HIS TO LOVE

The grand cathedral stood like a fortress, its towering stained-glass windows casting fractured colors across the marble floor. Hundreds of candles flickered, their golden glow unable to warm the chill in Valentina Russo’s bones. The scent of fresh roses was thick in the air, cloying, suffocating.  It was a perfect wedding. For a perfect lie.  Valentina's fingers tightened around the bouquet of blood-red roses, her nails digging into the delicate stems. The lace of her gown clung to her like a web, trapping her in the moment she wished she could escape. This wasn’t love. It wasn’t destiny.  It was a sentence.  The firm grip on her arm reminded her of that.  "Walk with grace, figlia mia," her father, Don Enzo Russo, murmured, his voice a quiet warning. "Show them your strength."  Strength? Was strength pretending she wasn’t being sold like a prized possession? Was it keeping her chin high while her entire future was handed to a monster?  She lifted her head, her dark eyes locking onto the man waiting for her at the altar.  Don Alessandro Ricci.  The Devil of Naples.  The man whose name made grown men whisper. Ruthless, merciless, lethal.  And soon, her husband.  Dressed in a black suit that fit him like sin, Alessandro stood like a predator waiting for his prey. His face was unreadable, carved from ice and stone, but his dark eyes—those eyes—watched her with something that sent a shiver down her spine. Not desire. Not warmth.  Possession.  The wedding march played, but to Valentina, it sounded like a dirge. A funeral hymn for the life she was losing.  Each step forward felt like walking toward execution.  The room was filled with the most dangerous men in Italy—Mafia Lords, crime bosses, men who built empires on blood and betrayal. Their eyes followed her every move, waiting, watching. None of them would save her. None of them could.  Her breath hitched as she reached the altar, stopping before Alessandro. He extended a hand toward her, his touch firm and commanding as her father placed her palm into his. A silent exchange between two powerful men, one giving, the other taking.  Her father let go.  And Alessandro’s grip tightened.  She resisted the urge to yank her hand back, to spit in his face, to scream that she was not some trophy to be paraded around. But she didn’t. Because she knew what defiance would cost her.  The priest’s voice barely registered as the ceremony began. Words were spoken, vows recited, but Valentina heard only the roaring in her ears.  Then came the moment of truth.  "If anyone has any objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace."  A silence heavier than death fell over the cathedral. No one spoke. No one dared.  Valentina’s heart pounded against her ribs.  Run, a voice whispered. Scream. Fight.  But she could do none of those things.  Her father’s presence was a shadow at her back, a reminder of what was at stake.  The priest turned to her. "Do you, Valentina Russo, take Alessandro Ricci to be your lawfully wedded husband?"  The words caught in her throat.  Her fingers clenched the bouquet so tightly she thought the stems might snap.  Every fiber of her being wanted to say no.  To spit in the Devil’s face.  But her father’s gaze burned into her. She knew she had no choice.  So she swallowed the rage. The fear.  And forced the words out.  "I do."  A slow smirk ghosted across Alessandro’s lips, as if he knew how much it cost her to say it.  The priest turned to him. "And do you, Alessandro Ricci, take Valentina Russo to be your lawfully wedded wife?"  Alessandro’s voice was smooth as silk, dark as night.  "I do."  The priest nodded. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."  Valentina barely had time to breathe before Alessandro stepped closer.  His strong hand gripped her chin, tilting her face up. She braced herself, expecting cruelty, force—but instead, his lips brushed hers with slow, deliberate control. Not a kiss of love.  A kiss of conquest.  A reminder that she belonged to him now.  The cathedral erupted in applause, but Valentina felt nothing but cold fury.  Alessandro pulled back, his mouth a breath away from hers, his voice low enough that only she could hear.  "You can hate me all you want, cara mia," he murmured, his grip tightening just enough to make her heart pound. "But you are mine. And no one will ever save you from me."  The weight of his words settled over her like chains, but she refused to let him see her break.  Alessandro’s gaze burned into her, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "I've looked forward to this day all my life," he said, his voice laced with satisfaction.  Valentina clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to slap the smirk off his face, to wipe that self-satisfied look away, but she restrained herself. This wasn’t the place.  She shifted uncomfortably under the watchful eyes of the guests, aware of the murmurs, the whispers. Alessandro watched her closely, noting the way she recoiled at his presence, the sharp scowl etched on her delicate features.  It amused him.  "Finally, she's mine," he thought.  His smirk widened as he leaned in, his voice a dark promise. "I want you, Valentina."  Her breath caught, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Well, I don’t."  His chuckle was deep, knowing. "No? That’s alright, cara . I’m not going to force you."  Her brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her face. "What?"  Alessandro’s smirk never wavered. "Yes, darling, I’m not going to force you." He reached up, tracing his knuckles lightly along her jawline. "You’re going to beg me, Valentina."  Her lips curled into a smirk of her own. "What makes you think so?"  He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Because I know how this whole charade will end."  Her blood ran cold.  Because for the first time, she truly understood.  She hadn’t married a man.  She had married the Devil himself.