His Woman

The silence in the room was thick enough to choke her.

Valencia Cruz stared at her father, the words he'd just spoken still echoing in her head like the aftermath of a car crash. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she tightened them into fists until her nails bit into her palms.

"Say it again," she said, her voice low. Dangerous.

Her father wouldn't meet her eyes. He busied himself with his glass of whiskey, pretending the world hadn't just tilted beneath her feet.

"You're marrying Luca Moretti," he said, quieter this time. "Tomorrow."

Valencia laughed. Sharp. Dry. Bitter.

"That's not funny."

He set the glass down. The clink on the wooden table made her flinch.

"It's not a joke. It's a deal."

A deal.

Of course it was. Because to Alejandro Cruz, everything had a price. Even his daughter.

"You sold me," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

"I saved you."

That made her head snap up.

"From what? From living a normal life? From being something other than a pawn in your sick, crumbling empire?"

Her father's jaw tightened. "You think I wanted this? I was out of time. Out of options. The Morettis don't negotiate twice."

Valencia took a step back, feeling the walls close in. Her mind raced through every whispered rumor she'd ever heard about Luca Moretti-the youngest son of the most feared mafia family in Valesto. Handsome. Ruthless. Merciless.

And now, apparently, her future husband.

"You didn't even ask me."

"It wasn't your decision to make."

Valencia turned away before she said something unforgivable. Her breath came in uneven bursts as she stared out the window, watching the city lights flicker like false hope.

"I won't be some caged doll for him to display."

"He doesn't want a doll."

She spun back around. "No? What does he want then? A wife who won't flinch when he brings blood home on his hands? A woman who will smile at the table while the city burns around her?"

Alejandro didn't answer. He didn't have to.

Valencia had always known her father was selfish. She just hadn't realized he was also a coward.

"So that's it? I'm traded like property to clear your debt?"

"He asked for you," he said finally. "By name."

That stopped her cold.

"What?"

"Luca. He didn't just want repayment. He wanted you."

Her blood ran colder than the marble tiles beneath her feet. Why her? She'd never even met the man. Never spoken to him. But he knew her name.

A thousand thoughts crashed in her head, but one burned brighter than the rest:

He chose me.

And she didn't know if that was better or worse.

Upstairs, the dress waited.

White silk. Long sleeves. Elegant.

A beautiful lie.

Valencia stood in front of it like she was facing a firing squad. The tailor had called it a masterpiece. Her aunt had cried when she saw it. But to Valencia, it was a uniform. The costume of a girl being buried alive.

She touched the fabric lightly. It was soft. Deceptive. Like the man it was meant for.

She didn't cry. Wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Instead, she stared at herself in the mirror-at the dark fire in her eyes, the tension in her jaw, the fury that burned steady in her chest.

Let him see it, she thought. Let Luca Moretti see that he wasn't getting some frightened little princess.

She was iron. She didn't break.

She was fire. She didn't quench.

If this was going to be war, then she would not go in unarmed.

Downstairs, her aunt knocked lightly before stepping in.

"Valencia, they'll be here soon."

She didn't look away from the mirror. "Then let them wait."

Her aunt sighed, wringing her hands. "You don't understand what kind of man he is."

Valencia turned slowly. "Then maybe it's time he learns what kind of woman I am."

They stared at each other, and for the first time that day, her aunt said nothing.

Outside, the roar of an approaching engine cut through the silence.

Valencia's heart thudded once. Twice.

And then she smiled-a sharp, cold smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Let the games begin."