Chapter 1 The devil's mark.

The car hummed along the dark road, its tinted windows hiding Rose Blake from the city she was leaving behind. She sat in silence, her arms wrapped around herself, eyes blurred with unshed tears. Boston's lights had already faded into the distance, but her father's voice clung to her like smoke.

Rosie, I never meant for this. I only wanted to keep you safe. To give you a chance.

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, the ache in her chest sharp and relentless. He had meant every word. Her father had worked himself to the bone for her since her mother walked out, stringing together odd jobs, drowning his despair in bottles and bad bets when it got too much.

Every loan, every reckless gamble, had been for her tuition, the bills, the roof that kept her dry and now the debt collectors had come with suits and polished guns threatening not just his life but hers also.

If you don't comply, Rosie, they won't just kill me. They'll kill you too.

Her throat closed. She had screamed at him, begged him to let her quit law school, to let her work double shifts instead. But he had only shaken his head, tears swimming in his tired eyes, begging her to understand. This was his fault, but she was the price.

Her gaze dropped to her hand, to the ring catching in the dim light of the passing streetlamps. A flawless diamond set in a band of gold. The devil's mark. The thought of it made her stomach twist. To the world, it meant wealth, security, and prestige. To her, it was chains.

She curled her fingers into a fist until the metal cut into her skin.

The car slowed down and the driver muttered something in Italian. Gravel crunched beneath the tires, and Rose's chest tightened. The door opened, letting in a cold blast of air that carried the sharp tang of jet fuel.

A man in a dark coat stepped forward, his voice smooth but firm. "Signorina." He gestured toward the floodlit tarmac.

Rose stepped out, the chill biting through her blouse. Her heels sank into the damp stone, each step heavier than the last. Ahead, under the harsh white lights, a sleek jet waited, engines humming low. It didn't look like a machine...it looked like a sentence, ready to deliver her into another man's hands.

Men in black lined the tarmac, standing in silent formation. Their coats shifted in the wind, and their hands were clasped in front of them. The air smelled of jet fuel and cold rain, the low rumble of the engines vibrating through the ground beneath her feet.

The wedding dress felt heavier with every step she took. White silk, trailing, perfect, but to her, it was a shroud. She hated it. The way it wrapped around her body, the way the ring on her finger burned like a brand.

She held her chin high, but her stomach knotted tighter as she reached the stairs. When she climbed into the cabin, the warmth of polished leather and mahogany closed in on her. It felt rich. And suffocating.

And there he was.

Dante Moretti. He sat at the far end of the jet, one leg crossed, his suit dark as midnight. His storm-grey eyes caught hers immediately. Her breath faltered. She looked down quickly, unable to hold his gaze.

This wasn't the first time she'd seen him.

Two days ago, she'd returned from law school after her father's urgent call. His voice had been strained, his face drawn, but she'd followed. She always did. The next evening, her father had taken her to a casino, saying it was business.

The glitter of lights and marble had faded into the smoke and steel of an underground chamber. Men with guns stood in corners.

And there, at the center was Dante Moretti, the Forbes billionaire. Her professor had called him the future of European finance. But billionaires didn't run underground casinos with armed soldiers. Unless...

"She will be the debt payment." Being shocked was an understatement to how she felt. Her father had handed her over. A wife in exchange for his life... their lives.

The second time had been colder. In a courtroom, her signature shook as it went beside Dante's steady one. He hadn't stayed a moment longer after signing the papers. He'd left, as if nothing had happened.

And now, here she was, the third time, on this jet. Married, dressed in white, bound to him in name and law.

She moved further into the cabin, and only then did she notice she wasn't alone with him.

Across from Dante, lounging casually in his seat as if the jet were some private lounge instead of a cage, sat another man. The resemblance was unmistakable, almost unnerving. Both tall, broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed. Their storm-grey eyes marked them as kin.

His smile was polished, almost charming, but it never reached his eyes. "Benvenuta," the man murmured, his Italian rolling off his tongue before he switched to English. "I am Luca. Welcome to the family, Rose."

Her stomach turned at the way he used her name. She lowered herself into the seat opposite Dante, the lace of her gown rustling in the tense quiet. The air vibrated with the steady hum of the engines, the scent of leather, and the faint trace of cologne that belonged to the men across from her.

Dante didn't speak. His gaze flicked over her-head to toe-as if cataloguing her very existence, and it was enough to make her fingers curl into her lap. She stared at her hands, at the hateful ring, willing her heartbeat to slow.

Luca leaned closer, resting an elbow on the armrest, his voice soft but edged. "You look frightened. Don't be. This is a good arrangement. For everyone."

Rose pressed her lips together, refusing to answer. Any word she gave him would only feed his amusement.

The jet door sealed with a metallic thud, the pressure changing as they prepared for takeoff. Dante adjusted his cufflink, then leaned back as though the entire cabin bent to him. He hadn't spoken a word, but she could feel his command in the air, heavier than the dress suffocating her skin.

Her chest tightened. She wanted to scream, to rip the ring from her finger, to tear the silk off her body. But when her eyes flicked up by accident and collided with his again, the storm-grey held her in place like chains.

She looked down immediately, her throat raw.

The jet lifted, the ground falling away beneath them. Rose gripped the armrest, feeling the final tether of her old life snap as Boston disappeared into darkness.

And still, Dante Moretti had not spoken a single word.