The Devils‘s Bride

Alessia’s POV

The silk sheets were too soft.

Alessia lay awake, buried in layers of luxury she never asked for. Gold threads lined the edges of her nightdress. The bed smelled faintly of roses—an invasive, artificial sweetness that made her stomach turn.

She hadn’t slept.

Not since she arrived in this place Dante called “home.”

A gilded cage, more beautiful than any prison had the right to be. No windows opened. No doors unlocked without biometric access. And everywhere she turned, his presence lingered like smoke—impossible to escape.

She turned on her side and stared at the far wall.

A mural stretched across it—Venus rising from the sea, naked and divine.

Above her bed.

Typical.

Dante had taste. Expensive, calculated, and unapologetically male.

The door clicked open. She tensed instinctively but didn’t sit up.

It was the maid. Silent, eyes lowered, she placed a tray on the marble table near the balcony and disappeared just as quickly.

A routine.

Tea. Fresh fruit. Sliced croissants.

Dante’s idea of care.

Alessia rose slowly, wrapping a silk robe around her shoulders. She padded barefoot to the table and poured herself a cup of tea, her thoughts racing faster than her heartbeat.

She had tried to escape the night before. A failed attempt, obviously. The elevator required Dante’s biometric scan. The stairs were monitored. And her phone? Gone. Replaced with a custom Moretti model—no camera, no access to the outside world except the numbers he programmed in.

Still, she’d keep trying.

Her eyes flicked to the tray—and froze.

A white envelope sat neatly beside the teapot.

No stamp. No address. Just a single elegant letter:

A.

Her initials.

She scanned the hallway. Empty.

Alessia picked it up and broke the seal.

Inside was a single sheet of parchment, folded once.

She unfolded it carefully.

You don’t know who he is. But I do.

He kills what he cannot control.

I know what he did to her. To the others.

Don’t trust anything. Not even this letter.

The real message never made it to you.

She blinked.

Heart pounding.

Her fingers went numb.

Who sent this? Was it Chiara? Someone else? She flipped the envelope inside out—nothing. No mark. No crest.

But it was meant for her. That much was clear.

The knock on the door nearly made her drop the paper.

“Alessia.”

His voice.

Smooth as aged whiskey.

She shoved the letter inside her robe and turned just as the door opened.

Dante stepped in like he owned not just the room, but the air in her lungs.

Black shirt. Dark slacks. His sleeves rolled, revealing strong forearms. His eyes—always so calm—were unreadable today. Controlled. Almost careful.

“May I come in?”

She gave a tight smile. “Would it matter if I said no?”

He smirked faintly. “You’re learning.”

She sat down, gesturing toward the second chair across from her. “Then by all means, join me in my pretty little prison.”

He didn’t sit.

Instead, he walked to the window and pulled aside the sheer curtain, watching the morning light filter through. “You think this is punishment.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I call it protection.”

She laughed. “Of course you do.”

Dante turned, his gaze sharpening. “Do you know how many men would kill to get to you, Alessia? To use you against your father? Against me?”

“I’m not a pawn, Dante.”

“No,” he said softly. “You’re the queen. And queens are targeted first.”

He walked to her, slow and measured. She tensed, her body screaming at her to move. But she held her ground.

His hand reached for her face.

She flinched.

He stopped an inch from her skin.

“I would never hurt you,” he said quietly.

She said nothing.

Because she didn’t believe him.

Not anymore.

Not after what Chiara said. Not after the strange letter. Not after the surveillance, the hidden cameras, the guards at every corner.

He dropped his hand.

“Your father’s men are making noise,” he said. “They’re blaming me for Chiara’s death.”

“Shouldn’t they?” she asked coldly.

His eyes darkened. “You think I’d harm your friend?”

“I think you don’t care who dies as long as your kingdom stays intact.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “That’s not fair.”

“You don’t get to lecture me about fairness, Dante. You kidnapped me. You’re forcing me into a marriage I never wanted.”

“I’m trying to keep you alive.”

“I’d rather be dead than owned.”

The silence between them was electric.

He looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

And then, for the first time, he said, “There are things you don’t know.”

“Then tell me,” she challenged.

Dante hesitated.

But before he could speak, a knock came.

His phone buzzed.

He checked it. Froze.

“Something’s happened,” he said, his voice clipped. “I have to go.”

She stood too quickly. “What’s going on?”

“Stay in this room,” he ordered, already moving.

“Dante—”

He was gone before she finished his name.

The door locked behind him with an ominous click.

Alessia waited only thirty seconds before ripping the robe open and pulling the letter back out.

The real message never made it to you.

Her heart pounded. She searched the suite again—every drawer, every pocket, every surface.

Then, near the bottom of the closet, under a pile of folded scarves, she found it.

Another envelope.

This one is marked with a crimson wax seal bearing no initial. But the paper was thicker. Smoother.

With trembling hands, she opened it.

Inside wasn’t parchment.

It was a USB drive.

Tiny.

Unassuming.

She stared at it for a moment, torn between fear and fury.

A tablet lay on her vanity table—one Dante had left for her to “pass the time.”

She plugged it in.

The video loaded in seconds.

At first, she saw nothing.

Just darkness.

Then—voices.

A man, pleading. A woman screaming.

Gunshots.

The video jolted.

Camera footage. Security-style. Unsteady.

And then—

Dante.

Standing in a dark room. Covered in blood.

Not scared. Not shaken.

Smiling.

Another man lay on the floor behind him. Motionless. Lifeless.

The video shifted again.

A second clip.

Younger Dante. Sitting beside another man. “She’s not a liability anymore,” his voice said. “It’s done.”

The other man nodded. “Catalina’s body?”

“Burned.”

Alessia’s heart cracked.

Catalina.

She’d heard the name whispered in passing. An ex-lover. A traitor. A ghost in Dante’s past.

But this… this was murder.

This was premeditated execution.

This was—

The screen suddenly blinks to black.

A message appeared:

Unauthorized playback. Device disabled.

“No, no, no,” Alessia breathed, tapping the screen.

Too late.

The drive fried.

Self-destruct code, probably.

She sat back, shaking.

And then—

The fire alarm blared.

Smoke poured in through the air vents.

She coughed, stumbling back, eyes watering.

This wasn’t a drill.

This was a warning.

Or a silencing.

The screen on the tablet lit up one more time.

A new message:

You shouldn’t have watched that.

Her scream was lost in the wail of the alarm.

Outside the door, footsteps approached fast—and Alessia had no idea if they were coming to save her… or finish what Dante started.