Bound by Vengeance

Alina Moretti's world ended the moment she stepped into the grand, candlelit hall of the Valenti estate.

The air was thick with the scent of aged whiskey and cigar smoke, mingling with the suffocating presence of men in black suits-killers, criminals, men who bowed to only one name.

Dante Valenti.

And tonight, she was being given to him.

Alina stood stiffly in front of the long oak table where he sat like a king on his throne, watching her with dark, unreadable eyes. He was effortlessly intimidating-tall, broad-shouldered, draped in an all-black suit that hugged his powerful frame. His sharp jaw was dusted with stubble, and his midnight eyes burned into her with something colder than hate.

"Sit," Dante commanded, his voice a deep rasp that sent a shiver down her spine.

Alina hesitated for only a second before lowering herself onto the chair across from him.

Her father, Matteo Moretti, sat to her left, his face ashen, his hands trembling. The Morettis were once a powerful mafia family, but debts and betrayals had left them weak. Her father had gambled away everything-his business, his reputation, and now... his daughter.

"This isn't necessary," Matteo pleaded, voice shaking. "There must be another way, Dante. Alina-she's innocent in all this."

Dante's lips curled into a cruel smirk as he leaned back in his chair, rolling a whiskey glass between his fingers. "Innocent?" He let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Your daughter is the reason my sister is dead."

Alina's stomach turned to ice.

It had been a year since Isabella Valenti-Dante's beloved younger sister-was killed in a car explosion. And somehow, he blamed her.

"I didn't-" Alina's voice faltered as his gaze sharpened.

"You didn't?" he repeated mockingly, swirling his drink. "And yet, the last person she saw before her death was you. The last person she trusted."

Alina clenched her fists. She and Isabella had been friends. But she hadn't betrayed her. She knew she hadn't.

Dante leaned forward, placing his drink down with a quiet clink. "Your father's debts are worth millions, Alina. His life isn't even enough to cover it." His eyes darkened. "But yours is."

The words wrapped around her throat like a noose.

She turned to her father, waiting-hoping-he would refuse, would fight for her. But Matteo Moretti was a weak man. His head was bowed, shame written across his face.

Dante's voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"You will be my wife, Alina."

She sucked in a sharp breath.

"This is your punishment."

Alina felt like the ground had been ripped from under her feet.

Her hands trembled as she whispered, "And if I refuse?"

Dante's smirk faded. He gestured with his hand, and within seconds, two men dragged in her brother.

Luca Moretti-barely eighteen, bloodied and bruised, his lip split, his arms restrained.

Alina gasped, instinctively rising to her feet, but Dante's voice stopped her cold.

"Say no, and I put a bullet in his head right now."

Tears blurred her vision as Luca looked up, pain in his eyes. "Alina, don't-"

"I'll do it," she choked out, voice shaking. "I'll marry you."

Dante smiled, slow and victorious, as if he had just won a war.

"Good girl."

And just like that, Alina Moretti became the wife of a monster.

Alina Moretti had imagined her wedding once-soft candlelight, the scent of fresh roses, the man she loved waiting for her at the altar with warmth in his eyes.

She had never imagined this.

A marriage without love. A husband without a soul. A vow made in blood, not devotion.

The Valenti estate was cold, the grand marble hall empty except for a priest, two witnesses, and the monster she was about to marry.

Dante stood at the altar, dark and commanding in his tailored black suit. He looked completely at ease, as if this wasn't a forced wedding but a mere business transaction. His gaze met hers, unreadable, but she could feel the weight of his hatred pressing against her skin like a blade.

Alina wanted to run. But where would she go?

Her father had already disappeared after sealing the deal. And her brother-her sweet, innocent brother-was still in Dante's grasp.

She had no choice.

The priest cleared his throat as she stopped beside Dante. "Shall we begin?"

Dante didn't answer. He simply held out his hand. A silent demand.

Alina hesitated for a second before placing her shaking fingers in his. His grip tightened-not gently, not reassuringly. Just possessive.

The ceremony was quick. Emotionless.

"Do you, Dante Valenti, take Alina Moretti to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do." His voice was steady, controlled.

"And do you, Alina Moretti, take Dante Valenti to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Her throat felt like sandpaper. The words tasted like poison.

"I do," she whispered.

Dante reached for her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Louder, wife."

Alina swallowed her fear and repeated, "I do."

A slow, dark smirk curled on his lips.

"Good girl."

The moment the priest pronounced them husband and wife, Dante didn't waste a second. He gripped her waist and kissedher.

No, not a kiss.

A claim.

His lips crushed against hers, rough and punishing. His fingers dug into her hips, pressing her body against his as if reminding her exactly who she belonged to now.

Alina tried not to tremble, tried not to show weakness. But she knew-everyone in this room knew-she had just sold her soul to the devil.

When he finally pulled back, his lips brushed against her ear, his voice dark and laced with cruel amusement.

"Welcome to hell, Mrs. Valenti."

Alina sat in the back of the sleek black car, her hands folded tightly in her lap as the city lights blurred past the tinted windows.

She was no longer Alina Moretti. She was Alina Valenti.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

Dante sat beside her, silent and composed, his elbow resting against the car door, fingers tapping lightly against his knee. He hadn't looked at her once since they left the Valenti estate.

She should've been relieved. But the tension in the car was suffocating.

She risked a glance at him. The shadows cast by the dim interior lighting made him look even more menacing-sharp jawline, cold eyes, and an air of absolute control.

Dante Valenti was a man who owned everything in his world.

And now, he owned her.

The car slowed, turning onto a long driveway lined with iron gates that opened smoothly as they approached. The Valenti mansion loomed ahead, a dark fortress against the night sky. It was even bigger than her family home, but where the Moretti estate once had warmth, this place was nothing but cold stone and empty grandeur.

As the car stopped, the driver stepped out and opened the door. Alina hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping out, her heels clicking against the cobblestone driveway.

Dante followed, his presence suffocatingly close behind her.

She wrapped her arms around herself, more out of instinct than the actual chill in the air. The silence stretched between them until Dante finally spoke.

"Inside."

The command was simple, but it sent a pulse of unease through her.

She stepped through the grand double doors, the interior just as imposing as the exterior-high ceilings, expensive chandeliers, and an eerie silence that made the house feel more like a prison than a home.

Dante walked past her, tossing his suit jacket onto a nearby chair before turning to face her.

"You're my wife now," he said, his voice as smooth as silk but laced with something dangerous underneath. "You will obey me. You will not question me. And you will never forget why you're here."

Alina's hands curled into fists. She wanted to fight back, to tell him she wasn't his prisoner-but she was.

"I never wanted this," she whispered.

Dante's dark gaze locked onto hers, something flickering in his eyes-rage, amusement, or something in between.

"Neither did I," he said, stepping closer. His fingers traced along her jaw, his touch deceptively gentle before he gripped her chin, tilting her face up toward him. "But here we are."

Alina's breath caught. His proximity was overwhelming, his scent-expensive cologne and whiskey-filling her senses.

"You hate me," she said softly, more a statement than a question.

Dante's smirk was slow, cruel. "I do."

The weight of those two words settled in her chest like a stone.

"Then why marry me?" she asked.

His fingers trailed down her neck, his voice low and taunting.

"Because hate isn't enough," he murmured. "I want you to suffer, Alina. And what better way than to keep you by my side?"

Her stomach twisted.

Dante released her suddenly, stepping back as if he was already done playing his little game. "Your room is down the hall," he said. "Locked. From the outside."

Her heart pounded. "You're locking me in?"

Dante smirked. "Did you think you were free, wife?"

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the center of her new prison-his home, his world, his rules.

And there was no escape.