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They say a wedding dress is a promise of forever. Mine was a shroud for the girl I used to be. I was sold to a monster to pay for my father’s sins. I expected to spend my wedding night praying for a quick death at the hands of Don Moretti. Instead, I got a bloodbath. Before the first glass of champagne could shatter, the doors were kicked open by the city’s most terrifying nightmare: Dante "The Butcher" Vane. He didn't come to save me. He came to collect. By the time the sun rose, my husband was a corpse, my family home was in ashes, and I was draped across the lap of the man who had been stalking me from the shadows for years. "Your father didn't just owe the Don, Bianca," he whispered, his thumb tracing the line of my throat with lethal tenderness. "He owed me. And I’ve decided you’re the only currency I’ll accept." Now, I am a prisoner in his fortress—a gilded cage where the line between fear and desire is blurred by every dark touch. Dante is a tyrant, a red flag wrapped in Italian silk, and a man who claims to be my protector while keeping me in chains. But as the secrets of our shared past begin to bleed out, I realize the "Butcher" has a weakness. He doesn't just want my body; he wants my soul. He thinks he’s breaking me. He doesn't realize that in the silence of my mourning, I’ve stopped being the victim. I’m learning his triggers. I’m studying his scars. And once I make the King of the Underworld fall for the widow he created... I won't just take my freedom. I’ll take his empire.
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CHAPTER 1
Chapter 1: The Blood-Stained Veil
"Smile, Bianca. It’s your wedding day."
The voice belonged to my father, but the hand gripping my upper arm felt like a meat hook. I stared into the vanity mirror. The white silk of the couture gown felt like a shroud. Behind me, Don Moretti—a man with skin like curdled milk and eyes that lingered too long on my chest—adjusted his silk tie.
He was sixty. I was nineteen. To my father, I wasn't a daughter; I was a bank draft sent to clear his gambling debts.
"He’s a monster," I whispered, my breath fogging the glass.
"He's a Don," my father snapped, leaning in so close I could smell the cheap scotch on his breath. "And you’re the payment. Now get out there and act like a bride before he decides your younger sister is a better fit for the dress."
The reception hall was a sea of black suits and fake smiles. Moretti sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his hand heavy on my thigh, squeezing until the lace of my dress dug into my skin. I stared at the centerpiece—a tower of white roses—and imagined them turning black.
Then the first scream cut through the opera music.
It wasn't a short scream. It was the sound of a man realizing his lungs were no longer inside his chest.
The heavy oak doors of the ballroom didn't just open. They splintered.
Moretti scrambled up, his chair clattering against the marble floor. "Guards! Get the—"
A bullet silenced him. Not a kill shot. Just a precise, agonizing hit to the kneecap. Moretti hit the floor, howling, clutching his shattered leg.
Dante "The Butcher" Vane stepped through the dust.
He didn't look like a hitman. He looked like an apex predator in a three-piece suit. His charcoal-grey jacket was buttoned perfectly, despite the blood spray decorating his white cuffs. Behind him, three men moved with the mechanical efficiency of a firing squad, dropping Moretti’s security before they could even unholster their weapons.
The room went silent, save for the wet, gurgling gasps of the dying.
Dante ignored the room. He ignored the cowering Vegas royalty. His eyes—dark, cold, and devoid of anything resembling mercy—locked onto mine.
I couldn't move. I couldn't even breathe. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
He walked toward the head table, his boots clicking rhythmically on the blood-slicked marble. He stopped in front of Moretti, who was blubbering and begging for his life. Dante didn't look down. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a pristine silk handkerchief.
He stepped around the table. I flinched, waiting for the cold steel of a barrel against my temple.
Instead, he reached out. His fingers, calloused and warm, tilted my chin up.
"You have something on your face, Little Bird," he murmured. His voice was a low, melodic growl that vibrated in my marrow.
He used the handkerchief to wipe a stray droplet of Moretti’s blood from my cheek. The silk was soft, but the gesture was a claim. He tucked the blood-stained cloth into my bodice, his knuckles grazing the swell of my breast.
"Please," I choked out, my voice cracking. "Just kill me."
Dante leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. The scent of sandalwood and gunpowder overwhelmed me.
"Kill you?" He let out a dark, hueless chuckle. "Your father didn't just sell you to a ghost like Moretti, Bianca. He sold you to me three years ago. I’ve just been waiting for the debt to mature."
He straightened up, his shadow swallowing me whole.
"I’m just here to repossess my property."
Before I could scream, he gripped my waist and hoisted me over his shoulder like a sack of grain. I looked back as he hauled me toward the exit. Behind us, one of his men tossed a thermite charge onto the long table.
The white roses vanished in a roar of orange flame. My life, my name, and my wedding dress burned as the Butcher carried me into the night.
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The Debt of the Virgin Widow CHAPTER 21
" Do not you dare die on me, Dante. Stay awake. Look at me!" Bianca shoved the cabin door shut, the wood moaning against the howling wind. Dante drooped against the gravestone domicile, his face the color of wet ash. Blood, dark and thick, pumped steadily from the jagged hole in his shoulder, staining the floorboards. " The tackle. Bianca, the nethermost cupboard," Dante rasped. His jaw creaked as he base his teeth, cold sweat pelleting on his forepart. She climbed across the bottom, knees sinking on the fortitude. She hauled out a black nylon bag, the zipper snagging doubly before it smelled into the air. A twisted needle. Fishing line. A bottle of high- evidence bourbon. " I've to go by," she said, her voice shaking. She smelled her lip until it bled." The pellet is still in there." " Just do it. Ahh! Fuck!" Dante’s head thunked back against the monuments as she poured the bourbon directly into the crack. The swish of alcohol hitting raw meat filled the small room. He dived fo
Last Updated : 2026-02-02The Debt of the Virgin Widow CHAPTER 20
" Get the fuck down!" Dante’s roar collided with the window's explosion. Glass rained in diamond shards, slicing the air. He dived , his body a heavy wall of muscle that slammed Bianca into the floorboards just as a alternate pellet swiped into the mahogany office. " Dante! Your casket the fleck!" Bianca climbed against the hairpiece, her fritters slick with the blood formerly blowing across his shoulder. " Move! Now!" He hauled her up by the arm, his grip bruising. outdoors, the night air screamed with the mechanical chug of submachine ordnance. The estate was breathing fire. Ash swirled in the hallway as the primary gates gave way with a screech of wringing essence. They did not take the stairs. Dante demurred open the menial’s passage, shoving her into the darkness of the narrow gravestone waterfall. They hit the garage position handling. He threw her into the passenger seat of the armored black SUV, the machine turning over with a raptorial logjam that drowned out the crying f
Last Updated : 2026-02-02The Debt of the Virgin Widow CHAPTER 19
"Open the damn thing, Bianca. You’ve been staring at that floorboard for ten minutes."The voice wasn't Dante’s. It was the ghost of my own cowardice echoing in the empty study. Dante was gone—hunting the Judge, hunting my father, hunting the shadows he called justice. I stood alone over the heavy mahogany desk. My fingers brushed the brass key hidden in the pocket of my robe. The metal was cold.I knelt. The rug was rough under my knees. I pushed back the heavy corner of the Persian carpet, revealing the iron plate of the floor safe. My pulse thudded in my fingertips as I slid the key into the lock.Click.The mechanism groaned. I hauled the heavy door back. The air that puffed out smelled of old paper and gun oil. No gold bars. No bundles of cash. Just a single, weathered manila envelope and a leather-bound ledger.I grabbed the envelope. My thumb tore the seal, the paper jagged and sharp. A single photograph slid out."No way," I whispered. The air in the room suddenly felt thin.I
Last Updated : 2026-02-01The Debt of the Virgin Widow CHAPTER 18
"Look at the screen, Bianca. This is what happens when you miss a deadline."Dante shoved a tablet into my hands. The glass was cold. On the screen, the frame was grainy and dim, showing a concrete basement that smelled of damp through the pixels. My father was slumped in a wooden chair, his white shirt now a map of red Rorschach blots. A heavy boot slammed into his ribs, and the sound of cracking bone popped through the small speakers."Stop it. Please, just make them stop." My voice was a dry rasp. I clutched the tablet until the edges bit into my palms."The Judge sent it five minutes ago," Dante said. He stood by the window, silhouetted against the gray morning. He didn't look back. He just watched the rain. "He’s got no patience left. He thinks you failed. He thinks I’m dead and you’re running with the ledger. Since he hasn't heard from his little spy, he’s taking it out on the old man's teeth.""Dante, help him. You have the men. You have the location."He turned finally. His ja
Last Updated : 2026-02-01
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