Wedded To The Underworld

The Eclipse

Lucien

After, I retrieved Zia from Selene's clutches. I asked her to go home. She asked us to go together, but I had to go to The Eclipse. We had an after party there.

"Great. Let's go then."

I gripped her arm firmly. "Go. Home. It's not your scene," I sighed. "I've already got an earful from Don Gio this evening. I don't need another."

She roughly rips her arm from my hold. "Then, what's my scene? I married you, so I'm obviously married into this life."

"You're delusional, Zia. You're the daughter of a driver to a Mafian family. That doesn't make you one. Go home."

But instead she follows me to The Eclipse. It was obvious from her expression, she'd never been.

"It's beautiful," she said, grinning too wildly as we entered. She trailed behind me as we headed to the VIP lounge.

The bass thumped beneath our feet, echoing through the marble and gold of The Eclipse. My club, my domain. And yet, tonight, it felt like the jungle—and Selene Giorgio was the panther already licking her lips.

I spotted her by the balcony bar in the VIP lounge—draped in a silk-black gown that clung to her like it owed her something. Her glass sparkled. So did her smile. The kind you couldn’t trust.

Selene Alessia Giorgio— Heiress of the Giorgio empire, socialite, strategist. Ice-blue eyes that held mischief more often than not. Sleek raven-black hair, and lips painted with her signature blood-red lipstick. She had a sharp fashion sense, always in control. Sharp. Calculated.

She curated and managed elite art auctions, hosting international collectors, aristocrats, and mafiosi under the same gilded roof. Giorgio Arte is known for showcasing rare, controversial, and "reclaimed" artworks—some of which never legally passed through customs.

I owed her my prized pieces at home.

The auction house is a front for laundering money through forged paintings, inflated bidding wars, and under-the-table dealings. Selene is not just a pretty face—she negotiates dirty, cuts deals with forgers, and ensures no piece of art can ever be traced back to its original—often stolen— origin.

Her father and Don Giovanni wanted us to get married, wanted her to marry into the Saints' family to solidify ties—but I refused. Oh, I remember her being so pissed. Even after I told her I could never love her. She still wanted the marriage but I refused. And now, I am married to Zia— not by choice this time around.

And then there was him—Matteo Bianchi.

I didn't like that he was here, smirking with his elbows resting too comfortably on my table. But until he did something worth putting a bullet through his smile, I had to tolerate him. For tonight.

I sipped my whiskey, jaw tight. From my leather-backed seat, I watched as Selene circled the table like a sleek predator.

She was enjoying herself too much. Her eyes kept drifting towards Zia, who sat beside me, glittering with that cruel amusement that always came before the strike.

“Lucien,” she purred, as she sat beside me.

“Selene.” I didn’t kiss her cheek. I didn’t have to. She noticed.

“You didn’t bring a leash,” she said, leaning into me, whispering. “Or is she house-trained now?”

I didn't miss her breasts pressing into me. I sipped my whiskey, offering her silence.

Selene chuckled. “She scrubs up. I’ll give her that. But she still smells like she doesn’t belong.”

"You do know I'm right here and can hear you clearly. But you knew that already." Zia said in that mocking tone of hers.

I stood slowly.

“Zia, go home.”

She paused, surprised. Selene wasn't. She smirked like a snake in silk.

“Come on, Lucien. Let her stay. We don't bite.”

Fuck! She was up to no good.

Zia turned her eyes to mine, soft yet unyielding. “Lucien. I’m already here.”

Selene raised a brow, feigning innocence, but I caught the flicker of triumph in her eyes. She wanted this. She wanted to parade Zia in front of the pack like fresh meat. Wanted me to see just how out-of-place Zia was. How this wasn't her world. And she was hoping that maybe, just maybe, I'd come crawling to her side.“

"She’s off-limits tonight," I said, my voice flat.

Selene laughed into her wineglass. “Oh, darling. You forget. I built this floor. Every step of marble she's standing on? It’s from my family's quarry in Palermo. She’s not on my turf. She’s beneath it.”

I stepped closer, just enough to remind her this wasn’t her game.

“Don’t push it.”

But she wasn’t listening. Her eyes were already tracking Zia—hungry. For blood. For spectacle.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to touch her,” Selene said sweetly. “I’m just going to let her touch a little bit of reality.”

My jaw clenched as I watched her sashay to Zia’s side, lean down and whisper something.

Zia blinked. Then she smiled. That sharp little smile I was starting to recognize.

Selene reared back, lips twitching.

Whatever Zia had said, it cut.

Rafael chuckled under his breath as he scooted near me. “I like your wife.”

“I didn’t ask,” I said, sitting down back.

“No,” he murmured, “but Selene’s about to.”

Selene clapped her hands once, loud and clear. The room turned.

“Time for a game,” she announced, her voice purring like a predator. “Something worthy of our new little princess.”

She pointed at the Saint Gauntlet, being wheeled in behind her.

“Let’s see if fire can survive ice.”

I didn’t blink.

But my jaw clenched so hard I was sure my face would break. My hand fisted into a tight knuckle.

Of course, it had to be the Saints Gauntlet.

"Your grandfather will have your neck when he learns you let your new bride get humiliated."

I pinched my eyes together with my thumb and index finger. I tried to stop her from being here.

Selene turned to Zia.

“Well, cara… want to play?”

Zia stood slowly, calm as a loaded gun.

“Only if you’re the one I get to burn.”

A few of the men hollered. Laughed. A few others went suddenly quiet.

I said nothing.

I stepped back. Fine. Let the lioness walk into the den. I watched as Zia slipped past me and settled onto the couch beside Amato. I didn’t miss the way some of my men sat straighter, curious.

But for the first time that night, I felt something shift.

Zia wasn’t here to survive.

She wanted to compete.