THE DEVIL'S FORCED BRIDE

The music had already started when my mother gripped my arm. “Elena, it's time. Smile, sweetheart. The Morettis are watching.” I stared at the church doors, clutching a bouquet of white roses. My wedding dress was too tight around my waist, and the diamond earrings my mother had borrowed for me felt like weights against my neck. I was supposed to marry Lorenzo Moretti in less than five minutes. In exchange, my father's half-million-dollar debt would disappear. It was a business arrangement, not a love story. I had accepted that long ago. What I hadn't accepted was the possibility that my groom wouldn't be waiting for me. The church doors swung open. I took my first step down the aisle, then stopped. The man standing beside the priest wasn't Lorenzo. He was taller, broader, and dressed in a black suit that looked as though it had been tailored specifically for him. His dark hair was neatly combed, and his grey eyes swept across the congregation with an authority that silenced even the smallest whispers. Damiano Moretti. Lorenzo's older brother. The man people in New York feared more than they respected. My mother pushed me forward. “Keep walking.” “Where is Lorenzo?” I whispered. She didn't answer. I continued down the aisle, my eyes fixed on the stranger waiting at the altar. Lorenzo's mother sat in the front row, her face buried in a handkerchief. Two men in dark suits stood near the entrance, watching everyone who moved. Something terrible had happened. By the time I reached the altar, my fingers were trembling so badly that several roses slipped from my bouquet. Damiano caught one before it touched the floor. He examined it briefly, then took the entire bouquet from me and placed it on a nearby chair. “Where is my groom?” I demanded. His expression didn't change. “Dead.” I stared at him. “What did you say?” “My brother died in a car accident two hours ago.” “No.” I shook my head. “That's impossible. I spoke to him yesterday. He promised he'd be here.” “He isn't coming.” I stepped away from the altar, but Damiano caught my wrist. “Let go of me!” His fingers tightened just enough to stop me from pulling free. “Listen carefully, Elena Rossi. My brother is dead, but our agreement remains.” “What agreement? I agreed to marry Lorenzo, not you!” A few guests turned toward us. Damiano released my wrist and faced the priest. “Give us a moment.” The priest immediately stepped back. Damiano guided me toward the side of the altar, away from the closest guests. I followed only because I didn't want to cause a scene in front of my family. “You have lost your mind,” I whispered. “I'm leaving.” “And your father will lose everything tomorrow.” I froze. Damiano adjusted his cufflinks as if we were discussing the weather. “Your father's debt hasn't disappeared because my brother is dead. The shop, the house, and everything he owns remain collateral. If the debt isn't settled, I'll take them.” “You can't do that.” “Try me.” “My father borrowed money to save his business. He didn't steal from you!” “He signed an agreement. I intend to honour it.” “By forcing me to marry you?” “By giving you a choice.” I laughed bitterly. “What choice?” “Marry me for one year. Live in my house, wear my ring, and appear beside me when required. At the end of the year, your family's debt will be cleared, and our marriage will end.” “And if I refuse?” “Your father loses the shop. Your family loses the house. Whatever remains of his business will be mine.” I slapped him. The sound cracked through the space between us. Someone gasped behind us. Damiano slowly turned his face back toward me. He touched his cheek, then looked at the faint mark my hand had left. For one terrifying second, I thought he would strike me back. Instead, he smiled. “There's the courage I was told about.” “Don't talk about me as if you own me.” “Not yet.” I hated the calmness in his voice. He didn't need to shout or threaten me in front of everyone. He knew exactly what he was doing. I looked toward my father. He sat in the front row beside my younger sister, Sofia. His hands were clasped tightly together, and his eyes were red. When he noticed me looking, he mouthed two words. I'm sorry. My chest tightened. For three months, men had visited our flower shop demanding repayment. They had broken our windows, threatened my father over the phone, and left a dead rat outside our door. The Morettis had been patient until now. I had agreed to marry Lorenzo because I wanted my family to survive. I had never imagined his death would leave me standing before an even more dangerous man. “Why me?” I asked Damiano. “You have money, power, and enough women willing to marry you. Find someone else.” “Because the agreement was made with your family, and this marriage serves a purpose beyond your father's debt.” “What purpose?” “That's not your concern.” “It became my concern the moment you decided to marry me!” His eyes narrowed. “Careful, Elena.” “Or what? You'll destroy my family?” “If necessary.” I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to tear off the wedding dress and walk out of the church, leaving him to explain the disaster to his guests. But then I looked at Sofia. She was only sixteen. She didn't deserve to lose her home because of a debt she knew nothing about. My father had worked his entire life to keep our little flower shop open. I couldn't watch him lose everything without trying to save it. Damiano followed my gaze. “Your family is waiting,” he said. “Make your decision.” “You're a monster.” “Perhaps.” “I will never love you.” “I didn't ask you to.” He returned to the altar and held out his hand. The congregation fell silent. I remained where I was, refusing to move. Then my father stood. “Elena,” he called, his voice breaking. “Please.” I closed my eyes briefly before turning toward him. He looked as though he had aged years in a single morning. “I'm sorry,” he repeated. “I never wanted this for you.” Neither did I. But wishing wouldn't save him. I walked back to the altar. Damiano offered me no comfort. He simply opened a black velvet box and revealed a diamond ring that glittered beneath the church lights. “This was prepared for the bride,” he said. I looked at the ring, then at him. “Don't mistake this marriage for permission to control every part of my life.” “Then don't mistake my patience for weakness.” He took my left hand. I tried to pull it away, but he held it firmly enough to keep me beside him. “This is your last opportunity to change your mind,” he murmured. “Once that ring is on your finger, the agreement begins.” I glanced at my father one last time. Then I stopped resisting. Damiano slid the ring onto my finger. It fitted perfectly, which made the whole situation feel even more disturbing. The priest cleared his throat. “Shall we proceed?” Damiano nodded. The ceremony continued, but I barely heard a word. I stood beside the man who had turned my wedding into a prison, surrounded by people who were too frightened to challenge him. When the priest reached the vows, he turned to me. “Elena Rossi, do you take Damiano Moretti as your lawfully wedded husband?” I opened my mouth. “She does,” Damiano answered. The priest hesitated. “Sir, she must answer for herself.” For the first time that morning, Damiano looked genuinely irritated. He turned toward me. I met his grey eyes. “I do.” The words tasted bitter, but they were mine. The priest completed the ceremony, and Damiano slipped his arm around my waist as the guests began to rise. “Congratulations to the newlyweds,” the priest announced weakly. Applause broke out, mixed with whispers and the occasional gasp. Cameras flashed from the back of the church. Damiano leaned toward me. “From this moment forward, you will live by my rules.” I forced a smile for the cameras. His arm tightened around my waist. “Good,” he whispered. “You'll need that memory.” Before I could answer, a man in a black suit hurried toward us. He leaned close to Damiano and spoke quietly, but I caught the last few words. “Boss, the police found something in Lorenzo's car. You need to see it immediately.” Damiano's expression changed. “What did they find?” The man glanced at me before answering. “Your brother's brakes were deliberately tampered with.” My breath caught. Lorenzo hadn't simply died in an accident. Someone had wanted him dead. And before I could ask another question, Damiano turned to me, his grey eyes suddenly colder than ever. “Get her out of here,” he ordered. “Nobody speaks to my wife until I return.” My wife. I watched him stride toward the church doors, already issuing instructions to his men. I had married a man I didn't love to save my family. But if someone had murdered Lorenzo, I had a terrible feeling that my marriage was only the beginning of the nightmare.