Sera Romano POV

It rained the day we buried Matteo.

Of course it did.

The sky mourned louder than I did louder than any of us dared to.

In this world, grief is weakness. And weakness is death.

The church smelled like incense and old blood. People filled the pews, dressed in black silk and colder silence. Men who’d once toasted with my brother now stared at his coffin like it was a warning.

This is what happens to loyalty in the wrong family.

My father sat at the front, spine straight, hands folded. A marble statue carved in rage and regret. He hadn’t spoken since Matteo’s body was found bullet through the heart, throat slit like a message.

The Romano Syndicate would answer for it. And I’d make sure of that.

A rosary slipped between my fingers. Not for prayer. For focus.

My lips moved with the priest’s words, but my mind stayed on the gun beneath my coat and the name carved into the back of my brain:

*Rivan Blackthorne**.*

Then I felt it. Like a shift in the air. Like poison slipping into the room. My eyes flicked toward the entrance—and there he stood. Tall. Sharp. Ice in a black suit.

Him.

Rivan fucking Blackthorne.

He walked down the aisle like the church belonged to him. Like he wasn’t the reason my brother was in the ground. Not a flicker of remorse. Not a whisper of guilt. He didn’t come to grieve. He came to remind us who won.

He stopped just a few feet away, met my eyes and held them.

No smile. No words.

Just the same damn stare he gave Matteo the last time they spoke. Right before my brother pulled a blade. Right before someone pulled a trigger. My fingers curled into fists around the rosary beads, cutting my skin. But I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Because this wasn’t the place. And I wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

“Peace be with you,” the priest muttered.

Fuck peace. As they lowered Matteo into the earth, I whispered a promise into the rain:

"I’ll give you your justice, brother. Even if I have to marry the devil to do it."

And the devil…was standing right behind me.

I didn’t turn around.

Not even when I felt the heat of his presence cold heat, the kind that burns slow and leaves nothing but ash.

Not even when his voice brushed against my ear like a warning wrapped in velvet

“My condolences, Sera.”

I swallowed the scream that tried to claw its way up my throat. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Not here. Not now.

“Keep your lies for your own dead,” I said softly, staring at the coffin. “Matteo doesn’t need them where he’s going.”

A pause. Silence thick enough to choke on. Then his voice again calm, cold, cruel.

“And where is that, exactly?”

I turned, finally. Slowly. Face to face with the man I’d dreamed of killing in a hundred different ways. Rivan Blackthorne didn’t look like a monster. He looked like sin carved from shadow and smoke. Sharp jaw. Dark eyes. Mouth like a secret. But I knew better. The devil doesn’t wear horns. He wears charm and a suit tailored in blood.

“You’re not welcome here,” I whispered, stepping closer until only a breath stood between us.

“And yet,” he said, that ghost of a smirk dancing at the corner of his mouth,

“Here I am.”

My hand twitched toward the blade under my coat.

“Not yet, Romano,” he murmured, eyes flicking to the coffin. “Even you wouldn’t spill blood on your brother’s grave.”

I hated that he was right. I hated how steady his voice was. How he smelled like rain and danger. I hated that part of me some traitorous, broken part wanted to hear him say my name again.

“Sera.”

*Just like that. Low. Rough. Like a curse and a prayer all in one.The priest’s final words echoed through the church. People began to leave, muttering their sympathies and condolences as if they meant anything.

Rivan didn’t move. Neither did I. We stood in silence, surrounded by the dead. Two heirs. Two enemies. Two loaded guns waiting to go off*.

He leaned in close enough to feel the chill off his breath. “This war doesn’t end here.” I smiled. But it wasn’t kind. “No,” I whispered.

“It begins.”

Sera' s POV

I barely heard the door close behind me as I stepped into the familiar weight of the Romano mansion. The marble floors beneath my boots felt too cold, too unforgiving. Just like my father’s gaze when I stepped into his study.

"Sit."

His voice was sharp there was no room for argument. I didn’t question. I didn’t need to. I lowered myself into the chair across from his desk, the one I’d sat in a hundred times as a child learning, watching, always waiting for this. Waiting for the day I’d take his place at the head of the Syndicate. But that was before Matteo died.

Before everything changed.

"You’ve seen him," my father said, voice low and dangerous, like a storm waiting to break. “The Blackthorne heir. Rivan."

I clenched my jaw, eyes fixed on the desk in front of me. If I looked at my father, I’d see the same cold calculation in his eyes that I’d always seen. And it would remind me of how much he didn’t care that my brother was gone.

“Yes,” I replied, my voice as steady as I could make it.

“He was at the funeral.”

My father’s lips twitched, but his expression didn’t change. “You will marry him."

The words hit me like a slap to the face, even though I was expecting them. I let them settle into the pit of my stomach cold, bitter, and burning.

“What did you just say?” I whispered, just to make sure I wasn’t hearing things.

“Marry him.”

The words came out like a command, a decree. Like it was as simple as ordering another glass of whiskey.

“You’ll do what’s necessary to protect this family. We can’t afford more bloodshed. You’ll make the Blackthornes think the war is over.”

I couldn’t breathe.

He wanted me to marry him. The one man I’d sworn to kill. The man who had made me watch my brother die. The man who had been nothing but a reminder of everything I despised. And yet, here I was, caught...Caught in my father’s web. Caught in the fate I never wanted.

Rivan's POV

The Devil in the Suit I didn’t bother knocking. I never did. In a house like this, you’re either feared or forgotten. And I wasn’t about to be either. I opened the door to my father’s study, the room thick with the scent of cigars and liquor. But there, in the center, sat Rivan Blackthorne. The man my father had invited into this nightmare, the man whose bloodline had torn us apart.

He was leaning back in the chair, one leg casually crossed over the other. His eyes, dark as a stormy night, caught mine almost immediately.

“I know why you’re here,” he said, voice smooth as velvet, but with a bite beneath it. “You’re here to offer me your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

The audacity. The arrogance. I nearly laughed. But I didn’t.

“Not mine,” I said, stepping further into the room. “Her.” Rivan tilted his head, his lips curving into a small smile.

He knew. He always knew.

Two days. That’s how long it took for Don Romano to call Sera into the study again. Two days since he offered her up like a pawn. Two days since she buried the last piece of her heart with her brother. She had expected more time before the noose tightened around her. But she should’ve known better.

Her father stood by the window, swirling whiskey in a glass he hadn’t touched. “He agreed.”

Sera didn’t need to ask who. She wasn’t that naive.

“And you expect me to… what? Play house with a Blackthorne?” she asked, her voice tinged with bitter disbelief.

Don Romano didn’t turn to face her. “You’ll meet him tonight. Privately. No press. No guards.”

A harsh laugh escaped Sera’s lips dry, bitter, cruel. “Alone? You think that’s safe?”

Finally, he looked at her. And for a brief moment, it seemed as though guilt flashed in his eyes. Or maybe it was just the reflection of her rage.

“If you’re going to be married to him, Sera… you should at least know what kind of monster sleeps beside you.”

The Romano estate hadn’t changed. Still drenched in power, old money, and lies. Rivan Blackthorne walked the halls with the same slow, predatory grace as he had when he was a boy before everything had turned to war. Before everything had turned to ashes. He had been here once before years ago. A different time, a different woman. But now? Now it was Sera.

Tonight, they would meet. Alone. He didn’t expect the meeting to be pleasant. He didn’t expect anything at all, really. But he was ready for it. They left him in the study, the door closing behind him with a click that echoed through the silence.

Rivan didn’t sit. He waited. And when the door opened again...There she was.

The study was quiet. Too quiet. Sera had been in this room a thousand times before, sitting across from men who owed them favors or feared their name. But tonight? Tonight the air felt different thicker, like it knew something was about to break. The heavy oak door creaked open. She didn’t need to look up to know it was him.

His presence arrived before he did like cold smoke curling under the door, sliding against her skin, whispering threats she couldn’t quite hear. Rivan Blackthorne.

He closed the door behind him slowly, like he had all the time in the world to ruin hers. Sera stayed seated in the high-backed leather chair, legs crossed, her posture sharp. The image of control. But inside, she was coiled like a viper, waiting for him to make the first move.

“Didn’t think you'd actually show up,” she said, her eyes fixed on the fire crackling in the hearth beside them.

“Didn’t think you’d be alone,” he replied, his voice low, as he walked toward her with that same lethal grace, like a man who didn’t need to run from danger because he was it.

“I’m not,” she said casually, nodding toward the drawer where her blade waited. His lips curved into something that wasn’t a smile. Something darker. A warning dressed as charm.

“Good,” he said. “I’d be disappointed if you weren’t planning to kill me.”

Sera didn’t flinch when she stood. Didn’t hesitate when she stepped closer. Didn’t even blink when she reached up and ran her fingers along his jaw soft, slow, as though she was memorizing the feel of it.

Then she leaned in, her breath just brushing against his ear as she whispered,

“I will never be yours.”

He smiled again, but this time, the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“You already are,” he said softly. “On paper. In blood. In name.” His voice was low, almost tender.

“But don’t worry, Sera…I don’t want a wife.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear.

“I want a weapon.”

Sera didn’t slap him. Didn’t scream. She just laughed. It was soft, bitter, and cruel. It didn’t reach her eyes.

“You don’t know me, Blackthorne...I know enough.”

He turned to leave, his hand on the door. Behind him, Sera’s voice cut through the silence calm and sweet with venom.

“Then you know this, too.”

“If I ever get the chance... I’ll put a bullet between your eyes and smile while I watch you bleed.”

Rivan paused, but only for a moment. He turned back, his eyes locking onto hers. And then he smiled.

“Make sure you don’t miss, wife.”