He was taller than I'd imagined, with broad shoulders straining against the black fabric of his tailored suit. His hair was dark, cut close to his head, and when he laughed at something one of the Romano captains said, the sound barely touched his eyes.

Cold. Calculated.

Dangerous.

He turned slightly, and for a heartbeat, our gazes collided across the room.

A spark.

A dare.

A promise of war.

I lifted my chin and descended the staircase, my black dress whispering against the marble with every step. The room quieted. Not entirely - the murmurs simply dipped into a lower register, the way a jungle goes silent when the apex predator appears.

All eyes followed me.

Good. Let them.

As I crossed the hall, weaving between clusters of guests, I caught snippets of conversation.

"The Romano girl - didn't think she'd agree..."

"Poor thing. To a Petrov?"

"He'll tame her. One way or another."

I smiled at the last comment. Let them think me a beast that needed breaking. It would make it all the sweeter when I turned the leash around.

Near the grand fireplace, my father stood with Luca and two men I didn't know. Guards. Watching Ivan like they still didn't trust him.

Smart.

They shouldn't.

My father caught my eye and beckoned me forward.

"Adriana," he said, voice smooth as silk. "Come meet your future."

Ivan stepped closer, a slow, deliberate movement. His presence rolled over me - not clumsy or overbearing, but heavy, like gravity itself bowed around him.

Up close, the effect was worse.

Or better, depending on your definition of survival.

His face was all sharp lines and harsh shadows, a strong jaw dusted with the faintest hint of stubble. His mouth was a hard line, like he'd forgotten how to smile for real.

But it was his eyes that stole the breath from my lungs.

Steel-gray.

Flat.

Unforgiving.

The kind of eyes that had seen blood spill and hadn't flinched.

He took my hand before I could stop him, lifting it as if to kiss the back of it - a mocking parody of courtesy. His lips barely brushed my skin, but it was enough to send a chill racing up my spine.

"Adriana Romano," he murmured, his accent thick, the syllables dragging slow and deliberate. "So we finally meet."

I yanked my hand back, letting the rejection sting in front of everyone. His lips twitched - not quite a smile, more a silent acknowledgement of the game now laid bare between us.

"My condolences," I said sweetly.

He chuckled, a dark, rasping sound that raised the hair on my arms. "For which part?"

I leaned in just enough that only he would hear. "For thinking you'll ever own me."

His nostrils flared slightly, but the amusement didn't leave his eyes. If anything, it deepened.

Challenge accepted.

My father cleared his throat, pulling the room's attention back to him.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, voice rising above the low din of conversation. "Tonight, we announce the joining of two great houses. The end of a long and bloody feud."

The crowd pressed closer, the scent of anticipation thickening.

"My daughter, Adriana Romano," he continued, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder, "and Ivan Petrov will be bound in marriage. Our war ends with their union."

The applause was polite. Empty.

I didn't move. I didn't smile. I barely breathed.

Ivan stepped forward, standing close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him.

He offered his arm, an unspoken command.

For a second, the world teetered. Pride screamed at me to refuse. To set the whole damned villa on fire before I'd link myself to this man.

But Missi's face flashed before my eyes - wide-eyed, smiling, trusting.

I slid my hand into the crook of Ivan's arm, the movement mechanical.

A victory for the wrong side.

He leaned down, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. "Smile, printsessa. Or they'll think you're afraid."

I smiled.

Sharp. Bright. A smile that promised broken bones and shattered thrones.

The orchestra struck up a waltz, and before I could escape, Ivan tugged me onto the dance floor.

His hand pressed against the small of my back, firm and sure. His other hand caught mine, fingers weaving between mine like chains.

I let him lead for exactly three steps.

Then I shifted my weight subtly, forcing him to adjust or stumble. A silent warning.

He adjusted. Effortlessly.

His lips curved in something dangerously close to approval.

"You're not what I expected," he murmured, spinning me effortlessly beneath the glittering chandelier.

"Good," I said, smiling up at him with dead eyes. "Expectations are for fools."

He chuckled, the sound low and dark, vibrating through my bones.

"Tell me, printsessa," he said, voice a silken threat, "do you plan to kill me before or after the wedding?"

I tilted my head, considering him.

"Depends," I said lightly. "How annoying are you planning to be?"

His smile was razor-sharp. "Very."

I couldn't help it - a laugh escaped, brittle and bright.

He pulled me closer, so close that the world narrowed to the hard plane of his chest, the whisper of his breath against my hair.

"You'll find I'm not so easy to get rid of," he murmured.

"Neither am I," I whispered back.

The song ended. The spell broke.

We separated cleanly, like two duellists stepping back after the first blow.

I turned on my heel, walking off the dance floor without looking back.

Not giving him the satisfaction.

I barely made it halfway across the hall before a familiar hand snagged my wrist.

Missi.

Her eyes were wide, her face flushed from sneaking wine she wasn't supposed to have. She tugged me into the shadow of a marble pillar.

"You can't marry him," she hissed, glancing over her shoulder like she expected Ivan to materialize out of thin air.

I crouched down, taking her face in my hands. She was still so young. Still soft in ways this world would punish.

"I have to," I said, keeping my voice gentle.

"But you don't even like him!"

"That's not how this works, piccola."

Her lip wobbled. "I don't want you to go away."

I pressed my forehead to hers. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

A lie.

A prayer.

Both useless.

I stood, smoothing my dress. My father was watching from across the room, his gaze sharp as a blade. Luca stood beside him, whispering something into his ear.

Whatever it was, it made my father's mouth thin into a grim line.

Trouble.

I straightened my shoulders.

Good.

Let them come.

Let them all come.

If Ivan Petrov thought he'd shackled a lamb, he was about to find out he'd married a viper.

And when the time came -

I'd make sure he bled first.