7. Wedding Night
1674 Words
~Alina~
“No… no, no, no,” I sobbed, my vision blurred by tears. My hands trembled as I cradled Nana’s lifeless body, her warmth fading with every passing second.
Guilla knelt beside me, wailing and rocking back and forth. The chaos around us continued—the sound of bodies dropping, bullets whizzing through the air, and men shouting orders in Italian.
Through my haze of grief, I saw him. Valentino Romano—The devil I had just married.
Drenched in blood, his white shirt was now crimson. His face was stone cold, void of remorse, void of anything human. His dark eyes burned with something raw, something terrifying.
As I watched, he lifted his gun, aimed it at the man who shot Nana, and pulled the trigger without hesitation.
The man collapsed, blood pooling beneath him.
Valentino didn’t even flinch. He turned and killed another. Then another.
I had never seen a man so merciless, so terrifyingly lethal.
The Devil of Milan.
I knew he was dangerous, but I never imagined he was this man. I had heard so many stories about him back when I visited Milan with my dad.
He was a man who never hesitated to stain his hands red. A man who could slaughter dozens without blinking.
I shuddered, clinging to Guilla as I sobbed.
Then he turned to me.
His dark gaze locked onto mine like a predator setting sights on its prey. My stomach twisted with fear, but before I could move, he was in front of me. He gripped my arm and yanked me up with a force that sent a jolt of pain through my shoulder.
His fingers dug into my skin.
“You stupid woman.”
I gasped, struggling against his grip, but he was too strong.
“How dare you?” His voice was low and lethal, vibrating with fury.
“I told you not to post those fuckiing pictures.”
I opened my mouth, but he wasn’t finished. His rage was volcanic, ready to erupt.
“You ruined everything.” He yanked me closer until our faces were inches apart. His hot breath fanned against my cheek, heavy with the scent of blood and alcohol.
“You killed my Padrino. The only man I ever called father. And for what? To make someone jealous?”
A sob tore from my throat, but his words ignited something in me. Something buried under fear and grief for too long.
Enough.
I had enough of men controlling me. Enough of being treated like a weakling.
I clenched my fists and lashed out.
“It’s not my fault!” I screamed.
“If you hadn’t dragged me into this mess, my grandmother would still be alive! If you hadn’t forced me into this damned marriage, she wouldn’t have been here to die in the first place!”
His grip tightened around my throat, cutting off my words.
My pulse pounded as he slammed me against the black SUV behind me. The cold metal bit into my spine.
“Say that again,” he whispered, his voice eerily soft. His fingers curled slightly, pressing just enough to make me feel his power—but not enough to hurt me. Just enough to make me know he could.
I trembled, my breathing shaky, but I refused to back down.
“It’s your fault,” I hissed.
“And I will never forgive you for it. I’ll make you pay.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
For a moment, I thought he would snap, that he would crush my throat in his rage. But instead, he let out a low, humorless chuckle.
“Make me pay? Then I have to keep you alive until you do, moglie.”
With that, he shoved me away like I was nothing.
“Rocco, take her back to the mansion,” he ordered.
A lanky, dangerous-looking man grabbed my wrist. Before I could resist, two more men seized me, dragging me away.
I screamed. Fought. Kicked.
But it was useless.
The last thing I saw before Guila and I was shoved into a waiting car was Valentino standing in the middle of the blood-soaked chaos, his dark eyes colder than death itself.
🌸🌸🌸
It’s been eight hours since I was locked in this lavishly furnished room, but it feels like a cage.
Guilla was with me, curled up on the couch, sobbing softly. My own tears had long dried, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in my chest.
Why?
Why had my life turned into this?
I had lost everything—my home, my freedom, my family. All because of him.
A dark resolve settled in my bones.
I would make him pay. I would find a way to take back my life.
Before I could spiral further into my thoughts, the door creaked open.
Two guards entered. Their suits were crisp, their expressions blank.
“It’s time,” one of them said.
I frowned. “Time for what?”
Neither of them answered. They stepped forward and grabbed my arms.
Panic flared in my chest. “Let me go!”
They ignored me, dragging me toward an adjoining room. My struggles were futile as they pulled me inside what looked like a bathing chamber.
A sleek, sunken marble soaking tub awaited, filled with steaming water. The scent of exotic oils curled through the air, thick and intoxicating.
They handed me to the maids who stripped me naked instantly.
Humiliation burned my skin as they washed me, rubbing fragrant oils into my hair and body. I wanted to fight, to scream, but I had no strength left.
Somewhere in the background, I heard the maids whispering.
“She’s lucky.”
“Do you think she can handle him?”
“No woman ever does.”
Their hushed words sent a chill through me.
What the hell did that mean?
After they finished, they dressed me in red silk lingerie—if it could even be called that. The barely-there fabric covered almost nothing, and I shivered as cool air brushed against my exposed skin.
A towel was wrapped around me, and before I could say a word, they dragged me out of the bathroom and toward a room where guards stood at the entrance.
It was definitely Valentino’s room.
“No,” I breathed.
“Leave me—”
They shoved me inside and shut the door.
The room was dimly lit. The scent of blood, whiskey, and something darkly masculine filled the air, wrapping around me like a noose.
Then came the sound of heavy footsteps.
The door yanked open, and Valentino stepped into view.
I froze.
His once-white shirt was soaked in blood. His jacket was gone, his sleeves rolled up, revealing inked forearms dusted with fresh crimson.
He looked like a demon risen straight from hell.
I could barely breathe.
I had to get out of here.
The moment his attention shifted from me to the whiskey decanter on the side table, I bolted.
I spun on my heel, gripping the towel tightly around my body, and sprinted for the door.
I barely made it two steps before strong arms caught me from behind.
A gasp tore from my throat as he wrenched me back, his grip like iron around my waist. My body slammed into his chest, and the heat of him—searing and dangerous—wrapped around me.
“Where do you think you’re going, moglie?” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “Is this how you dare treat your husband on your wedding night?”
I thrashed against him.
“Let me go, you devil!”
He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through my back.
“Let you go? After everything you’ve done?”
His grip tightened, and before I could protest, he threw me onto the massive bed. My breath punched from my lungs as I landed on the soft mattress. The towel slipped off my body.
I scrambled up, but he was faster.
His hand shot out, grabbing my ankle and yanking me down before straddling me.
“Stop!” I clawed at his arm, kicking wildly, but he barely flinched.
He reached for the silk rope coiled at the foot of the bed. My stomach plummeted as he expertly wound it around my wrists, securing them above my head.
Panic flared in my chest.
“Val—”
“Shh.” His smirk deepened as he tightened the knots.
“You’re not going anywhere, amore.”
I writhed, but the rope held firm. He moved lower, capturing my kicking legs with another length of rope, spreading them just enough to leave me vulnerable.
His gaze slowly dragged over my naked body, making my skin crawl with disgust.
A smirk curled his lips.
“Perfect.”
My pulse thundered as I glared at him, my breath coming fast.
“You bastard!”
His eyes sparkled with amusement as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. My breath caught as he pulled it off and tossed it aside without a care, revealing a body that looked like it was sculpted from stone.
My gaze landed on a tattoo stretching from his back to his shoulder, winding down his left arm in bold black ink. His chest was strong and well-built, his broad shoulders lined with network of veins and muscles.
He leaned closer, his golden eyes holding mine, daring me to look away.
“Don’t touch me!” I screamed, my voice shaking as tears streamed down my face and my body trembled. But he didn’t stop. His blood-smeared hands reached for me, brushing my cheek.
A warm drop of blood splashed onto my collarbone, sliding slowly down the curve between my breasts.
“I should ruin you for what you did today,” he murmured, dragging a thumb over my bottom lip.
“But don’t worry, moglie,” he murmured, his voice dark and smooth as sin, before prying my legs wider with a dangerous, possessive hold.
“I’ll show you mercy.”
- Writer
