Velvet & Vengeance

The rain was persistent, drumming softly against the stained-glass windows of the Moretti chapel. It whispered secrets Siena Moretti wasn’t ready to hear. Dressed in black velvet, her veil hiding her face from the mourners, she sat rigid and silent in the front pew. Her hands, gloved in satin, were folded neatly in her lap, though her fingers trembled beneath the surface. Her father was dead. But that wasn’t the tragedy. The tragedy was that no one in this room truly believed it was an accident. The service was short. No eulogy. No emotion. Only the scent of lilies and damp stone, the quiet shuffle of polished shoes on marble. The casket, sealed and gleaming, sat like a tomb of secrets. There would be no autopsy. No inquiry. In their world, death didn’t ask questions. It only whispered orders. Siena’s throat was dry. Her younger sister Elena sat beside her, clutching a rosary she didn’t understand, her wide brown eyes filled with confusion. She was still too innocent, too untouched by the cold mechanics of the world their father had ruled. Siena had always tried to protect her from that world. But now, there was no barrier left. When the priest gave the final blessing, people rose and began to file out in quiet waves of black wool and leather. Powerful men murmured words of condolence they didn’t mean. Their bodyguards hovered near the exits. Siena didn’t move. Not until she felt the presence behind her—quiet, firm. Miss Moretti, came the low voice of Luca Romano, her father’s right hand. “They’re waiting in the study.” They? she asked, her voice nearly cracking. He didn’t answer. The study was dim, the fire crackling low in the hearth. The shelves were lined with aged books, old whiskey, and older secrets. Siena stood just outside the doorway for a moment, steadying herself. Then she stepped inside. Her uncle, Carlo Moretti, was already seated. His expression was sharp, calculating, the grief barely a flicker behind his ambition. Across from him stood Don Marco DeLuca tall, weathered, a man who wore power like a second skin. And then there was Nico. He stood near the fireplace, hands in his pockets, his eyes already on her. He was dressed in a dark gray suit, his hair tousled, his face unreadable. His presence was cold, detached, but something simmered beneath it. He didn’t look at her like she was a pawn. He looked at her like she was a challenge. Miss Moretti, Don Marco greeted. Our condolences. She gave a nod. “Don DeLuca.” Carlo rose, motioning for her to sit. We need to speak plainly. The balance is broken. With your father gone, our enemies will move. Siena sat slowly, spine straight. I’m aware. The alliance must go forward, Don Marco said. Your father promised you to Nico. Her lips tightened. Promised. Like she was currency. Not a person. Not a daughter. Fine, she said after a moment. Even Carlo blinked. Fine? I’ll marry him, Siena said, her voice cool. “But on my terms.” Nico’s eyes flickered with interest. Carlo laughed. You think you’re in a position to make demands? She turned to Don Marco. If this marriage is for peace, then peace will come through power. I want full authority over the Moretti family. All of it. My father’s legacy. His seat. His decisions. I lead. No one else. The silence in the room was thunderous. You’re not serious, Carlo spat. Siena didn’t even look at him. “Deadly.” Marco tilted his head. Your father never let you into the business. And look where that got him. That landed like a slap. Finally, Nico spoke. Let her have it. All eyes turned to him. Don Marco frowned. “Nico” He shrugged. If she wants to rule, let her. I don’t need a wife who bows. I’d rather have one who stands. Siena’s breath caught. There was no smirk on Nico’s lips. No mockery in his voice. He wasn’t humoring her. He meant it. Carlo’s jaw clenched. You’re both insane. Don Marco gave a long, slow breath. “So be it. The wedding will be in two weeks. In the open. A public union both families, together. Siena stood, gathering her composure like armor. Then we have work to do. As she left the room, Nico followed her with his eyes. He said nothing. But something had begun to burn. That evening, she stood alone on the balcony of the estate, watching the city bleed orange and gray into the sky. The velvet of her dress fluttered in the wind. She should have felt caged. Instead, she felt sharp. Awake. A shadow stepped beside her. Nico. You’re brave, he said quietly. Is that your way of saying I’m reckless? she asked, not looking at him. His lips quirked almost a smile. It’s my way of saying you’re not like the others. She looked at him then really looked. There was steel in his gaze, but there was also loss. He wore his grief like she wore her veil hidden but close to the skin. Why did you agree? she asked. To all of it. He was quiet for a long moment. Because you remind me of someone I failed to protect. Siena’s chest tightened. Your wife? He gave a nod. She was strong, too. But in the end, strength wasn’t enough. Siena turned back to the skyline. Then we’ll need more than strength. We’ll need fire. Beside her, Nico stood still. Silent. But something in his gaze sparked. She could feel the intensity between them the beginning of something complicated and dangerous. And far below them, the city waited. The wind tugged at her dress, pulling it away from her body like it was trying to break the hold it had on her. Siena stood tall, taking in the city below her, each light a tiny beacon of possibility. This was no longer just about her father’s death or the future of her family. It was about her about taking back what was hers, about showing the men in her life that they underestimated her at their own peril. Nico’s presence beside her was almost unnerving. There was something in the way he stood, so effortlessly powerful, as if he was used to being in control. But Siena knew that this—this moment, this fragile beginning—was where things would change. She wasn’t the woman who had to hide in her father’s shadow. She was the woman who would burn the world down and build something new from its ashes. I can’t believe it’s happening so fast, she said after a while, her voice quiet, almost to herself. I never thought it would happen like this. Nico didn’t reply immediately. He didn’t need to. His quiet presence beside her was more than enough. But then he spoke, his tone low and measured. Sometimes, things have a way of falling into place when you least expect them. She looked at him then, finally meeting his eyes. And sometimes, they fall apart. Nico smiled then, a small, dangerous curve of his lips. That, too. The air between them crackled, charged with unspoken words and rising tension. But in that moment, Siena realized something. This, whatever it was that was growing between them wasn’t just a matter of alliances and power. It was personal. A game they were both playing, but neither knew exactly how it would end. And the city beneath them? It was the stage for the drama that would unfold. A stage for their power, their promises, their pain. The story had only just begun.