The Devil's Bride

Blood on White Silk

Selena POV

The world had gone silent.

Not literally. The chapel was still filled with screams, shouting guards, and the sound of people rushing toward the exits. Somewhere outside, another gunshot echoed through the estate, followed by a woman's terrified scream. The guests panicked all over again, scrambling for cover as security rushed to secure the building.

But none of it reached me.

All I could see was my father lying on the floor.

Blood spread beneath him, staining the polished marble red. My wedding dress brushed against the ground as I struggled against Damien's grip, trying desperately to get to him.

"Let me go!"

He tightened his hold around my waist instead. His eyes swept across the chapel, alert and calculating.

"Stop fighting me."

"I need to get to him!"

His jaw tightened. "So do the snipers."

The words hit me like ice water. I froze instantly. For the first time, I noticed the guards surrounding us. Several had formed a protective shield around the altar while others searched the balconies and windows above us. The attack wasn't over. Someone had just murdered the most powerful mafia boss in Italy, and whoever planned it wasn't likely to stop there.

Damien used the distraction to pull me behind one of the stone pillars near the altar. I hated him for it. At that moment, I hated everyone. The guards. The guests. The priest. The entire world. Because while everyone else was running, shouting, and surviving, my father was lying on the floor alone.

"Dad," I whispered.

My voice broke.

The reality finally hit me with brutal force. He was gone. The man who had raised me. The man who taught me how to ride a bicycle and scared away every boy who ever looked at me twice. Gone. Just like that.

A sharp pain spread through my chest, making it difficult to breathe. I couldn't think. Couldn't stop the tears. I simply sat there and cried, the kind of tears that came from somewhere deep inside and left nothing untouched.

When I finally looked up, Damien was watching me. His expression hadn't changed, and somehow that only made me angrier.

"How are you so calm?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm not calm."

"You look calm."

"Looks can be deceiving."

I laughed bitterly. The sound didn't even resemble laughter anymore.

"My father is dead."

His gaze shifted briefly toward Lorenzo's body. Something flickered across his face before disappearing.

"He wasn't supposed to die."

The words were so quiet I almost thought I'd imagined them.

"What?"

Damien immediately looked away.

"Nothing."

My pulse quickened.

"No. That's not what you said. What do you mean he wasn't supposed to die?"

For the first time since I'd met him, Damien looked uncomfortable, and that terrified me more than the gunshots. Men like Damien Moretti didn't get uncomfortable unless something was very wrong.

Before he could answer, one of his guards approached.

"The building is secure."

Damien immediately turned toward him. "Any sign of the shooter?"

The guard shook his head. "No."

A curse slipped under Damien's breath. The guard lowered his voice and stepped closer.

"We need to leave."

"I'm not leaving."

Both men looked at me.

I pushed myself to my feet, wiping tears from my face. My entire body felt numb, but the thought of abandoning my father here was unbearable.

"I'm staying with him."

"Serena—"

"No." My voice came out sharper than I intended. "I am not running away."

The guard glanced at Damien as if expecting him to force me. For several seconds, Damien simply studied me. Then he released a long breath.

"Five minutes."

The guard looked horrified.

"Boss—"

"Five minutes."

The discussion ended immediately.

Apparently, even in the middle of chaos, nobody argued with Damien Moretti.

The guards stepped aside, and I didn't waste a second. I crossed the distance between us and my father, every step heavier than the last. A foolish part of me still expected him to move. To sit up. To tell me this was all a misunderstanding.

Instead, he remained exactly where he had fallen.

The sight nearly broke me.

I dropped to my knees beside him. His suit was soaked with blood, the dark fabric hiding most of it, but not enough. His eyes were closed, and his face looked strangely peaceful, as though he had simply fallen asleep.

My fingers trembled as I reached for his hand.

It was already cold.

A fresh wave of tears blurred my vision.

"I wasn't ready," I whispered.

The words sounded childish, but they were true. No matter how old you are, no daughter is ever ready to lose a parent.

I lowered my head and cried.

Time seemed to lose meaning after that. Seconds stretched into minutes. The noise around me faded until there was nothing left except grief.

Then something caught my eye.

A small piece of paper protruded from beneath my father's hand.

Frowning, I leaned closer.

The edge was stained red with blood.

Carefully, I pulled it free.

My breath caught.

It wasn't just a piece of paper.

It was an envelope.

My name was written across the front in my father's handwriting.

Serena.

Nothing else.

Just Serena.

I stared at it, my mind struggling to catch up. Why would he have an envelope addressed to me? And why would it be hidden beneath his hand?

My pulse quickened.

Slowly, I glanced around.

No one seemed to have noticed.

The remaining guards were focused on securing the chapel. Most of the guests had already been escorted outside. Damien stood near the entrance speaking quietly with one of his men.

Without thinking, I slipped the envelope inside my dress.

A strange feeling settled over me.

Almost as if my father had left it there intentionally.

As if he had known something was going to happen.

The idea was ridiculous.

Impossible.

Yet I couldn't shake it.

"Serena."

I looked up.

Damien was standing in front of me again.

His expression was unreadable.

"We have to go."

I rose slowly to my feet and wiped my eyes.

"No."

For the first time, irritation flashed across his face.

"This isn't a request."

Anger ignited instantly.

The grief, confusion, and shock suddenly found a target.

"You don't get to order me around."

His expression hardened.

"You're in danger."

"My father is dead."

"Which is exactly why you're in danger."

The certainty in his voice made me pause.

"What are you talking about?"

For a brief moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something. Then he shook his head.

"Not here."

I stared at him.

The more he spoke, the more questions I had.

Questions he clearly didn't want to answer.

A few hours ago, Damien Moretti had been a stranger. Now he was my husband, the last person to speak to my father besides me, and a man who kept acting like he knew more than everyone else.

I slowly stood straighter.

My dress was stained with blood now.

My father's blood.

The sight did something to me.

The grieving daughter was still there.

But beneath the grief, something harder was beginning to form.

A need for answers.

A need for justice.

A need to find whoever had done this.

I met Damien's gaze.

"Who killed him?"

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he answered.

"I don't know."

The words sounded convincing.

Yet something inside me refused to believe them completely.

Maybe it was instinct.

Maybe it was grief looking for someone to blame.

Or maybe it was the split second of hesitation before he answered.

Whatever the reason, doubt had already taken root.

And doubt had a way of growing.

As Damien led me toward the exit, I glanced back one final time.

At my father.

At the blood staining the chapel floor.

At the life I had lost.

Then my fingers brushed against the envelope hidden inside my dress.

A chill ran down my spine.

Because suddenly, I wasn't thinking about my father's death.

I was thinking about his last words.

I'm sorry.

And for the first time, I wondered if he had been apologizing for something far bigger than the wedding.