đź“– Vows of Blood
By Islamiyah
The veil felt like a spiderweb across her face—delicate, suffocating. Selene Moreau stood before the altar, spine straight, heart locked behind her ribs like a criminal waiting for judgment.
This was not a wedding.
This was a surrender.
The ornate chapel smelled of candle wax, old wood, and expensive perfume. Gold accents gleamed on the altar like false promises. The pews were filled with men who killed with words, money, and bullets. Women who never blinked unless it was calculated.
Luciano D'Amore was late.
Of course, he was.
The D'Amores had always treated time like a weapon—wielded, withheld, or broken entirely. And now, the heir himself, the infamous Luciano, was making a statement. That she was not a bride. Just another pawn being handed off in a centuries-old feud.
Selene gripped her bouquet tighter. Red roses—how fitting. Love's symbol, hiding thorns sharp enough to draw blood.
Her mother's voice echoed in her mind: "You marry for peace, not pleasure. You marry for survival."
The side doors swung open.
She didn't turn. Didn't breathe.
He didn't need an announcement. The room shifted with his presence alone. A ripple of tension surged through the crowd like a crack in glass. When Luciano D'Amore walked in, he didn't walk—he arrived. Like a stormfront. Like fate.
Black suit. Black shirt. No tie. No softness.
He met her eyes.
His were obsidian. Cold, unreadable, like the ocean at night. The kind of eyes that had seen death and didn't flinch anymore.
He didn't smile. Didn't offer his hand.
Just walked to the altar and stood beside her.
Selene didn't dare look at him again. If she did, she might lose the strength in her knees. He radiated danger—not the loud, violent kind. The quiet, precise kind that struck only once and never missed.
The priest cleared his throat.
"Dearly beloved…"
She drifted in and out of the ceremony like a ghost. Her father watched from the front pew with hollow eyes. Her mother clutched her rosary like it was the only thing anchoring her to the earth. Neither of them had spoken to her since that morning.
Luciano spoke his vows in a voice smooth as velvet, hard as steel.
Selene recited hers with a voice she barely recognized as her own.
And then it was done.
"You may kiss the bride."
Luciano did not move.
Instead, he turned to her slowly, like a king acknowledging a subject. His hand slid beneath her veil, lifting it with clinical detachment. He studied her face. Not with admiration. Not with lust. With calculation.
Then, without a word, he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
It was ice. Not fire. A performance.
The crowd clapped. The pact was sealed.
And the war between their bloodlines had been silenced—for now.
---
In the limousine, silence sat between them like a third person.
Selene watched the city blur past through the tinted glass. The streets below knew nothing of her cage. Nothing of the ancient curse running in her veins. Nothing of the man now sitting inches away from her, exuding quiet dominance.
He finally spoke.
"You're calmer than I expected."
His voice was deep. Low. Not mocking—just curious.
She turned to face him. "And you're colder than I imagined."
A small twitch pulled at the corner of his lips. Not quite a smile. "Then we're even."
"What now?" she asked.
Luciano turned his gaze back to the window. "Now, we play the game. You smile at the cameras. I silence my enemies. We pretend, until we don't have to."
"And if I don't pretend?"
He looked at her. Fully. Slowly.
"Then I bury the lie with you inside it."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was full of ghosts.
But Selene didn't flinch. She met his gaze, fire for fire.
He didn't know it yet, but she wasn't the weak link in this marriage.
She was the fuse.
And one day soon, she would light the whole empire on fire.