Page 5 of His Bride

“Smile, Adriana,” my mother instructs, her perfectly manicured hand squeezing my arm. “This is a joyous occasion.”

I force my lips to curve upward, the gesture as brittle as spun sugar. Joyous. Right. Because being sold off to a crime lord is every girl’s dream come true.

My father clears his throat, his eyes darting nervously around the room. “Remember, tesoro, this union will restore our family’s honor. You carry the weight of our legacy on your shoulders.”

No pressure or anything.

I nod, not trusting my voice. The weight of their expectations settles on me like a lead cloak, threatening to suffocate me. My gaze sweeps across the room, searching for the man who now holds my future in his hands.

“There’s Carmine Rossi, his consigliere” my father says, gesturing subtly towards a group of stern-faced men near the bar. “But I don’t see Dante yet.”

A flicker of relief washes over me, quickly chased away by a fresh wave of anxiety. Where is he? The anticipation is worse than facing him outright.

“Why don’t we mingle?” my mother suggests, her smile fixed and brittle. “It wouldn’t do to appear standoffish.”

We weave through the crowd, my parents effortlessly slipping into their roles of gracious hosts. I trail behind, feeling like an imposter in my designer gown and borrowed confidence. The conversations around me blur into a meaningless hum as my mind races.

What will he be like? The stories I’ve heard paint Dante Rossi as a ruthless, calculating man. A predator in an expertly tailored suit. Will he see right through my facade?

“Adriana?” A familiar voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts.

I turn, relief flooding through me when I spot Valentina, my childhood friend. “Oh, thank god,” I breathe, pulling her into a quick hug. “I was starting to feel like I was drowning in here.”

Valentina’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “How are you holding up? This can’t be easy.”

I laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “Oh, you know, just living every girl’s fairy tale. Marrying a man I’ve never met to save my family from financial ruin and social disgrace. The usual.”

“Adri…” Valentina’s voice is soft, laced with sympathy.

I wave off her concern, not wanting to dwell on the reality of my situation. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Have you seen him yet? Dante?”

Valentina shakes her head. “No, but I’ve heard rumors. They say he’s—”

“Terrifying? A monster in a three-piece suit?” I finish for her, only half-joking.

“Actually, they say he’s devastatingly handsome,” Valentina replies with a small smirk. “But also that his eyes could freeze hell itself.”

Great. A hot psychopath. Just what every girl dreams of.

I’m about to respond when I feel it – a shift in the air, like the calm before a storm. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I know, without turning, that he’s here.

Dante Rossi has arrived.

I hold my breath as I slowly pivot, my eyes drawn inexorably to the far side of the room. And there he is, standing in the doorway like a dark god among mortals.

The first thing that strikes me is his presence. It’s palpable, electric, filling the room and demanding attention without a single word spoken. He’s tall, at least six-foot-two, with broad shoulders that taper to a lean waist. His suit is impeccably tailored, midnight black that seems to absorb the light around him.

But it’s his face that truly captures me. Chiseled features that wouldn’t look out of place on a Renaissance sculpture, a strong jaw dusted with perfectly manicured stubble. His hair is as dark as a raven’s wing, styled in a way that’s both effortlessly elegant and slightly rakish.

And his eyes. Even from across the room, I can see their intensity. Steel gray and razor-sharp, they cut through the crowd like a scalpel, searching, assessing.

Until they land on me.

The world seems to tilt on its axis as our gazes lock. There’s no warmth in those eyes, no hint of the nervousness I feel coursing through my veins. Instead, I see calculation, a predatory glint that makes my stomach clench.

He begins to move towards me with the fluid grace of a jungle cat, parting the crowd effortlessly. People instinctively step out of his way, conversations faltering in his wake.

“Oh shit,” I mumble, my heart rate skyrocketing. “Valentina, he’s coming this way.”

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