The Proposition

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.

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