Vows to the Devil

A Bride with No Choice

The ride home from the cemetery passed in complete silence.

I sat in the back of our black sedan, watching the city past through tinted windows. My mother hadn't said a word since we'd left the church. Her hands were folded in her lap, perfectly still, but I could see the way her jaw clenched every few seconds.

She was thinking about Rafael's announcement. We all were.

When we pulled through the iron gates of the Cruize estate, I noticed the extra security. Men I didn't recognize stood at the entrance, their suits bulging with weapons. More guards patrolled the gardens. Papa's death had made everyone paranoid.

The car stopped in front of our Mediterranean-style mansion. Home sweet home, if you could call a fortress home. Twenty-three rooms, bulletproof windows, and enough surveillance cameras to run a small television network.

I climbed out without waiting for the driver and marched straight through the front doors. My heels clicked against the marble floors as I headed for Papa's office,the one place in this house where I'd always found answers.

"Maliya, wait." My mother's voice stopped me at the bottom of the staircase.

I turned to face her. Elena Cruize was still a beautiful woman at forty-five, with the same dark hair and olive skin I'd inherited. But today she looked older, more fragile. The past three days had aged her years.

"We need to talk," she said quietly.

"Yes, we do." I crossed my arms. "Starting with why you didn't look surprised when Rafael made his little announcement."

Her face went pale. That told me everything I needed to know.

"You knew," I said, my voice rising. "You knew he was going to do that."

"Maliya, please. Let's go to the sitting room."

"No. I want answers now. Right here." I stepped closer to her, studying her face. "How long have you known Papa was dead before I found him?"

She flinched like I'd slapped her. "That's not.."

"And don't lie to me. I can always tell when you're lying."

My mother looked around nervously, checking to make sure we were alone. Then she grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the sitting room anyway.

The moment she closed the door behind us, she seemed to crumble. She sank into Papa's favorite leather chair and buried her face in her hands.

"They came to me two days ago," she whispered.

"Who came to you?"

"The elders. Your uncle Mario, Stefano, Giovanni. All of them." She looked up at me with tears in her eyes. "They said there would be more bloodshed if we didn't act quickly. More families would get involved. More people would die."

"So you decided to auction me off to the highest bidder?"

"It's not like that."

"Then what is it like, Mama?" I knelt in front of her chair, forcing her to look at me. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks exactly like that."

She took a shaky breath. "Rafael came to them with a proposition. He said he would take responsibility for your father's death…”

"So he did kill him."

" and that marrying you would end the violence once and for all." She ignored my interruption. "The families would be united. The war would be over."

I stood up so fast the room spun. "Are you listening to yourself? You're talking about handing me over to Papa's murderer."

"The alternative is more death, Maliya. More funerals. Do you want that?"

"What I want is justice for my father!" I shouted. "What I want is to put a bullet in Rafael De Luca's head!"

My mother stood up and grabbed my shoulders. "And what do you think will happen after you pull that trigger? Do you think his family will just let it go? Do you think Lorenzo will protect you?"

The mention of Lorenzo's name hit me like a physical blow. I thought about the way he'd avoided my eyes at the funeral, the way he'd stepped back when Rafael appeared.

"Lorenzo would never let this happen," I said, but even I could hear the doubt in my voice.

"Lorenzo is the second son, Maliya. He has no power in this. Rafael is the heir now."

"Since when? He's been gone for five years."

"Since he came back three days ago and reminded everyone why they used to fear him."

A chill ran down my spine. "What did he do?"

Before my mother could answer, there was a sharp knock at the sitting room door. We both froze.

"Come in," my mother called, straightening her shoulders.

Uncle Mario entered, followed by three other men I recognized as senior members of our family's organization. They all looked grim.

"Elena. Maliya." Mario nodded to each of us in turn. "We need to discuss the arrangements."

"What arrangements?" I demanded.

"For your wedding. It's been moved up."

The room started spinning again. "Moved up to when?"

"Saturday."

"Saturday?" I stared at him. "That's four days from now."

"The longer we wait, the more unstable things become," Mario explained in that calm, rational tone he used when he was about to ruin someone's life. "Rafael wants this done quickly, and frankly, so do we."

"I haven't agreed to anything."

"You don't have a choice, Maliya." The words came from Stefano, a thin man with cold eyes who'd always made my skin crawl. "Your father is dead. Your family needs protection. This marriage provides that."

"Protection from who? Rafael?"

"Protection from everyone," Mario said quietly. "There are already three families circling like vultures, waiting to see if we'll survive Vincent's death. Without an alliance, we're vulnerable."

I looked around the room at these men who had served my father faithfully for years. Now they were serving me up on a silver platter to save their own skins.

"Get out," I said quietly.

"Maliya..”

"Get out!" I screamed. "All of you! Get out of my house!"

They exchanged glances but didn't move.

"This is still my father's house," I continued, my voice shaking with rage. "And until I'm dragged to some altar, I'm still his daughter. So get out before I have you thrown out."

Mario sighed. "We'll give you some time to process this. But the decision has been made, Maliya. We're sorry."

They filed out one by one, leaving me alone with my mother. She was crying now, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, baby. But we don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice."

"Not for people like us. You know that."

I did know that. I'd grown up knowing that my life would never really be my own, that someday I'd be married off to secure an alliance or settle a debt. I just never thought it would be to the man who killed my father.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. Maria, our housekeeper, peeked her head through the door.

"Miss Maliya? There's a delivery for you."

"What kind of delivery?"

"Wedding dress. And some other things."

My blood turned to ice. "From who?"

"The card just says 'R.'"

Of course it did.

I followed Maria upstairs to my bedroom, my mother trailing behind us. On my bed sat three large white boxes tied with black ribbon. A small white card was attached to the largest box.

With trembling fingers, I opened the envelope and read:

“ A queen doesn't wear white. You'll wear blood. - R”

I lifted the lid of the first box. Inside was the most beautiful and terrifying wedding dress I'd ever seen. It was deep wine red, the color of fresh blood, made from what looked like the finest silk. The bodice was fitted with delicate black lace detail, and the skirt would flow like liquid fire.

It was perfect. And I hated it.

The second box contained shoes, jewelry, and undergarments, all in the same dark theme. The third box held a black leather jacket with a note: “For the honeymoon.”

"It's beautiful," my mother whispered, touching the dress reverently.

"It's a cage."

I walked to my bedroom window and looked out at the gardens where I'd played as a child. In four days, I'd be married to Rafael De Luca, the man who destroyed my family.

But as I stood there, staring at my reflection in the glass, a new thought occurred to me. Rafael thought he was getting a helpless victim. He thought he was gaining a prize.

He had no idea that he was actually getting his executioner.

I turned back to my mother, who was still admiring the dress.

"You're right, Mama. I don't have a choice about the wedding." I walked over to the dress and ran my fingers along the silk. "But what happens after Saturday? That's entirely up to me."

My mother looked up at me with worry in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

I smiled, but it felt cold.

"I mean Rafael De Luca wants to marry me? Fine. Let him. But he's going to learn that some prizes aren't worth winning."

The Devil wanted a bride?

He was about to get one hell of a wife.