” She looked past him. “Who is she?”

Dante opened the door for me.

I stepped outside and offered her my hand. “Hello.”

She ignored my hand and pulled me into a hug.

“She’s beautiful.”

I stiffened before slowly returning the embrace.

Dante watched us with an unreadable expression.

“Where is Father?” he asked.

His mother’s smile faded.

“In his office.”

She rolled her eyes, making it clear that the answer did not please her.

“Of course,” Dante muttered.

His mother turned toward me. “Come inside, sweetheart. I’ll show you your room.”

Dante walked ahead without another word.

I followed him into the mansion, trying not to stare. The interior was dark, expensive, and strangely quiet. Black marble covered the floors, while gold fixtures reflected the warm light from the chandeliers.

His mother led me upstairs.

“Dante chose the furniture himself,” she said. “That is unusual for him. He normally lets the staff handle everything.”

She opened a door.

The bedroom was beautiful. Dark walls, soft lighting, and elegant furniture made the space feel luxurious without being cold. A large wardrobe stood against one wall, already filled with clothes.

“These are for you,” she said. “If you need anything, ask Dante or Gideon.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled. “I almost forgot to introduce myself. I’m Lucia Moretti.”

“I’m Camila.”

“I know, dear.”

Lucia glanced toward the hallway.

“Dinner will be ready soon. Try to make yourself comfortable.”

After she left, I stood alone in the center of the room.

This was not my home.

The dress, the room, the mansion, and the man waiting downstairs all belonged to a life I had never chosen.

I changed out of the gown and slipped into something simpler. Then I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my reflection.

The girl looking back at me was still Camila Vega.

But she was no longer living in her father’s house.

She was now the promised wife of the Devil.