Chapter Two- The Devil’s Bride Seraphina
1275 Words
I didn’t sleep for the next three days.
Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined Dante Moretti standing at the altar like a hangman waiting to sentence me to the gallows.
The entire mansion transformed into a wedding prison. Designers came and left with dresses worth thousands of dollars while stylists fussed over flowers, jewelry, and decorations.
Nobody asked what I wanted, because none of this was for me.
This wedding was a transaction disguised as luxury.
On the morning of the ceremony, I stood in front of the mirror wearing a white gown that hugged my body perfectly. Layers of lace trailed behind me while diamonds glittered against my skin.
I looked beautifully miserable.
“You should feel honored,” one of the older maids whispered while adjusting my veil. “Most women would die to marry Dante Moretti.”
I almost laughed. If only they knew.
I stared at my reflection silently. My bright blue eyes looked dull and teary beneath the heavy makeup, and for the first time in my life, I barely recognized myself.
I looked like a ghost dressed as a bride.
The church was already crowded when we arrived.
Black luxury cars that were mostly Maybachs and Rolls Royce lined the streets while armed guards stood outside every entrance. Powerful mafia families from across Italy filled the cathedral, their expensive clothes and dangerous reputations suffocating the air around me. I could barely breathe.
This wasn’t a wedding, it was a display of power.
The second I stepped inside, all eyes turned toward me.
I tightened my grip around my bouquet while my father led me down the aisle.
Then I saw him. Dante Moretti.
My future husband stood near the altar wearing an all-black suit that looked custom-made for him. At six-foot-five, he towered over nearly everyone around him. His dark hair was slicked back neatly, and his cold eyes locked into mine instantly.
My breath hooked painfully in my throat.
Pictures had never done him justice.
He was terrifying, not because he looked cruel, but because he looked completely emotionless.
Like nothing in this world could touch him.
I tried to look away, but his stare held me captive the entire walk down the aisle.
When we finally stood face to face, I realized something even worse.
Dante wasn’t looking at me like a man about to marry a woman.
He was looking at me like a man claiming his property.
The priest began speaking, but I barely heard him. My pulse thundered loudly in my ears while panic crawled through my skin.
Then Dante reached for my hand.
His fingers wrapped around mine firmly, sending a sharp chill through me.
Cold. Everything about him felt cold.
“You may now exchange vows.”
The irony nearly made me sick.
Vows meant love. There was no love here, only debt and revenge.
When it was Dante’s turn to speak, his dark gaze never left mine.
“I, Dante Moretti, take you, Seraphina Russo, as my wife.”
His voice was deep, calm, and terrifyingly steady.
No emotion, no warmth, just ownership.
When it became my turn, my throat tightened painfully.
I wanted to run.
God, I wanted to run so badly.
But hundreds of dangerous eyes watched me carefully, including my father’s.
So I forced the words out.
“I, Seraphina Russo, take you, Dante Moretti, as my husband.”
The second the vows ended, applause echoed through the cathedral.
I felt numb.
The priest smiled politely.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Dante slowly stepped closer.
Every instinct inside me screamed to move away.
Instead, I froze.
His hand gripped my jaw gently—but the possessiveness behind the touch made my stomach twist. Then his lips brushed against mine.
The kiss was brief. Cold. Controlled.
Yet somehow it still stole the air from my lungs.
When he pulled away, his mouth hovered near my ear.
“Don’t embarrass me tonight,” he murmured quietly.
Fear slid down my spine instantly.
The reception afterward was worse.
Music played while people drank and celebrated around us, but I felt completely trapped beside Dante at the head table. Men approached him constantly to offer congratulations or discuss business.
Everyone feared him, I could see it clearly.
Even the most powerful mafia bosses lowered their voices around him.
Meanwhile, Dante barely acknowledged me the entire evening.
Not once did he smile at me.
Not once did he pretend this marriage meant anything beyond a trade.
Hours later, when the reception finally ended, I thought the nightmare couldn’t get any worse.
I was wrong.
The drive to the Moretti estate was painfully silent.
Rain poured heavily outside while the city lights blurred against the car windows. Dante sat beside me without speaking, scrolling through messages on his phone like he had forgotten I existed.
I stared at my hands tightly folded in my lap.
My husband.
The word felt disgusting.
After nearly an hour, the gates of the Moretti estate finally appeared.
My breath caught.
The mansion was massive.
Dark stone walls towered against the stormy night sky while armed guards patrolled every corner of the property. It looked less like a home and more like a fortress. Like a hellish prison.
The second we stepped inside, servants lowered their heads respectfully.
“Welcome home, sir.”
Home.
The word made my chest tighten even more. My new home.
Dante removed his suit jacket calmly before finally looking at me properly for the first time all night.
“Follow me.”
I obeyed silently.
What choice did I have?
He led me upstairs toward a massive bedroom at the end of the hallway. The room was luxurious beyond reason—dark wood furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive artwork.
Yet it still felt cold like him.
Dante loosened the tie around his neck before turning toward me.
“This room is yours now.”
I swallowed hard. “Ours?”
A humorless smile touched his lips.
“No.”
Something about that single word terrified me more than shouting would have.
“This marriage is a contract,” he continued calmly. “Nothing more.”
Pain twisted unexpectedly inside my chest despite knowing exactly what this was.
“You could’ve refused,” I whispered bitterly.
“So could your father.”
I looked away quickly. Hatred burned inside me.
“I’m not your prisoner.”
Dante walked toward me slowly until he stood directly in front of me.
Every inch of my body tensed.
“Aren’t you?” he asked quietly.
The air suddenly felt too heavy to breathe.
“I won’t let you control me.”
His dark eyes studied me carefully for a moment before his hand brushed lightly against my cheek.
The touch should’ve felt gentle.
Instead, it felt dangerous and it felt shivers down my spine.
“You still don’t understand where you are, Seraphina.”
Fear crept into my chest again.
Then his expression darkened completely.
“If you try to run,” he said softly, “I will find you.”
A chill raced down my spine.
Not because he sounded angry.
But because he sounded certain.
Dante stepped away from me afterward and walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he paused.
“One more thing.”
I looked at him silently.
“You belong to me now.”
Then he walked out, locking the door behind him.
The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I truly understood the terrifying reality of my situation.
I hadn’t married a man. I had married a monster.
- Writer
