Chapter 1 – Sold to the Devil
[Aria's POV]
The sharp click of my heels echoed like gunfire through the marble hallway.
I had been summoned.
Not asked. Not warned. Just... summoned.
The towering doors of my father's private study loomed ahead like the gates of hell. Gilded, grand, and just as cruel as the man who ruled behind them. I paused for a second, inhaled deeply, and steeled myself against whatever fresh punishment he had cooked up. I expected disappointment. Maybe exile from another lavish social function for talking back.
I didn't expect to walk in and find Lucien Moretti seated in my father's chair.
He didn't rise. He didn't smile. He just turned his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto mine like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.
"Aria," my father barked from the corner. "Come. Sit."
I moved on instinct alone. My legs felt numb, but somehow I crossed the room. Lucien watched me with quiet intensity, his elbows resting on the armrests like a king overseeing a subject.
Or an executioner measuring his target.
"Do you know who this is?" my father asked.
Of course I knew. Everyone in New York did.
Lucien Moretti. Mafia royalty. The shadow king behind half the violence in this city. Rumor said he never smiled. Never loved. Never forgave.
I swallowed hard. "Yes."
"Good," my father said. "Then you understand why you'll marry him."
The world shattered.
I blinked once. Twice. "What?"
My father stood, already impatient. "It's done. Your engagement begins tonight. The wedding is in two weeks."
Lucien said nothing. He simply reached for a glass of scotch and sipped it, as if this conversation were no more significant than a weather update.
"But—why me?" I whispered, voice cracking. "Why now?"
Lucien finally spoke.
His voice was low and cold, like winter wrapped in velvet. "Because your father owes a debt. And I always collect what's mine."
---
[Lucien's POV]
She looked like a doll wrapped in satin and fire.
I'd seen photos. Surveillance. Reports. But in person, Aria Monroe was chaos bottled in silk. Wide honey eyes that glared instead of begged. Lips pressed into a line that refused to tremble. She didn't cry. Not even when the sentence was delivered.
Good. I hated weak women.
But I didn't take her because I wanted her strength. I took her because her father betrayed me. He embezzled. Lied. Tried to play both sides. I should've put a bullet between his eyes.
Instead, I chose something worse. I took the one thing he couldn't kill—his daughter's freedom.
"She's not part of this," her father had begged days ago.
"No," I had said. "She's the blood price."
I didn't want love. I didn't believe in it. I wanted control. I wanted submission.
But now, looking at her... I wanted something else too.
Her defiance was tempting. I'd enjoy breaking that.
---
[Back to Aria – Later That Night]
The ballroom spun around me. Every glittering light, every passing stranger's gaze—it all blurred. My dress was too tight, my heels too high, and Lucien's hand was wrapped tightly around my waist like a collar.
"Smile," he whispered into my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "You're the bride."
"I'm not yours," I hissed.
He chuckled—actually chuckled. A sound more dangerous than any gunshot. "You will be."
The crowd clapped as he raised our entwined hands like a twisted celebration. Engagement party. Blood ritual. Prison sentence.
I didn't know what this was.
But when his fingers slid from my waist down to the bare curve of my hip, just beneath the satin, I knew one thing for sure:
Lucien Moretti wasn't just a mafia king.
He was the devil—and I had just been sold to him.