Chapter 2 The Devil at the Door

Serena's POV

I wore black.

Not because I was mourning, though I probably should've been. My soul? That had already been auctioned off in my father's study. No, I wore black because it was armor - and because I knew Luca Moretti would expect a bride in soft pastels and lace.

Let him meet a blade instead.

The Morettis were set to arrive at noon. At exactly 11:58 a.m., the air in the Caprini estate changed. The silence deepened. The staff vanished. The guards stood taller, their hands a little closer to their holsters.

I stood at the top of the grand staircase, hands gripping the marble rail. Below, my father waited in a steel-grey suit, flanked by his capos like ceremonial executioners. Matteo stood to his right, unreadable as always.

Then the doors opened.

And the Devil stepped inside.

Luca Moretti did not walk like a man arriving in enemy territory. He strolled in like he owned the place. Jet-black suit, no tie, coat unbuttoned despite the winter chill outside. His dark hair was immaculately combed, and his expression... empty. Not cold. Not angry. Just empty. Like he'd left whatever soul he had in the trunk of his bulletproof car.

His men followed - silent, disciplined, all in black. But they were shadows. He was the storm.

His eyes found me in less than a second. And they stayed there.

God help me, I didn't look away.

He didn't blink.

My father stepped forward, offering a stiff handshake. "Luca."

"Caprini." His voice was low. Crisp. Not gravel, not silk - something in between. Like a knife that had never dulled.

Then he looked back up the stairs. At me.

No smile. No nod. Just... a tilt of the head.

A challenge.

I descended slowly, step by step, making sure my heels clicked hard against the marble. If I was going to be thrown into a pit, I'd at least make the Devil look twice.

When I reached the bottom, we stood eye to eye. I expected him to gloat. Or leer. Or offer some mafia version of a courtship line.

Instead, he said, "You look like a funeral."

I smiled sweetly. "That's because I'm attending one."

A ghost of something moved across his lips. Not amusement. Not anger. Just acknowledgment.

"I hope it's not mine," he said.

"Too early to say."

---

Luca's POV

She was not what I expected.

I'd seen photos - of course I had. Surveillance, public events, old tabloid covers. But nothing prepared me for Serena Caprini in the flesh.

She was fire in a world of ash. Sharp edges where most mafia daughters were soft curves and practiced smiles. Dressed in black, with shoulders squared like she was walking to war. Eyes that didn't flinch when they met mine.

Pretty. Fierce.

Perfect.

She would hate me. That was expected. But I could work with hate. Hate had weight. Hate could be shaped into loyalty, or fear, or something worse.

I needed this alliance. But her? She was a bonus. A complication, maybe. But one I intended to master.

Caprini offered lunch. I declined. Too risky. Too polite.

"We'll keep the meeting brief," I said. "I'm not here for tea."

Serena smirked at that. She liked the games, even if she didn't want to admit it.

We stepped into the drawing room - me, Caprini, Serena, and Matteo, who hovered like a knife waiting to be used.

I didn't sit.

Caprini poured himself another drink. "The wedding will be in three days."

"Make it two," I said.

He stiffened. "That wasn't the agreement."

"It is now."

Caprini looked to Serena. I followed his gaze. She hadn't moved. She stood at the window, arms crossed, back straight.

"I'm not a dog," she said without looking at me. "You don't get to snap your fingers and......"

"Obedience isn't a leash," I interrupted. "It's survival."

She turned, slowly. "You don't know me."

"I will."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Yet."

Matteo stepped forward. "Watch your tone."

I turned toward him, unblinking. "You think threatening me will save her?"

He didn't answer.

I let the silence thicken. Let them all feel it. Then I looked back at Serena.

"You don't need to love me," I said, calm and clear.

I stepped close. Close enough to see the quick pulse in her neck. To smell the faint trace of jasmine in her perfume. She didn't step back.

"But you will obey."

---

Serena's POV

I didn't sleep that night.

I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the words echoing in my head like a bell I couldn't unring.

"You will obey."

Like I was some pet. Some trinket.

But what truly haunted me wasn't the command. It was how calm he'd been. How sure.

Luca Moretti didn't raise his voice. He didn't flex. He simply stated his intentions - and assumed the world would fall in line.

Worse, I believed him.

The next morning, I woke to find a garment bag hanging on the back of my door. Black. No note.

Inside: a designer dress. Sleek. Blood red. Bare shoulders, fitted waist, high slit. And beneath it, a note tucked in the seam.

"Wear this to dinner. 7 PM. – L"

Arrogant bastard.

I wore it anyway.

Why? I told myself it was strategy. Let him think I was playing along. Let him relax. Maybe that's when I'd strike.

But the truth?

I wanted to see how far I could push him. I wanted to see what kind of Devil my father had just chained me to.

---

Dinner was in the estate's smaller dining room - intimate, low lighting, fire crackling in the hearth. Luca stood as I entered.

He was already in a dark suit, no tie again. This time, he studied me with something unreadable.

"Bold choice," he said.

"You picked it."

"I didn't think you'd wear it."

"Then you don't know me."

He pulled out a chair. I hesitated. Then sat.

The meal was simple: grilled sea bass, risotto, a bottle of red that probably cost more than my first car. We ate in silence for several minutes.

Then he spoke.

"What clause did you add to the contract?"

I paused mid-bite. "Excuse me?"

"You tampered with it. I had my lawyer review it again this morning. Page six, paragraph three. Your handwriting."

I set my fork down slowly. "You had no right......"

"I had every right," he said. "This is war dressed as marriage, Serena. You don't get privacy."

I met his gaze. "I added a clause for annulment. After twelve months, if there's no child, either party can dissolve the marriage."

His jaw ticked. "You plan on using it?"

"Do you plan on giving me a reason not to?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Fair enough."

I stared at him. "That's it?"

"I admire the move. It's clean. Strategic."

"You admire me?"

He didn't smile. But his voice dropped a fraction.

"Not yet."

---

After dinner, we didn't talk. He escorted me to my room like some twisted gentleman. Before I stepped inside, I turned to face him.

"This isn't over," I said.

"No," he agreed. "It's just beginning."

He leaned in, so close I could feel the heat of his breath.

"And one more thing..."

I didn't move.

He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear with deliberate slowness. The touch sent a jolt down my spine - and I hated it.

"You don't need to love me..." he murmured, echoing his earlier words.

"...but you will obey."

Then he turned and walked away.

---

I stood in the doorway long after he'd gone.

My heartbeat was unsteady. My skin still buzzed from his touch.

And I hated that somewhere beneath the rage and revulsion...

...a sliver of something else had stirred.