Ira’s POV

The kiss was still burning on my lips when he pulled away.

His hand slid from my cheek like silk, leaving behind a strange ache.

For a moment, the world around us stayed silent.

No applause.

No congratulations.

Just the soft echo of my heartbeat and the sound of candles flickering in the wind.

Luca didn’t offer his arm.

He didn’t even glance back as he turned and walked away from the altar like the ceremony meant nothing.

One of his men — Bruno — jerked his head at me. I followed, steps unsteady, heart strangled inside my ribs.

They led me through a separate corridor, up the stairs I had once mopped as a maid, down the hall lined with oil paintings of men who had all ruled with blood.

Now one of their descendants had made me his wife.

Not his lover.

Not his partner.

His possession.

---

The bedroom door creaked open, and Luca stood at the center of it — tall, black suit still sharp, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the ink that marked his throat.

This wasn’t the guest bedroom where I once stayed.

This was his room. Our room.

The bed was massive. Canopy. Crimson sheets. Black silk pillows.

A place meant for intimacy.

But what I felt was danger.

He didn’t look at me.

He walked to the edge of the bed, sat down, and finally spoke.

> “Close the door, moglie mia.”

(My wife.)

I obeyed.

Not because I wanted to.

Because disobeying him tonight felt like setting myself on fire with no one left to scream for.

---

He poured himself a glass of something — scotch, I guessed — then looked at me with unreadable eyes.

> “You thought a wedding would change anything?” he asked softly. “You thought putting on white would make you clean?”

His words sliced deeper than any knife.

> “You’re still the same orphan. Still the same serva who forgot her place the moment she looked me in the eye.”

I didn’t speak.

Tears threatened again, but I refused to give him the satisfaction.

He leaned back against the headboard, glass in hand.

> “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

I didn’t answer.

> “Defiance. Dirt dressed in silk. A maid pretending to be royalty.”

That broke something.

My jaw trembled. My fists clenched. But I stayed silent.

Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

Dialed one number.

> “Bruno,” he said. “Send someone in.”

My stomach dropped.

Someone?

Who?

He looked at me when he said the next part.

> “Preferably blonde.”

---

A minute passed.

Then two.

And then…

The door opened.

She walked in like she owned the place — tall, thin, in a tight black dress that hugged every curve. Platinum blonde hair fell in waves. Her smile was soft, lips glossed in a color too loud for silence.

Her eyes fell on me first.

Then on Luca.

> “Ciao, amore,” she purred. “Didn’t know you were bored on your wedding night.”

Luca didn’t smile.

He just opened his arms.

> “Come here.”

She strutted over and sat on his lap, like it wasn’t the first time.

Like I wasn’t even in the room.

I felt the floor tilt beneath my feet.

He didn’t just let her sit.

He wrapped his arm around her waist. Pulled her flush against him.

And then, slowly — deliberately — he kissed her.

Deep.

Lingering.

Open-mouthed.

Like it was intimate.

Like it meant something.

I turned away, shame swallowing me whole.

But his voice dragged me back.

> “Watch.”

I froze.

> “You wanted a marriage? This is it. You belong to me. But I don’t belong to you.”

> “You’re mine to humiliate, to display, to own. But I will never be yours, piccola puttana.”

(Little whore.)

The woman giggled.

He didn’t laugh.

He stared directly at me.

> “This is your place. The wife who watches. The bride who bleeds in silence.”

A sob clawed up my throat, but I crushed it back.

I wouldn’t give him that.

But I couldn’t stop the tears.

They streamed silently — one after another, hot down my cheeks, humiliation burning into my skin like acid.

---

Then, suddenly—

He stood.

Lifted the blonde woman in his arms.

She squealed in surprise, arms wrapping around his neck.

And just like that, he walked

out.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t say goodnight.

Didn’t tell me to sleep well.

Just carried another woman out of the room while I stood in my wedding dress, crying like a child no one wanted.

---