Chapter 2

Ava POV

The ballroom was a glittering sea of black tuxedos and designer gowns, but amidst the noise and the clinking crystal, I felt like the only person in the room.

Ethan's hand was a constant, possessive weight on my waist.

He guided me through the crowd of dangerous men and their perfectly manicured wives, showing me off like a prize, introducing me simply as his fiancée.

Every time he said the word, a foolish thrill shot through me.

I was wearing a dress that cost more than I would make in ten lifetimes, a lavish gift from him that felt like silk against my skin but heavy with expectation.

"Smile, Ava," he whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my neck. "They are all looking at you."

I smiled.

I felt like a princess.

caught up in the fantasy, I didn't notice the way the other women looked at me-not with jealousy, but with pity.

I didn't notice the way the men looked at Ethan-with fear and cold calculation.

I only saw him.

He was attentive, bringing me drinks, asking if I was cold, and shielding me from the more aggressive guests.

But then I saw it.

A man approached us, a rival Capo perhaps, emboldened by drink, and made a joke that landed wrong.

Ethan's smile didn't fade, but his eyes changed.

They went dead.

It was a look of absolute zero, a void where human emotion should be.

The man stopped laughing instantly.

He paled and backed away, muttering stumbled apologies.

Ethan turned back to me, and the warmth returned to his eyes so quickly it made me dizzy.

"Just business, my love," he said, kissing my temple.

I told myself he had to be hard to protect us.

I told myself his cruelty was a shield, not a weapon.

A week later, just days before the wedding, he gave me a gift.

It was a heavy velvet box.

Inside lay a diamond necklace, the centerpiece a pendant shaped like the letter 'O'.

It was vintage, clearly old and incredibly valuable, the stones set in a dark, antique silver.

"It's beautiful," I breathed, letting him fasten it around my neck. "But... why 'O'?"

Ethan's hands lingered on my shoulders.

He looked at my reflection in the mirror, but his focus seemed to drift, as if he were looking through me, not at me.

"It stands for 'Ours'," he said softly. "A promise of our future."

I touched the cold metal, desperately wanting to believe him.

I didn't ask David, his Consigliere, why he looked away sharply when he saw it.

I didn't ask why the servants went deathly silent when I walked into the room wearing it.

The wedding day was a blur of white lace and flashing cameras.

My father walked me down the aisle, his arm trembling beneath mine.

He didn't look happy.

He looked like a man walking to the gallows, but I was too blinded by the lights to see it.

Ethan waited at the altar.

He looked magnificent.

He took my hand, and his grip was firm, grounding.

We said our vows.

I promised to love and cherish.

He promised to protect and provide.

"I, Ethan, take you, Ava..."

He paused.

For a split second, his eyes darted up, past me, to the high vaulted ceiling of the cathedral.

There was a mural painted there of angels ascending into a heaven he would never touch.

His expression cracked.

Just for a heartbeat, I saw agony.

Raw, bleeding agony that had nothing to do with joy.

Then it was gone, replaced by the mask of the composed Don.

He slid the ring onto my finger.

It felt heavy.

He kissed me, and the crowd erupted in applause.

I closed my eyes and leaned into him, thinking I had won the heart of a king.

I didn't know I was just a bandage placed over a wound that would never heal.