Chapter One
Rain painted the city in cold silver, pooling in the cracks of the pavement like nature itself was trying to cleanse a world too stained to save.
Alessia Moretti clutched her coat tighter, the wind biting through the wool like it had a personal vendetta. Her heels clicked against the cobblestones of the old Italian district, echoing in the silence. She shouldn't be here. Not alone. Not tonight. But desperation didn't care about danger—and her father had made promises his soul couldn't afford to keep.
She reached the steps of the De Luca estate, an ornate black-iron gate looming before her like the jaws of a sleeping beast. The intercom crackled when she pressed the button, her heart thudding louder than the storm around her.
"Name?" came the deep, disinterested voice.
"Alessia Moretti," she said, forcing strength into her tone. "I'm here to speak with Matteo De Luca."
Silence. Then—click. The gate groaned open.
She stepped through, pulse quickening with every step toward the mansion. It was massive, dark windows staring down like soulless eyes. The door opened before she could knock.
He stood there.
Matteo De Luca.
The man she'd only ever seen in whispers, in headlines soaked with blood, in stories her father muttered when the wine bottle was half-empty. And yet… there was something hauntingly beautiful about him. Sharp lines. Sharp eyes. A shadow carved into the form of a man.
"You're late," he said, voice cold, but calm.
"My father—"
"Your father is a coward," Matteo cut in. "He made a deal. He broke it."
Alessia's jaw tightened. "I'm not here to argue. I'm here to fix it."
"And how do you plan to do that, bella?"
The way he said it—bella—felt like a dagger wrapped in silk.
She swallowed hard. "You said you'd accept a trade. A... promise."
He stepped forward, his presence suffocating. "I did."
"And?" she asked.
"I want you."
The world froze.
Lightning cracked behind him, casting his face in shadow and firelight. Her breath caught. She had expected threats, maybe even punishment—but not this.
Not to become a promise in the shape of a woman.
Alessia straightened. "You think I'll just let you own me?"
Matteo's lips curled into something between a smirk and a threat. "Not own. Keep. Protect. Use. Until the debt is paid in full."
"And if I refuse?" she asked, her voice trembling despite her best effort.
"Then your father's blood will stain these floors before morning."
Her stomach turned, but she didn't flinch. She couldn't afford to.
"Then I guess you've got yourself a promise," she whispered.
And just like that, the trap closed.
Not with chains.
But with a kiss from the devil himself.
Alessia didn't sleep that night.
The guest room—if it could even be called that—was cold, luxurious, and as impersonal as a hotel suite. But it wasn't the marble floors or the eerie silence that kept her awake.
It was him.
Matteo De Luca.
The way his eyes had lingered on her when he said she now belonged to him. The way his voice sank into her skin, slow and poisonous, like it had every intention of breaking her before this was over.
And God help her, the worst part wasn't fear.
It was curiosity.
She stared at the ceiling, the silk sheets like ice on her skin. Somewhere down the hall, the De Luca heir was probably sipping a glass of expensive whiskey, plotting the next move in whatever twisted game this was. He wasn't just dangerous—he was patient. And that scared her more than any gun.
A knock at the door startled her.
Alessia sat up, heart leaping.
Before she could answer, the door opened.
Matteo stood in the doorway, dressed in all black, like he belonged to the night. No guards. No gun. Just him—and the unsettling calm he always carried.
"You don't sleep," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Not in cages," she answered, voice sharp.
He smirked, stepping in. "You misunderstand. You're not in a cage. You're in a contract."
"Feels the same."
He walked toward her slowly, as if each step was meant to test her nerve. "Tell me something, Alessia. Why did you come? Really. You could've disappeared. Your father's already halfway to dead."
"Because someone in my family needed to do the right thing."
"Even if it costs you your freedom?"
"Freedom is overrated," she said. "Especially when it's stained with someone else's blood."
Matteo studied her like she was a puzzle he wasn't sure he wanted to solve. Then, with a low chuckle, he turned away and walked to the window.
"You have fire," he murmured. "I like that."
"I'm not here for your approval."
"No, you're here to save a man who wouldn't have done the same for you." He turned back to her, eyes darker now. "So, what happens when your father disappears anyway? Or dies in some alley, as men like him tend to do?"
"Then I fulfill the promise," she said quietly. "Whatever that means."
He nodded once, as if that answer satisfied him—and maybe even impressed him. "Good. Then we begin tomorrow."
She frowned. "Begin what?"
Matteo's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Your training."
The door closed behind him before she could ask what kind of training he meant.
But something told her it had nothing to do with etiquette—or anything innocent at all.