The Devil's Blood Bride

Chapter 1

The cathedral smelled of lilies and gunpowder by the end.

I stood at the altar in a dress that cost more than my college tuition, my veil already askew from Adrian Moretti’s iron grip on my arm. He was sweating through his tuxedo, eyes darting like a cornered rat. “Smile, Sera,” he hissed. “This fixes everything.”

Fixes everything. As if marrying me would magically erase my father’s mountain of gambling debts to the Moretti family. I had spent weeks biting my tongue, playing the obedient daughter because my father swore it was the only way to keep us safe. Intelligent, sarcastic, proud Seraphina Vale, reduced to a bargaining chip in a world I barely understood.

The priest cleared his throat. “Do you, Seraphina Vale, take—”

The heavy oak doors slammed open with a crack like thunder.

Chaos erupted.

Gunshots shattered stained-glass. Screams tore through the vows. Guests dove beneath pews as men in black tactical gear poured in. Adrian yanked me in front of him like a shield, his arm locked around my throat. “Back off or I’ll—”

A single, precise shot silenced him. Warm blood sprayed across my cheek and the pristine white lace of my gown. His body went limp, dragging me down with him. I hit the marble floor hard, ears ringing, vision blurred by red.

Then he appeared.

Dante Vescari strode through the c*****e like the devil claiming his due. Tall, broad, lethal grace wrapped in an immaculate black suit. His dark eyes found mine instantly, locking with an intensity that stole what little breath I had left. A faint, terrifying smile curved his lips. Two more shots from his men dropped Adrian’s remaining guards. The air reeked of blood and incense.

My father stumbled forward from the front pew, face ashen. “Dante! The blood debt was never activated! She doesn’t know—”

A sniper’s bullet punched through his chest. He crumpled beside Adrian, eyes wide with final shock, blood pooling beneath him on the ancient stone.

A raw scream ripped from my throat. I crawled toward him, hands slipping in blood. Strong arms banded around my waist, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. Dante’s chest was solid against my back, his scent, gunpowder, dark cedar, and cold authority, overwhelming.

“Let me go!” I thrashed, elbows flying, nails raking his neck. He didn’t even grunt. “You murdered them! My father, Adrian—”

“Adrian was dead the moment he touched what’s mine.” Dante’s voice was low, calm, terrifyingly controlled as bullets whizzed past. His men provided covering fire while he carried me out a side exit into the pouring rain. “And your father knew the risks.”

A black armored SUV waited. He shoved me inside and followed, slamming the door. The vehicle roared away from the slaughter. I lunged for the opposite door handle. Locked. Of course.

I whirled on him, chest heaving. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Dante Vescari. Head of the Vescari family.” He wiped a smear of blood from my cheek with his thumb, the touch surprisingly gentle yet possessive. “And by ancient blood law, you were promised to me before your father sold you to the Morettis to cover his debts. You witnessed too much today. Every major family will hunt you now.”

I laughed bitterly, hysteria bubbling up. “Blood law? This isn’t medieval Italy. Release me. I’ll go to the police—”

“You won’t.” His eyes hardened. “Because the police are bought. And the moment you leave my protection, you die. I’m keeping you alive, Seraphina. Whether you hate me for it or not.”

The ride to his estate passed in tense silence broken only by my occasional barbed insults. He endured them with that maddening half-smile, watching me like I was a puzzle he intended to solve.

The estate rose on cliff side grounds like a modern fortress, high walls, gated perimeter, guards everywhere. He carried me inside again despite my protests, my ruined dress leaving crimson streaks on marble floors. In a lavish bedroom with ocean views, he finally set me down.

“Clean up. Rest. Tomorrow we begin.”

The door clicked shut and locked. I was alone with my grief, my rage, and the terrifying knowledge that the man who had just upended my entire world might be the only thing standing between me and a bullet.

I stripped off the blood-soaked dress, stepping into a scalding shower. Tears finally came, mixing with the water. My father was dead. My future destroyed. And Dante Vescari, cold, ruthless, magnetic had claimed me.

I pressed my forehead to the tile. “I will make you regret this,” I whispered.

But deep down, a small, treacherous voice wondered if I had any power left to make good on that promise.

------

Sunlight filtered through bulletproof glass when I woke. My body ached from bruises I didn’t remember earning in the chaos. A black silk robe and soft leggings had been laid out. I dressed quickly, testing the door. Still locked.

It opened minutes later. Dante stood there in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled up, revealing powerful forearms covered in tattoos and old scars. His presence filled the room, sucking the air from it.

“You’re awake. Good.” He gestured for me to follow. “We have things to discuss.”

The study was masculine and intimidating, dark wood, leather, walls of books that probably hid secrets. On the massive desk lay a folder. I opened it with shaking hands.

A death certificate for Seraphina Vale, age seven. Car accident. And photographs of a small white coffin bearing my name.

My stomach dropped. “What is this sick game?”

Dante leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “No game. Your father had you declared dead at seven to hide you from enemies he made long ago. New identity. New life. I helped enforce it because I owed him a debt. Until yesterday, when everything unraveled at that cathedral.”

Rage surged, hot and blinding. “You’ve been watching me? Stalking me for years?”

“Protecting you.” His voice remained calm, but his eyes burned. “From a distance. Until the blood-debt activated. Now you’re in the center of a war, and I won’t let you die.”

I slammed the folder closed. “I don’t want your protection. I want answers. Why my father? Why me?”

He stepped closer. Too close. The heat of his body contrasted with the chill in my bones. “Answers come with time and trust. For now, you stay here. The estate is fortified. My men are loyal. Mostly.”

That “mostly” sent ice down my spine.

That night, sleep evaded me. I paced the room, mind racing through escape routes. A soft click from the balcony doors made every hair stand up. A shadow slipped inside, black-clad, masked, knife glinting.

I screamed and grabbed the heavy bedside lamp, swinging with all my strength. It connected with his shoulder. Pain exploded in my ribs as he struck back, sending me crashing into the nightstand.

The door burst open. Dante moved like death itself. Two suppressed shots. The intruder collapsed. Blood stained the carpet.

Dante hauled me to my feet, hands roaming clinically over my body for injuries. His touch lingered on my bruised ribs. “You’re hurt.”

I shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “So are you.” A graze on his arm bled steadily.

He ignored it, lifting me onto the bed and retrieving a first-aid kit. His fingers were surprisingly deft as he cleaned and bandaged my side. The proximity was intoxicating and terrifying. This man had killed in front of me, yet here he was tending my wounds with focused intensity.

“Tomorrow we train,” he said quietly. “You won’t survive this world helpless.”

“I won’t become a monster like you.”

His dark eyes met mine. “Try again tomorrow, Seraphina. You might surprise yourself.”

He left. The lock clicked. I touched the bandage, feeling the ghost of his hands. Grief for my father warred with unwanted awareness of the devil keeping me prisoner.

I gripped the edge of the bed. Survival first. Escape second. And if I had to cut Dante Vescari to do it… so be it.