Obsidian Falls smelled like rain and gunpowder.
Alessia Duvall stood at the arched window of her father's study, her fingers tracing the cold glass as she watched the city bleed into twilight. The streets below were slick with neon and sin, a mirror of the deal being brokered behind her.
"She marries him, or we go to war."
Her father's voice was steel wrapped in silk. The kind of tone that left no room for refusal.
Alessia turned slowly, the emerald silk of her dress whispering against her thighs. The men in the room—her father's most trusted, all scarred and scowling—wouldn't meet her eyes.
Cowards.
"Dante Valtieri," she said, testing the name on her tongue. It tasted like smoke and stolen memories.
Her father's jaw tightened. "The alliance will end the bloodshed."
Liar.
She knew the truth. This wasn't peace—it was surrender. The Valtieri family had them by the throat, and her hand in marriage was the ransom.
Alessia lifted her chin. "And if I refuse?"
The room went still.
Her father's smile was a blade. "You won't."
---
Three nights later, she stood at the altar of a decaying cathedral, the scent of incense and iron thick in the air. The man waiting for her wasn't the boy she remembered.
Dante Valtieri was carved from shadows and vengeance, his black suit clinging to the lethal lines of his body. His gaze, gold-flecked and unreadable, pinned her in place as she walked toward him.
Run, a voice inside her hissed.
But the doors were already sealed.
The priest's words blurred into white noise until only one sentence sliced through: "You may kiss your bride."
Dante's hand curled around the back of her neck, his breath warm against her lips. "Welcome to hell, wife."
And then he kissed her—not like a lover, but like a man marking his claim.
Somewhere in the distance, a gunshot rang out.
Alessia smiled against his mouth.
Game on.