Chapter 1 Alessio Riccardo's POV

"The woman who survives them all... will be your bride."

That's what my father said.

Like it was nothing. Like a wedding vow was just another contract soaked in blood.

"You look like you're about to murder someone."

I don't glance at Lorenzo. He's lounging on the edge of the long dining table, swirling whiskey in his glass like he doesn't work for a crime family that could get wiped out any day now.

"I'm considering it," I reply.

He laughs. "And here I thought you were getting sentimental. Fifty women in one house. Could be fun, no?"

"Fun," I echo. "You think turning marriage into a fucking gladiator ring is fun?"

"You sound just like your mother."

I do look at him then. Cold. Sharp. A stare that makes most men shut up. But not Lorenzo. He's been my right hand since I was sixteen. He knows all the angles I won't admit out loud.

"Where is he?" I ask instead.

"The Don? In the greenhouse. Talking to roses like they're listening."

Of course. Poison grows in silence, and my father loves watching things die slowly.

I pushed off from the window, jaw clenched.

The estate is quiet, unnaturally so. We've turned off the outside world, locked the gates, scrubbed the cameras clean for anything not under our control.

The women start arriving in an hour. My so-called future wife is among them.

Whoever survives.

Whoever plays his game best.

And I already hate every second of it.

My father's hands are stained with soil when I find him.

"How poetic," I mutter. "Burying your enemies and planting roses on their graves."

Don Marco Riccardo doesn't look up. "You came. That's progress."

"I'm not playing, old man."

"You are," he says smoothly. "Because this isn't about you, Alessio. It's about legacy. Empire. Survival."

"You want survival? Maybe don't invite fifty strangers into our home."

"They're not strangers. Every one of them was handpicked-bloodlines, loyalty, ambition. Some are dangerous. Most are desperate. The one who thrives? She'll be fit to stand beside you."

I cross my arms. "Or over my corpse."

He smiles. "Either way, we get a winner."

I want to snap the rose stem in his hand. Instead, I say, "You'll ruin everything with this circus."

"I'm saving it."

A silence stretches between us like wire.

Then he adds, too softly, "You're getting soft."

I grit my teeth.

He chuckles. "Good. Let them see your rage."

By the time the gates creak open, the sun is bleeding over the estate like a warning. Black cars roll in one by one, each carrying a woman who thinks she can win.

Lorenzo stands beside me, watching.

"They're all beautiful," he mutters. "So many knives in heels."

I don't respond.

Then I see her.

Fifth car.

Black hair, sleek. Eyes like she's already decided I'm the villain in her story. She steps out with no hesitation, no nerves. She doesn't look around to see who's watching.

She knows we are.

"What's her name?" I ask.

Lorenzo flips a page on the clipboard. "Eva Moretti. No known affiliations. No criminal record. Grew up in Milan. Quiet file."

"Too quiet."

He smirks. "You're interested."

"She doesn't flinch."

"She will."

The women are gathered in the ballroom. It's as extravagant as it is suffocating. Crystal chandeliers. Marble floors. And tension so thick you could choke on it.

Don Riccardo stands at the head of the room, dressed like a king holding court.

I stay to the side, arms folded, watching.

"Welcome," he says, voice smooth like oil on fire. "You're not here by accident. Each of you was chosen."

Murmurs ripple.

He lifts a hand.

"This is not a show. This is not a game. You're here to prove one thing: you are worthy to marry my son."

Gasps. One woman swears under her breath.

Eva doesn't move. Doesn't blink.

"You will be tested," the Don continues. "Loyalty. Strategy. Grace. Fear. Betrayal. Fifty days. One woman remains. She becomes part of this family. She gets power, protection, and Alessio Riccardo."

That's when all eyes turn to me.

I meet them without flinching.

They'll either fear me or try to seduce me. I'm not sure which is worse.

Later, after the welcome speech ends and the women are shown to their rooms, I find her again.

Eva. Alone in the garden.

I shouldn't approach. But I do.

"You're not like the others," I say, leaning against a column.

She turns slowly. No surprise in her expression. "Because I'm not throwing myself at you?"

"Because you're not afraid."

She raises a brow. "Maybe I'm just good at pretending."

I step closer. "Why are you here?"

She smiles. It doesn't reach her eyes.

"To win."

"No hesitation?"

"No illusion, either. I know what this is."

"And what is it?"

"War disguised as courtship."

That makes me pause.

She adds, "I don't need love. I need leverage."

I laugh once. Low. Dangerous.

"You might be the only honest one here."

She shrugs. "I'm not here to please you, Alessio."

I lean in slightly. Close enough to smell her perfume....something clean and sharp, like rain on concrete.

"No. But you might have to survive me."

She doesn't flinch.

That makes her dangerous.

I like dangerous.

Later that night, Lorenzo corners me outside the surveillance room.

"You were right," he says, brows furrowed. "Eva Moretti... something's off."

"What did you find?"

"She wasn't supposed to make the list. Someone forged her background."

My blood runs cold.

"Who?"

"We don't know yet."

"Then find out."

"She could be a threat."

Or worse.

I find myself back in the garden.

Her window is lit.

Curtains drawn.

She's inside.

And she's not who she says she is.

I know it now.

And I'm going to find out why, before she ruins everything.