New York

Click! Click! Click!

The sound of my heels echoes softly on marble. My steel black hair flowed down my back, red dress clung to my body like sin, deliberate. I wanted eyes on me and I got them. Every councilman looked, some in disgust, some in hunger. But only one pair of gray eyes burned straight through me.

Zavier. The Don of the Italian mafia.

Zavier Conti sat at the head radiating power. The crownless king of shadows. Black suit, hugging his full form, silver cufflinks, posture carved from stone, brown hair sleeked back. His men flanked the walls like invincible statues, their eyes scanning every movement, every breath.

Well, that's to be expected when a mob boss hosts a gathering with a rival, in no man's land.

The smells of cigars, aged whiskey, and old grudges filled the room.

The chandeliers hung too low, their light glowed, cascading down the huge mahogany table, the shiny surface reflecting the faces of men who had killed more than they had ever confessed to a priest.

Guess I interrupted something. Low voices filled the space as I took the seat beside Nikolai, spine straight, chin high. If my pulse were a drum, I certainly did a good job of hiding its beats.

“You're late!" He sneered, lowly, face close to my ears, not wanting to draw back the attention.

“Well, you gave me a job to take care of, remember?” I remarked, watching as he fixed his posture, not wanting to give me a reply.

I looked over to Zavier, his gaze held mine, steady, calculating, like he was already peeling back my skin to see what secrets I hid underneath. A look of recognition flashed through his eyes.

“Petrov,” he greeted, voice smooth but edged with steel. “Nice of you to join us."

The room echoes with chuckles. “I wouldn't miss this hospitality for anything.” I jeered.

His jaw flexed, face stoic, eyes still staring holes into my face. His hands signaled to the councilmen, telling them to go ahead with whatever it was I had interrupted.

They wasted no time. “Gentlemen,” one who looked to be in his late fifties began, voice tired but firm. “Enough blood has been spilled. This war weakens us all. Tonight, we seal peace.”

Zavier’s eyes never left mine, not once, even as he replied, “Peace requires trust. And I don’t trust snakes.”

Nikolas tensed, his lips curving into a cruel smile. *Careful Conti. The last snake that came for me… ended up skinned.”

Chairs scraped against the floor, men shifted, their hands inching towards their weapons. My lips curled with a smile before I could stop them.

I leaned forward slightly, my voice smooth, cutting into the tension, “Perhaps, the question isn't who's the snake. But who has enough venom to survive?”

The silence that followed was delicious. The men blinked, mouth curled downward in disdain. They must be used to women not talking back. A ghost of a smirk passes through Zavier's lips, just for a millisecond before disappearing as if it was never there.

You’ve got a sharp tongue,” he said at last, his tone masked, unreadable. “Be careful. In this room, words cut deeper than blades.”

“Then I’ll make sure mine are sharp enough,” I countered, leaning on my seat.

A ripple of surprise sweeps across the table. Nikolai’s hand brushed mine under the wood—a warning, but I didn't back down for I and Zavier's stare down.

The councilman who spoke earlier clears his throat, rushing to redirect the conversation before weapons are drawn.

“Enough. There's one solution that would bind both families tighter than contracts and oaths. A union.”

The words dropped, along with my stomach as it knotted.

I looked over to Nikolai for answers. His face is straight, unreadable, refusing to look my way. But something flickers, was it amusement? He knew where this was going. Sadly, I did too.

“A marriage between the two families. The Petrov girl. The Conti Don.”

Gasps and murmurs erupt. The room was filled with arguments overlapping each other. Some cheered the genius while others rebuked, saying it was suicide. I agree.

Zavier lifts a hand, silencing everyone.

“Then let it be her,” he said, voice low, laced with finality. “ I'll take the Petrov girl as my wife."

The room stilled, my breath caught in my throat as I tried not to choke.

Beside me, Nikolai shifts, leaning on the table. “Bold Conti. You move quickly.”

Zavier matches his posture, “This isn't a move…" His gaze pins me to my spot.

“It's a claim”

My thoughts went dry. This wasn't supposed to happen. Why was Nikolai not saying anything? This is far from the initial plan. I wasn't supposed to be handed to a murderer like a scapegoat.

I suddenly felt caged, caught in his iron net.

Forcing a smile, my nails digging into my palm beneath the table. “Careful, Don. You may find I’m not so easily owned.”

A slow and dangerous smile makes its way up his lips, like a promise written in blood. Eyes shining with mischief.

“Good,” he murmured. “I prefer my prey with teeth.”

And just like that the council erupted in arguments again, but I could barely register anything.

Why?

Because the chapter of my life I thought I was writing had just been rewritten by… Him.