Rot In Hell Del Brenta

**Kiara**

I shouldn’t be here,I shouldn’t be standing in the middle of this den of wolves wearing a backless crimson gown that clung to my body like a second skin, my dark hair pinned up to expose the nape of my neck, and my lips painted the color of fresh blood.

But my father had left me no choice.

“Tonight you meet him,” he’d said this morning, voice cold as steel. “Rossi Del Brenta. You will smile. You will be polite. And you will not embarrass this family.”

As if I had any power to embarrass the mighty Romano empire anymore.

I was the last bargaining chip. The only daughter. Untouched. Twenty-two years old and still a virgin in a world where innocence was the rarest and most valuable currency.

I hated it.I hated the way every man in this room looked at me like I was already claimed property. Especially *him*.

Rossi Del Brenta.The Don of the Del Brenta syndicate.

He stood across the ballroom like a king on his throne, tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a tailored black suit that did nothing to hide the dangerous power coiled beneath. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass, and those eyes,those piercing, ice-blue eyes,had locked onto me the second I walked in.

He hadn’t looked away once.A slow, predatory smile curved his lips as our gazes clashed,Even from this distance, I felt it like a physical touch: dark, possessive, and far too intimate.

My stomach twisted,I’d heard the rumors,everyone had.Rossi Del Brenta didn’t just take what he wanted. He *ruined* it. He broke beautiful things and kept the pieces for himself. They called him the Devil of Milan for a reason. Cold. Ruthless. Obsessive.

And tonight, my father was offering me to him on a silver platter,I turned away sharply, pretending to admire the crystal chandeliers dripping with light, but my skin prickled with awareness. I could still feel his stare burning into my back, tracing the exposed line of my spine.

A deep, cultured voice suddenly spoke right behind me, low and velvet-rough.

“Running already, *principessa*?”

I froze.His scent hit me first,dark sandalwood, expensive leather, and something dangerously masculine.

Then the heat of his body, close enough that if I leaned back even an inch, I’d be pressed against his chest.

I slowly turned.Rossi Del Brenta towered over me. Up close, he was even more devastating. The sharp angles of his face, the faint scar that sliced through one dark eyebrow, the way his full lips curved with dark amusement. A single red rose was tucked into the breast pocket of his jacket, its thorns still intact.

His eyes dropped slowly down my body, taking in every curve the crimson dress barely contained, before rising back to my face.

“You’re smaller than I imagined,” he murmured, voice dripping with sinful promise. “So delicate,so… breakable.”

My breath caught I lifted my chin, forcing steel into my voice even as my heart hammered against my ribs. “And you’re exactly as arrogant as they say, Signor Del Brenta.”

A soft, dangerous chuckle rumbled from his chest.

He stepped closer, invading my space until I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. One large hand rose, and with shocking gentleness, he brushed a stray lock of hair from my cheek, his knuckles grazing my skin.

“Arrogant?” His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, sending unwanted heat spiraling through my veins. “No, Kiara. I’m simply a man who knows exactly what he wants.”

His eyes darkened, the blue turning stormy.

“And what I want… is *you*.”

The words slid over me like silk and sin,I swallowed hard, fighting the traitorous warmth pooling low in my belly. This was wrong. He was wrong. A monster wearing a beautiful face.

“I’m not for sale,” I whispered, even as my body betrayed me with a shiver.

Rossi leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

“Oh, but you are, little bride,” he whispered darkly. “Your father already signed the contract,my the end of this month, you’ll be my wife,my property,mine to touch,mine to taste,mine to ruin however I please.”

His hand slid down, fingers wrapping possessively around my wrist, thumb pressing against my racing pulse.

“And when I finally have you in my bed, spread open and trembling beneath me… I’m going to take my time breaking you in. Inch by slow, delicious inch.”

A soft, involuntary sound escaped my throat,he pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, satisfaction gleaming in his.

“Tell me, Kiara Romano… are you wet for me already?”

I jerked my wrist free, cheeks burning, heart thundering with equal parts fear.

“Rot in hell, Del Brenta.”

His laugh was low, rich, and utterly unrepentant.

“Oh, *cara*… I’ll see you there,on our wedding night.”

He took a single red rose from a nearby arrangement and pressed it into my trembling hand, thorns pricking my palm just enough to draw a tiny bead of blood.

“Something to remember me by,” he said softly, eyes locked on the drop of crimson on my skin.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, flushed, furious, and terrifyingly aware of the dark obsession that had just claimed me.

I stared down at the rose, at the blood welling on my palm.

****

The rose thorns had left three tiny punctures in my palm,I pressed a silk napkin against the wounds, watching the white fabric bloom red while the ballroom orchestra played a slow, haunting waltz.

I couldn’t stop shaking,Not from fear alone,though fear was there, cold and sharp,but from the lingering heat of Rossi Del Brenta’s words against my ear.

The way his voice had wrapped around “little virgin” like a filthy promise.

The way my body had responded despite every warning screaming in my head.

“Kiara.”My father’s voice cut through the noise like a blade.