The Rossi chapel was a place of shadows. Built beneath the estate centuries ago, its stone walls bore the weight of secrets older than the family itself. Candles flickered in iron sconces, their smoke curling toward a vaulted ceiling blackened with soot. At the heart of the chamber, an altar of cold marble stood like a slab for sacrifice.
Adriana was dragged inside by two guards, her wrists still bound in silver. The chains rattled against the stone floor, each sound echoing like a death knell. She struggled, but the grip on her arms was iron.
Her father waited near the altar, flanked by Isabella. Don Rossi’s suit was immaculate, his silver hair gleaming under candlelight, but his eyes were merciless. Isabella, in midnight silk, leaned against the altar with a predator’s smile.
“Why her
