Chapter 1 - The Ashes of Valente
The smoke from the burning balcony curtains billowed into the high-ceilinged bedroom, carrying the sharp stench of cordite, singed velvet, and old blood. Outside, the storm crashed against the reinforced glass, throwing jagged spears of lightning across the room.
I pressed my back against the carved wooden wardrobe, my left hand clutching the torn fabric of my wedding dress over my breast. The cold air brushed against the bare skin of my right shoulder—the shoulder that held a mark I had spent twenty-four years concealing under high collars, heavy scarves, and thick lace.
Roman remained motionless. The terrifying mafia don who had spent the entire evening commanding men, dodging bullets, and issuing cold orders looked as though he had been struck by lightning himself. He held the blackened metal pendant in his hand, his fingers trembling slightly as he held it an inch away from my skin.
The mark on my shoulder was a raised, dark birthmark—a crown split down the center, flanked by a sweeping wing. The pendant hanging from the heavy silver chain around Roman’s neck was a blackened piece of carved steel—a crown split down the center, flanked by the opposite wing.
When placed together, the geometry was absolute. The metal completed the mark. The broken crown became whole. The scattered wings formed a perfect circle.
"That's impossible," I whispered, my voice raspy from smoke and sudden terror. "My mother told me it was just a strange scar. A birthmark from a fever when I was an infant."
"Your mother lied to you," Roman said. His voice was no longer the flat, commanding baritone of a mob boss. It was low, dangerous, and thick with an emotion I couldn't read. "The Valente family didn't die of a fever, Clara. Their estate in the North Hills was burned to the ground twenty-four years ago. The entire bloodline was wiped out in a single night. My father took this pendant from the ashes of the master bedroom."
"Your father?" I choked out, staring at the dark metal hanging against his white shirt.
"The Duca family was second-in-command to the Valentes," Roman explained, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "When the Valente syndicate was destroyed, my father seized the harbor, the assets, and the leadership. For twenty years, everyone believed the Valentes were extinct. The rival families... the syndicate council... everyone."
He took a step closer, his massive frame looming over me. He reached out with one long, calloused finger. For a second, I thought he was going to touch my shoulder, but his hand hovered just above the mark, as if afraid it would burn him.
"If you bear the Valente mark," Roman whispered, "it means you aren't Eleanor Whitmore’s daughter. It means you are the lost heir of the syndicate. It means my marriage contract with you isn't a simple land acquisition."
"Then what is it?" I demanded, pushing myself up against the wardrobe, forcing myself to stand tall despite the blood dripping from my palm. "Why did you come to my shop three weeks ago? Why did you force my mother to sign away our home and force me into this ridiculous dress?"
Before Roman could answer, the door to the bedroom crashed open.
Viktor, Roman’s chief of security, burst in, holding a tactical shotgun. His suit was ripped, his face covered in soot. Behind him stood four heavily armed guards.
"Boss!" Viktor yelled, scanning the room before his eyes landed on the two dead attackers on the balcony. "The perimeter is breached. It wasn't a local crew. These men are wearing the insignia of the Syndicate High Council. Don Corvo sent them."
Roman’s eyes narrowed, the deadly mafia Don returning in an instant. He tucked the pendant back beneath his shirt and snatched his weapon from the table. "Corvo? Why would the Council attack a Duca wedding?"
Viktor hesitated, glancing at me, then at the torn shoulder of my gown. "Because Corvo found out who you were marrying, Boss. Word leaked from the registry office three hours ago that Eleanor Whitmore’s adoptive daughter bore the legal name 'Clara Valente-Whitmore' on her birth registration. Corvo didn't come to stop the wedding. He came to execute the last Valente before she could claim the harbour."
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Adopted? Eleanor wasn't my biological mother? The woman who had raised me, who had worked eighteen-hour days in a dusty tailor shop to buy my shoes, who had kissed my forehead when I cried... had she been keeping me hidden from a firing squad my entire life?
"Where is Eleanor?" I screamed, stepping past Roman to grab Viktor’s tactical vest. "Where is my mother?!"
Viktor looked at Roman for permission before speaking. "She’s in the subterranean vault under the kitchen, ma'am. But Corvo’s men are trying to blow the vault doors right now."
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the heavy train of my ruined wedding dress, ripped the remaining silk off the hem so I could run, and bolted toward the open door.
"Clara! Stop!" Roman roared.
He lunged forward, catching me around the waist before I could reach the hallway. He slammed me gently but firmly against the wall, his arms locking me in place.
"Let me go!" I spat, digging my fingernails into his forearms. "She’s down there because of you! Because of your stupid syndicate!"
"You go down there now, and Corvo’s men will put a bullet through your head before you take three steps!" Roman growled, his face inches from mine. "Look at me, Clara! Look at me!"
I stopped struggling, gasping for air, staring into his dark, stormy eyes.
"I didn't know," Roman said, his voice raw. "I swear on my father’s grave, I didn't know you were a Valente when I forced this marriage contract. I thought you were just an ordinary girl whose shop sat on the land I needed for the shipping expansion. But now that I know..." He paused, his grip on my waist tightening, his thumb brushing against my hip. "Now that I know, no one touches you. Not Corvo. Not the Council. No one."
"Why?" I sobbed, tears finally breaking through my anger. "Why do you care? I'm your rival's heir! If I'm a Valente, I have a better claim to this city than you do!"
Roman smiled—a sharp, terrifying, yet strangely breathtaking curve of his lips.
May you like
"Because you're my wife now, Clara," he whispered. "And in my family, we don't surrender what is ours."
He turned to Viktor. "Get the heavy armor from the armory. We aren't retreating to the safe room. We are going down to the kitchens to kill every man Don Corvo sent."
