LOGINHe did not stop. He methodically wiped the dried blood away from my chin and my mouth. His touch was terrifyingly gentle, a stark, mind bending contrast to the brutal violence he had unleashed on me hours ago.
This was the danger of Killian Alatorre. He could shatter you completely, and then sit quietly and clean the blood off your face as if he had not been the one to put it there."You push until you bleed," Killian said quietly, his eyes focused on the cut on my lip. "YouKillian stood on the threshold. He had shed his formal tuxedo jacket for a sharp, tailored black suit. He stepped into the room, his eyes instantly locking onto the red silk clinging to my body. His heated gaze dragged slowly from my bare collarbones down to my waist, taking in every inch."Ti moya seychas i navsegda,(You are mine now and forever)" Killian murmured in rough, deep Russian.I didn't understand the exact words, but the heavy, dark possession in his tone was unmistakable.He walked over and held out his hand. I placed my trembling fingers in his palm.We walked out of the room together. We approached the massive ballroom doors, entering the reception as a couple.The space was packed with even more people than the garden. Waiters moved through the massive crowd. The moment we stepped inside, hundreds of eyes turned to us. Men stared openly at my body in the red dress, their gazes hungry and calculating. Women in expensive jew
Every step down the velvet runner felt like a ticking bomb.The classical music swelled around me, but all I heard was the frantic, deafening thud of my own heartbeat. Hundreds of eyes watched me from the white wooden chairs. I wanted to scream. I wanted to drop to my knees on the grass, ruin the expensive silk dress, and beg someone to help me. But I knew better. No one in this garden would save me. Survival meant walking forward.We reached the end of the aisle.Marco stopped. He withdrew his arm, stepping back into the periphery.Killian stepped forward. His pale gray eyes locked entirely on my face, tracking every shallow breath I took. He reached out and wrapped his large, warm hand around mine. His grip was absolute. I dropped my gaze to the dark lapel of his tuxedo, unable to hold the sheer, intense weight of his stare.The elderly officiant stood beneath the archway of white roses. He opened his heavy book.I did not list
The woman staring back at me in the massive vanity mirror was a stranger.The preparation room in the east wing was absolute chaos. Four women moved rapidly around me, completely silent except for the rustle of fabric and the clatter of makeup brushes. Carmina was not here. Killian had brought in an entire team of hired professionals.They treated me exactly like an expensive, inanimate object.One woman pulled my hair back, securing heavy, perfectly sleek waves with sharp metal pins that scraped my scalp. Another knelt at my feet, adjusting the endless layers of heavy white silk that pooled around my shoes. The dress was suffocating. The bodice was tightly boned, encasing my ribs like a suit of armor, while the long lace sleeves buttoned tightly all the way down to my wrists.I sat perfectly still on the velvet stool. A makeup artist leaned in close, painting my lips a soft, muted color.I looked at my own blank eyes in the mirror. My sk
Killian stood in the splintered doorway.The heavy oak frame was cracked down the middle. His chest heaved. I stood in the center of the ruined room, my throat burning like acid from the scream.I braced myself. My hands shook violently. I stared at him, waiting for the explosion. I waited for him to cross the room, grab me by the hair, and drag me straight down to the concrete cell in the basement.Killian stepped inside. His heavy boots crunched loudly over the shattered porcelain of the broken lamp.He didn't yell. He didn't move fast.His pale gray eyes slowly scanned the destroyed room. He looked at the shattered mirror. He looked at the amber liquor soaking into his expensive rugs. He looked at the heavy wooden jewelry box splintered into pieces, and the silk sheets I had ripped off the mattress and thrown to the floor.Then, his eyes locked back onto mine.The fury I expected was not there. The cold, dead expressi
I had not heard a single word about Dario Vitiello in months. The mere mention of my father sent a cold, sickening wave of pure terror straight into my veins.Killian felt me freeze. His grip tightened possessively around my waist."He begged me to let him talk to you," Killian murmured, his voice vibrating deep in his chest. "He was crying for his little girl. It was completely pathetic."Killian let out a low, dark sound."Honestly, listening to the old man break down was my favorite part of the day."I stared blankly at the empty ballroom floor.Killian was a fool. He was living in a complete delusion. He actually believed the old man was suffering. But I knew the truth. Dario did not care about me. Dario was putting on a show. My father was terrified, and he needed Killian to believe I was still alive and cherished. Because if I was dead, Killian would stop playing house and go straight for my father’s throat.Dario was playing the loving father just to save his own neck.But I di
Killian walked up the long velvet aisle toward me. His heavy boots made no sound on the fabric. His pale gray eyes were locked onto mine, tracking every tiny shift in my expression as he closed the distance.I stood completely frozen on the stone patio.The scale of the garden was staggering. Hundreds of white wooden chairs sat perfectly aligned on the lawn. Massive stone urns marked every row, overflowing with pure white roses and dark, heavy ivy. The sheer silk draped over the pavilion caught the evening breeze, illuminated by the soft golden lights strung through the ancient oak trees.I looked around, my mind spinning at the sheer size of it.When my father arranged my first marriage, Vincenzo Moretti had demanded a river of red roses. A quiet, bloody transaction between two monsters. I had thought that was the height of mafia excess.But looking at this, Moretti’s wedding looked cheap. Killian was not planning a quiet transaction. He was building a massive stage. He wanted to pac
The car pulled through the gates just after sunset.Irina sat in the backseat, her posture perfect, her hands folded in her lap. The mansion came into view through the tinted windows.She was back.The car stopped at the main entrance. The driver opened her door and she stepped out, her heels click
Killian POVThe door closed behind her.I sat alone at the table, my fork still in my hand, the food on my plate half-finished.I set the fork down. The small sound echoed in the empty room.My hands rested on the table. Flat. Still.I stared at the empty chair across from me. The chair where she'd
Third Person POVFootsteps approached down the corridor. Two sets. Marco's controlled stride and the sharper tap of a cane against marble.Killian stood at the window of his study, hands clasped behind his back. His reflection stared back from the dark glass. Calm. Composed. Still.The door opened.
Like I hadn't just broken his glass and spilled water across his table and flinched away from him like a beaten dog.I sat frozen beside him, every muscle in my body tense and waiting for the punishment that had to be coming. But he just continued eating in silence, his movements methodical and con







