Chapter 1 The Enemy's Ring

The last time Amara DeLuca saw Lucien Moretti, he was seventeen, bleeding from a knife wound her father gave him.

Now, ten years later, he stood at the head of a ballroom wearing a custom black suit and a smile as cold as winter.

And he was waiting for her.

She walked in like she owned the place. A red silk gown painted to her curves, diamonds glittering like promises she'd never keep. Heads turned as she entered, the whispers already spiraling across the room like wildfire.

Is that Amara DeLuca?

She was supposed to be in exile.

Isn't her father the traitor who-?

Lucien moved before the music could catch its breath. In seconds, he was at her side. He didn't offer a greeting. He simply extended his hand.

"Dance with me."

Amara should've said no. She should've slapped him in that too-perfect face and walked back out of the gala the way she came.

Instead, she took his hand.

The touch burned like betrayal.

His palm wrapped around hers like possession. Like victory.

As he led her onto the dance floor, violins sang the first note of a waltz. Cameras clicked, glasses clinked. They began to turn in perfect synchronization - predator and prey, though it wasn't clear who was which.

"You cleaned up," she said coolly, her voice low so only he could hear. "Last I saw you, you were bleeding into the marble floor of my father's estate."

Lucien's hand slid lower on her waist, pressing possessively against her hip.

"I remember," he murmured. "I still have the scar. Want to see it?"

Her mouth curled into a dangerous smile. "I'd rather reopen it."

He laughed - a dark, amused sound. "Still sharp. I like that."

She twirled under his arm, their bodies drawn back together with magnetic force. The tension was a tightrope, stretched taut between them. Heat simmered beneath their elegant facade.

"I know why you're here," Lucien said into her ear.

Amara's pulse spiked, but her face remained neutral. "Is that so?"

"You're here to bargain. Maybe beg." His lips brushed the edge of her jaw like a sin. "But lucky you, cara mia, I've decided to be merciful."

Her heart beat like a drum in a war zone.

"I don't beg," she whispered.

His hand tightened. "You will."

The waltz ended, applause blooming around them like roses laced with thorns. Lucien didn't let her go. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he said the words that detonated her world.

"We're getting married, Amara."

She went still.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll have my lawyers send over the contract in the morning. Your father destroyed my family. He took everything. You'll give it back. Starting with your name."

Amara's nails dug into his wrist. "I'm not for sale."

"Oh, sweetheart. This isn't a sale." His gaze was pure steel. "It's a war. And you just became my trophy."

They left the ballroom under a thousand curious eyes. Lucien's hand was firm on her back, guiding her toward the private elevator of the Grand Leone hotel. He had the penthouse, of course. The king never sleeps below anyone else.

"You're out of your mind if you think I'm agreeing to this," Amara hissed as the elevator doors closed.

Lucien stepped close. No cameras now. No witnesses. Just the suffocating tension of ten years of hate - and something far more dangerous beneath it.

"You agreed when you showed up," he said softly. "You knew what this was. Don't pretend otherwise."

"I came to clear my family name, not throw myself at the feet of the man who-"

"-who wants to fuck you senseless on every surface of that ballroom?" he interrupted, voice low, lethal. "Oh, I do. But this isn't just about lust, bella. This is about taking back what was stolen."

He backed her against the mirrored wall of the elevator. His hand braced beside her head. His eyes dropped to her mouth.

"I hate you," she said breathlessly.

"Good," he said, inching closer. "Because love never gets you anywhere in our world."

Then he kissed her.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was the kind of kiss that tasted like fire and fury. His mouth claimed hers with a decade of anger, his tongue sweeping past her defenses like a storm. She shoved at him - he only pressed harder.

And worst of all?

She kissed him back.

The elevator dinged.

Lucien pulled away with a slow, smug smile. "You're mine now, Amara."

"Keep dreaming," she spat.

But her lips were swollen. Her heart traitorous.

The elevator doors opened to the penthouse.

Waiting on a sleek black marble table was the marriage contract - and a gun.