BLOOD TIES AND BULLET VOWS

"You want me to marry him?"

My voice echoed through the cold office, slicing through the silence like a threat.

Uncle Marcello didn't flinch. He leaned back in his leather chair, fingers steepled, expression unreadable.

"It's the only way."

I paced the room, trying to untangle the words. Marriage. Alliance. Nico Devereux.

I wasn't sure which part made my stomach twist harder.

"You think selling me off is a strategy?"

"I think keeping your brother alive is a priority," he said flatly. "And Nico gave us an out-one we don't deserve."

I stopped. "What's the catch?"

Marcello's eyes darkened. "You live in his house. You wear his ring. You act like a wife."

I let out a bitter laugh. "I didn't realize prostitution came with diamond bands."

He stood-slowly, heavily, as if he bore the weight of the entire Romano downfall on his shoulders.

"Don't be dramatic. You'll be safe. Protected."

"With a man who murders people for looking at him wrong?"

"With a man who could've killed your brother-and didn't."

I stared at him, searching for the uncle who used to sneak me gelato when I cried after Mom left.

But that man wasn't here.

"What's in it for Nico?"

Marcello hesitated. "Control. He wants the Romano name tied to his. Symbolism. Legacy. He's building something bigger than all of us."

"So I'm just a ribbon on his empire."

"You're a lifeline, Juliette," he said. "And this is the only offer we're going to get."

The door opened behind me. I didn't turn. I didn't need to.

The air shifted.

Nico Devereux walked in like he owned the room.

Like he owned me.

Tall. Sharp-jawed. Eyes like frozen silver. He wore a black suit with the top button undone, like the meeting didn't even deserve respect.

"Juliette," he said.

I turned. "Nico."

No smile. Just that same bored cruelty I remembered from the funeral years ago.

He'd stood in front of a coffin, chewing gum.

"I assume you've been told the terms."

"I've been told I'm a gift you get to unwrap."

His mouth curved faintly. "It's not about you."

"Charming."

He crossed the room and poured himself a drink like we were just killing time over brunch.

"I don't need your attitude. I need your signature."

"And you think I'm just going to say yes?"

"I think you will-if you care whether your brother walks out of that warehouse with both hands still attached."

The glass in his hand clinked softly.

I looked at my uncle. He didn't deny it.

"You're bluffing," I said.

Nico met my gaze. Steady. Ice-cold.

"Want to bet?"

I hated how calm he was. Like this was routine. Like I was just a formality.

"What happens after?" I asked. "Do I get a leash? Or a collar?"

He stepped closer-just enough for me to catch his scent. Subtle. Dangerous.

"You get a house in Italy, my last name, and more protection than anyone with Romano blood deserves."

"And what do you get?"

He looked me over, slowly. "What do you think?"

I slapped him.

The sound cracked like a whip in the still air.

Marcello cursed under his breath, but Nico didn't move.

His cheek reddened. His expression didn't shift.

"Feel better?" he asked.

"No. Do you?"

"Not yet."

I stepped back. "You're disgusting."

"And you're desperate," he said. "So let's not pretend we're anything more than what we are."

Marcello spoke then. "The wedding is in three days."

I turned to him. "You already agreed?"

"There was no other option."

"So I'm disposable. Collateral."

"You're family," he said. "Which is why you're the only one I trust to survive this."

My chest ached. My pulse roared in my ears.

I looked at Nico again-this man with the eyes of a killer and the mouth of a liar.

"Fine," I said. "But I want to see my brother. Now."

"You'll see him after the ceremony," Nico said.

"No. That wasn't the deal."

He raised an eyebrow. "I make the deal."

"Then I'm not signing anything."

Nico stepped forward again. His voice lowered, his tone like steel.

"You're brave. I'll give you that."

"This isn't bravery," I said. "This is what it looks like when a woman has nothing left to lose."

His expression flickered-just for a second.

But I saw it.

"You'll get your visit," he said. "But if you run, scheme, or step out of line-I'll make sure you regret it."

"Try me."

He smiled. A slow, sharp thing. Like he enjoyed this.

Then he turned to Marcello like I was already an afterthought.

"Send the dress to her apartment. We'll sign the paperwork after the visit."

And just like that, he was gone.

Leaving silence behind like smoke.

Marcello looked at me, grim. "You're playing with fire."

"Then I hope he burns."

Two days later, I was led into the back room of a nightclub.

Concrete floor. Dim lights. Blood drying on the steel table in the corner.

And Luca.

My brother.

Alive. Beaten. Eyes swollen nearly shut. But breathing.

He looked up when I entered. "Jules?"

"Luca," I whispered.

I ran to him, crouched at his side, held him even as he winced.

He smelled like sweat, blood, and fear.

"They told me you were coming," he said. "Did you do it?"

"I'm going to," I said. "Three days. Then you're free."

"No." His voice cracked. "No. You can't."

"I already said yes."

"Jules, he's worse than anything we grew up around. You don't know who he really is."

"I do," I said. "I know exactly what he is."

Luca grabbed my wrist, his grip weak but urgent. "Then why are you doing this?"

"Because I don't want to bury you."

He fell silent. Then muttered,

"I'd rather die than watch you be owned by someone like him."

"You won't have to watch."

I stood and turned to the guard by the door.

"We're done."

He stepped aside.

But before I could leave, Luca shouted,

"He's the one who set up Dad! I heard them say it."

I froze.

"What?"

Luca's voice dropped to a whisper.

"It was Nico. He's the reason Dad went to prison. The FBI raid, the takedown-it was all him. He planned it. He sold us out."

The door behind me creaked wider.

Footsteps.

I turned.

Nico stood in the hall, watching me like he already knew every word I'd just heard.

And he didn't look sorry.

He looked ready.