The Lord Of Chaos: A Forced Marriage
img img The Lord Of Chaos: A Forced Marriage img Chapter 3 A silent pact
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Chapter 6 Fear and desire img
Chapter 7 A dangerous caress img
Chapter 8 Lethal provocation img
Chapter 9 A silent surrender img
Chapter 10 The peace has been sealed img
Chapter 11 Improvised escape plan img
Chapter 12 Last words img
Chapter 13 A battlefield img
Chapter 14 The panic and the chaos img
Chapter 15 The only reason img
Chapter 16 The code of ethics img
Chapter 17 One more minute img
Chapter 18 The awakening protocol img
Chapter 19 A scarce commodity img
Chapter 20 Damage control img
Chapter 21 An asthma attack img
Chapter 22 Lapse of sanity img
Chapter 23 Frustration and helplessness img
Chapter 24 A dangerous game img
Chapter 25 A sentence sealed img
Chapter 26 Forbidden territory img
Chapter 27 A sinful invitation img
Chapter 28 A personal defeat img
Chapter 29 An official bloodbath img
Chapter 30 An invitation to disaster img
Chapter 31 The only language img
Chapter 32 For modesty img
Chapter 33 Reprieve from reality img
Chapter 34 A minefield img
Chapter 35 A fair offer img
Chapter 36 The beautiful problem img
Chapter 37 Dirty games img
Chapter 38 Carving pleasure into her img
Chapter 39 Opposite sides img
Chapter 40 Only safe place img
Chapter 41 A true union img
Chapter 42 A wordless confession img
Chapter 43 An inevitable fact img
Chapter 44 Enemy territory img
Chapter 45 An imperfect world img
Chapter 46 The poetry and poison img
Chapter 47 Torment with pleasure img
Chapter 48 The consequences img
Chapter 49 The spoiled playboy img
Chapter 50 An outrage img
Chapter 51 A glaring flaw img
Chapter 52 The agreement sealed img
Chapter 53 An option of little worth img
Chapter 54 The morbid silence img
Chapter 55 A silent plea img
Chapter 56 Order to chaos img
Chapter 57 The other bastard img
Chapter 58 A duel img
Chapter 59 The new problem img
Chapter 60 The business img
Chapter 61 The kiss of death img
Chapter 62 A fated destiny img
Chapter 63 Fairy tale img
Chapter 64 The immediate substitute img
Chapter 65 Shared desire img
Chapter 66 Perfection exists img
Chapter 67 A worm drawn to rot img
Chapter 68 A war-torn chessboard img
Chapter 69 The uncontrollable desire img
Chapter 70 The attraction img
Chapter 71 The entire game img
Chapter 72 Sweet facade img
Chapter 73 One simple truth img
Chapter 74 The first step img
Chapter 75 No scripted img
Chapter 76 A piece of the heavens img
Chapter 77 Enough time img
Chapter 78 In one bite img
Chapter 79 The walls of strength img
Chapter 80 The official guide img
Chapter 81 A pause img
Chapter 82 Warm hugs img
Chapter 83 The quality of her days img
Chapter 84 The power to alter fates img
Chapter 85 Endless nights img
Chapter 86 Life's cruel img
Chapter 87 Money or threats img
Chapter 88 Full hand img
Chapter 89 A perfect shield img
Chapter 90 A bitter truce img
Chapter 91 The magic portal img
Chapter 92 An insult img
Chapter 93 Fearless hearts img
Chapter 94 A brave guardian img
Chapter 95 A delightful oversight img
Chapter 96 An irresistible command img
Chapter 97 A symbolic gesture img
Chapter 98 Worlds apart img
Chapter 99 A calculated prod img
Chapter 100 The veiled venom img
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Chapter 3 A silent pact

Vittoria's stomach churned, each of Vincenzo's words reverberating within her like an inescapable verdict.

Her legs buckled, her body wavered, and for a moment, she nearly collapsed. Nearly, because, in a cruel twist of irony, it was the arms of the man threatening her that steadied her.

As if fate itself wanted to make it abundantly clear, one final time, who truly held the reins.

"You were made to be in my arms. Say yes, bella," Vincenzo murmured, settling her at the altar with the assurance of a victor who knew the battle was won. Every gesture staked his claim, sealing a fate from which there was no escape.

Vittoria sought her father's gaze, a silent cry for rescue, a last plea against the cage closing around her.

But deep down, even before he uttered a word, she knew. There was only one possible answer to Vincenzo's proposal, and it wasn't freedom.

"No way in hell will I allow this," Alfonso roared, yanking Vittoria to his side with a force that clung to the illusion he could still shield her from the inevitable. "You'll touch her only over my dead body. And I swear to God, I'll drag you down with me."

"So be it, then," Vincenzo replied, his tone unshaken as he reached for his holster and drew his gun with precision.

"Say hello to Rocco in hell!" Alfonso bellowed, his eyes ablaze, hatred spilling over as he aimed his weapon at the man who dared defy him.

"Papà, no!" Vittoria cried, lunging forward and placing herself between Alfonso and Vincenzo, her trembling body a human shield. "He has Giuliano..." she whispered, her words erupting into the air like a silent gunshot.

Alfonso's eyes widened. His finger faltered on the trigger, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to freeze.

"I have to do this," Vittoria declared, her voice thick, nearly choking as she fought back tears and her collapse.

"You damn bastard..." Alfonso growled, shoving Vittoria behind him with an instinctive motion. His eyes bore into Vincenzo like daggers. "You can turn this place into hell, a sea of blood, if you want, but one thing I guarantee: you won't leave here alive."

"Then get it over with," Vincenzo taunted, a cynical smile carving his lips like a scar. "But know this-there'll still be enough Lucchese left to finish what I started."

Maintaining his provocative stance, he holstered his gun with the same calm as one folding a winning hand. To him, all this tension seemed little more than sport.

A smile curled his lips. Even after years away, it took mere minutes for him to see nothing had changed.

The Dons, now rivals, betrayers of the Lucchese blood, still skulked like rats in the shadows of their fear.

Vincenzo knew: no matter what he did, none would dare strike him here, not in front of everyone.

Not when a single reckless move would only hand him more power, the perfect justification to light the fuse of an unprecedented war and reduce all they'd built to ashes.

"Vittoria, back to the altar," he ordered, his voice low, sharp, almost bored, as if he'd expected more resistance, more drama.

Vittoria exhaled, her eyes sweeping the garden, searching for any reason to pull back.

For a fleeting moment, her gaze met Enzo's-the man she'd been with for six months, the one she'd marry out of duty, not choice.

But in that instant, his passivity struck her like a dull blow. Deep down, she might have clung to a flicker of hope for something-a gesture, a spark, a rescue.

Instead, she found only the same hollow silence as always, and fear etched across his face.

And there, all doubt vanished: Enzo would never be a real man. Not in the face of what the world demanded. Not in her eyes.

"It's alright, Papà," Vittoria murmured, stepping slowly toward him, stopping before him with eyes brimming and a soul in shards. "I can do this. I need your blessing." Her head dipped in a gesture of surrender that cut deeper than any tear.

"No way in hell. I'd rather see this place burn than hand you over to him," Alfonso declared, lifting his daughter's face with a gentle touch, as if he could shield her with it. "You're not doing this. Not while I'm still standing. Not while I'm your father."

"Need a chair, Don Alfonso?" Vincenzo taunted, a mocking smile playing on his lips, clearly relishing his provocation. "This is happening, whether you approve or not. Because all you've got are words, and if I may be frank, I'd prefer bullets." He tugged Vittoria back to the altar with the ease of someone setting a piece back in its rightful place. "Let's wrap this up," he added, turning to the priest. "Proceed."

"It's alright, Papà..." Vittoria whispered, her voice barely audible as she positioned herself at the altar with slow, deliberate steps. "You can start," she said with a faint nod to the priest.

"We are gathered here under the eyes of God," the priest began, his voice wavering in the stifling atmosphere, "to unite in holy matrimony Vittoria De Angelis..."

"We know this part, Padre," Vincenzo cut in, his tone firm and impatient, as if directing a business deal rather than a ceremony. "Skip the theatrics. Get to the 'do you or don't you.'"

"Vittoria De Angelis, daughter of Don Alfonso, do you take this man as your lawful husband? Do you vow to honor, protect, and be faithful to him, in the name of God and the pacts forged here before men?"

Vittoria's eyes swept the garden one last time, searching for a shred of certainty. But all she found was emptiness.

There were no choices. Only a silent pact with the man before her, who no longer seemed human but the very embodiment of the devil.

"I do," she answered, her voice thick with all she couldn't express.

Her chest tightened, her hands trembled, but she stood tall, her gaze unwavering.

Because, in his presence, even as she crumbled inside, she refused to break. No matter what happened, Vincenzo would never see her weakness.

"Don Vincenzo Lucchese, son of Don Rocco, do you take this woman as your lawful wife? Do you vow to honor, protect, and be faithful to her, before God and the pacts forged here before men?"

"I do," Vincenzo replied without a moment's hesitation. A triumphant smile curved his lips-cold, satisfied, as if he were sealing not a marriage but a definitive conquest.

"By the power vested in me by God and the Holy Church, I pronounce you husband and wife," the priest declared, his voice thick, nearly choked by the tension hanging in the air. "You may kiss the bride," he concluded, a faint tremor betraying his awareness that he had just blessed not a union, but a damnation.

As if obeying an irrefutable command, Vincenzo stepped forward.

He encircled Vittoria's waist with unyielding firmness, and in that instant, her body reacted, straining to pull back, to retreat, to escape.

But he allowed no such thing.

His lips claimed hers with the force of a man who didn't ask-he took. The gesture was deliberate, calculated, and absolute.

There was no tenderness. Only raw control. It was a kiss of dominion, a possession proclaimed before all.

For him, the final signature on a foretold victory.

For her, the kiss of death-bitter, inevitable-as if, in that moment, everything that was hers had been torn away, never to return.

"Welcome to hell, Signora Lucchese," Vincenzo whispered in her ear, his smile slow and dangerous, as if the altar were merely the prelude to something far darker.

            
            

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