The Vow of Crimson Smoke

The silk veil was suffocating.

In the rear of a bulletproof car, Elira had her hands bound beneath the lace on her wedding dress. At the driveway entrance stood rows of armed guards, who looked like statues, and the heavy gates in front looked ready to trap her, like the mouth of an animal.

She was not here by choice.

The engagement had been announced three days after her father's mysterious death. Her "husband-to-be," Cassian Dreven-the Crimson Wolf of the underground-had offered protection in exchange for her hand. Her godmother, the last of Elira's guardians, had signed the contract without consulting her.

Marriage, they called it.

A transaction, she knew.

"Elira," said the driver, not looking back. "You should prepare yourself. The boss doesn't like theatrics."

Elira let out a low laugh. "I'll try not to faint during the vows."

The car slowed as they reached the courtyard. Two men in suits opened the door, their eyes never quite meeting hers. That's what fear looked like-disguised as respect.

She stepped out.

The manor loomed above her-four stories of dark stone and glass, flanked by thorn-wrapped gates and men with guns. Somewhere inside, her future awaited, wrapped in blood and smoke.

Cassian Dreven.

The man whispered about in back alleys and feared in boardrooms. The man who'd taken control of her father's shattered empire and declared her his bride.

Elira was led inside, past glass chandeliers, crimson carpets, and portraits of men with cold eyes. A judge waited in the drawing room, flipping through a worn ledger with mechanical boredom.

And there he was.

Cassian stood at the far end, dressed in black like a shadow given form. He didn't smile when he saw her. Didn't blink. Just studied her with the same expression he might give a blade before using it.

"You're late," he said, voice smooth as cut obsidian.

"Fashionably," she replied. "I hear that's what mafia brides do."

His eyes narrowed. "Don't test me."

She raised her chin. "You shouldn't underrate me."

There was a long moment of quiet. Then, he nodded once to the judge.

"Let's make this official."

The vows were exchanged without love, the kiss a cold brush of control. Cassian didn't hold her hand-he gripped it, a silent warning and a public claim.

When it was over, the guards clapped. The judge signed the papers. Elira Vexley became Elira Dreven.

And her cage was sealed.

That night, she stood alone in the master bedroom, staring out the window at the vast estate grounds. She had been told there were snipers on the roof. Told not to touch any locked doors. Told to act like a wife, or suffer the consequences.

A soft knock came at the door.

She turned.

Cassian entered without waiting for an invitation. His tie was loosened, his eyes darker than before.

Do I hear a "no" when I ask if you love me?

His reply was, "No." "But I own you."

Her heart clenched.

"I won't make it easy."

"I don't want easy." He stepped closer. "I want loyalty."

"You want silence."

"I want survival. For both of us."

Elira's eyes narrowed. "What's the issue you're not mentioning?"

Cassian reached under his coat and found an envelope inside. On the inside, a grainy, blurry photo taken far back, but still easily recognized.

Her father.

Alive.

Her blood turned to ice.

"This marriage," he said, voice low, "is the only way to find the truth. Roth played both of us. And now he wants you dead."

Her breath caught.

"You do not cage me," she mumbled. "You're my shield."

Cassian stepped forward until they were nose to nose. "I can be both."