Page 11 of His Bride

I do as he says, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m on display. A prize to be admired, a symbol of Dante’s power and reach.

As we make our way through the crowd, I catch snippets of conversation:

“…can’t believe Moretti agreed to this…”

“…wonder how long she’ll last…”

Each word is a dagger, reminding me of the precarious position I’m in. I’m not just a bride - I’m a pawn in a game I hardly understand.

Dante guides me to the head table, pulling out my chair with exaggerated gallantry. While I sit, I catch sight of my father across the room. His face is a mask of relief and worry.

I want to go to him, to seek comfort in his familiar presence. But Dante’s hand on my shoulder keeps me in place.

“Your father made the right choice,” Dante says, following my gaze. “He ensured your family’s survival. Remember that, Adriana.”

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. As the reception begins in earnest, I find myself swept up in a whirlwind of congratulations and small talk. But through it all, I’m acutely aware of Dante’s presence beside me.

His arm around my waist, his lips brushing my ear as he whispers introductions, his eyes constantly watching, assessing. It’s both impressive and terrifying that he knows all of them.

As the night wears on, I begin to see glimpses of the world I’ve married into. The way conversations halt when Dante approaches, the deference in people’s eyes, the undercurrent of fear beneath the festivity.

“Dance with me,” Dante says suddenly, pulling me to my feet.

When we move to the center of the dance floor, the crowd parts like the Red Sea. Dante pulls me close, one hand on my waist, the other clasping mine.

“You’re trembling,” he observes as we begin to move.

“I’m overwhelmed,” I admit, surprising myself with my honesty.

Dante’s lips quirk in a half-smile. “You’ll adapt quickly, I’m sure. You’re stronger than you know, Adriana.”

As we sway to the music, I find myself studying his face. The sharp angles of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes, the small scar above his left eyebrow. He’s undeniably handsome, in a dangerous sort of way.

“Why me?” I ask suddenly. “You could have chosen anyone. Why did you agree to marry me?”

Dante’s grip tightens slightly. “Because from the moment I saw you, I knew you were meant to be mine. Your father’s debt was just… convenient.”

His words unnerve me.

When the dance comes to an end, Dante leans in close, his voice deep in my ear. “Don’t forget, cara mia. This is just the beginning. Tonight, I’ll show you what it truly means to belong to me.”

I stumble back, meeting his gaze. In that moment, I see the passion, the possessiveness, the dark promise in his eyes.

Chapter Five

Dante

My fingers tighten around Adriana’s delicate hand as we step out of the reception hall. The night air hits us, cool and bracing.

Adriana’s breath catches. I glance down, drinking in the sight of her. Even in the dim light, her beauty steals my breath. The white lace of her gown glows ethereally. Dark curls frame her pretty face, softening features etched with apprehension.

“Come,” I say, tugging her gently towards the waiting car.

Her steps falter. “Dante, I—”

“Hush, little dove.” I brush my thumb across her knuckles. “There’s nothing to fear.”

We reach the car. Enzo, one of my most trusted soldier, stands at attention beside it. His eyes flick between us, assessing. I give a curt nod.

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