His Bride (Dark Sovereign #8)

Chapter 1

GIANA

T his wasn’t supposed to happen.

So many things could have been done differently.

Different choices.

Different actions. Different reactions.

Like my reaction to my father’s choice of an arranged marriage. It drove every action I made up until now.

One could argue that it was his choice that started it all, causing the inevitable cascade of events that led us all here to this exact moment. A moment of pain. Heartache. Guilt. Grief. But if I had reacted differently, maybe the trajectory of everyone's actions would have changed the outcome.

“Though we grieve, we find solace in knowing that death is not the end, but a passage to a life beyond. Let us find comfort in the knowledge that our loved one now rests in the arms of the Divine, where no darkness can touch them.”

Despite my resentment for the role he played in my forced marriage to Caelian, for a heathen, Father Tobias Kent is an exceptional priest.

I sit at the back, the chairs lined up outside the family mausoleum. It’s a beautiful yet ominous construction of granite slabs with four large pillars at the front. The Dark Sovereign symbol is carved into the wood of the double doors, the gold plate above reading, ‘One family. One life.’

It’s a crypt of legacies. The burial place of Caelian’s father, grandfather, and now…

I squeeze my black-gloved hands together, my knees pressing together so hard they might end up bruised. It’ll match the gravel burn that lingers on them along with my hands and underside of my chin—remnants of the day we all wish we could forget. A day we’d give anything to be able to change. But no matter how hard we want to erase the past, that day is printed into our history, carved into our bones, never to be forgotten.

Father Tobias starts pacing. There’s a sudden change in his demeanor as he rubs his palm across his jaw. Pensive. “You know, we can talk of God and Heaven. Of souls and happy places for the grieving so we can find comfort. But I think we all know the truth.” He turns to face us. “This is nothing more than a performance. A theatrical spectacle designed to ease the hearts of the living, to soothe our grief. But the reality is nothing can truly heal the gaping void death leaves behind. The reality is, with each beat of our hearts, we grieve. We ache. It's a hymn of sorrow that echoes in our chests, making us aware that our lives will never be the same again.”

I gasp as he pulls the clerical collar from around his neck, angered by the sheer amount of grief that clings to this place like a fetid odor, a sacrilegious reminder of the death we're here to commemorate.

He tosses the collar onto the mahogany casket, an act of defiance against a God he feels has failed us all. “We can’t mask this kind of pain behind platitudes and prayer. We can’t find comfort in the afterlife because we are still here, living and breathing our grief every day. Every step we take reminds us that a part of us is gone, torn from our marrow in the most painful way possible. We can’t find solace in a grave blessed by the church because we are all cursed to suffer through the hurt of missing someone so much it stretches far beyond pain.”

Every word he utters slices deep with an emotion I’ve never seen in any priest. It’s like he’s preaching his rawest truth from the deepest parts of his humanity as a man and not a shepherd—a man who’s soaking up every ounce of pain from this grieving family.

“Perhaps we are left to question,” he continues, “why a supposedly merciful God would allow us to experience such torment. To feel such loss that it gnaws at our very bones. If there is indeed a loving deity above us, why would He not spare us this?”

Mira lets out a gentle sob, and my eyes shift to her and Nicoli, who has his arm around her shoulders. Her tears have left streaks down her cheeks, her scar partly visible through the make-up, and Nicoli’s jaw tics, clenched so hard, trying to keep his emotions in check.

Next to him is Caelian. Still, silent. The autumn sun paints his features in golden hues, casting long shadows that echo his inner turmoil, and there’s an ache of longing squeezing my insides. He doesn’t look back for me, just like he didn’t insist I sit with him when I said I’d like to wait for my father. Who hasn’t shown.

Since it happened, Caelian has been increasingly absent. He hasn’t spoken to me much. Hasn’t touched me. I don’t even know where he sleeps or with whom. And if he’s with another woman, I’ll cut her heart out. For all intents, he’s mine. I still wear his ring.

And I love him.

Oh, God. How did I get us into this mess?

All because I didn’t want to marry Aurelio. All because I chose to fight the protection Caelian offered me instead of welcoming it.

I caused this.

Tragedy.

Despair.

Death.

I swallow over the lump in my throat as my eyes blur and tickle. Blinking hard, I drag in a breath, desperate to keep the hollow feeling in my chest from suffocating me when the movement of Isaia’s arm steals my attention as he pulls Leandra closer. She’s shaking as she leans into him, placing her head on his shoulder. It’s clear there’s a bond between them that exists beyond mere friendship. It’s not attraction either.

It’s familial. Sacred. Unbreakable. Right now, it’s the one thing that’s getting them both through this.

“I’m supposed to stand here,” the priest says, “and preach how there is peace in death. But there is no peace here. This family has been wronged. We’re burying someone today, someone we all cared for deeply, because of the ripple current of a war waged against this family. We can’t let that go unpunished. God says turn the other cheek—well, I say an eye for an eye.”

He looks at each face, including mine. These aren’t the words one would come to expect from a priest, but this is a family-only funeral, and everyone here knows the secrets and undercurrents of our world.

Here, family transcends blood, evident by the presence of Gabriel King and his wife. Davian Stark and his woman. Elijah, and Charlotte, who sits behind her cello, listening to every word. The Dark Sovereign is united even in their pain, even at their most vulnerable. I’ve never seen such raw and profound unity before. It paints them as invincible in a world that’s seemingly falling apart around them.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall.

It’s all my fault. All of it. Alexius should be here and not?—

I choke on a sob and place my palm over my mouth. This tragedy had ripped apart the fabric of the Del Rossa family, cracked to its core. Shit, for a while, Mira was at risk of losing the baby because of the emotional turmoil wreaking havoc on her body. But she didn’t, thank God. She’s as fine as she can be under the circumstances.

But Leandra?

She’s scared, the uncertainty eating her alive. The poor woman is holding on to her very last thread. How could she not after what she’s been through the last two weeks? She’s only keeping it together for her children while her insides are broken into pieces.

Once, right after…at the hospital—very private, very much theirs—I tried to offer her my support, but Caelian stepped in front of me and uttered one word. “No.”

One word. Spoken softly. Coldly. One word that hit me like the bullet that hit his brother.

Alexius.

It’s not fair, none of it. All those times I hissed words at Caelian, threw his touches back at him, I’d give almost everything for his arm around me now. Even his shoulder to mine. Or his little finger pressing into mine to let me know he’s there, still with me.

Me. There isn’t a more selfish word than that. This family is burying a loved one, and I’m sitting here longing for a man I spent months fighting because I was too na?ve, too blinded by my festering need for freedom to realize that maybe— just…maybe he’d end up being the love of my life.

I close my eyes, rubbing a finger along my forehead. The selfish thoughts don’t stop. No wonder Caelian puts a constant effort into avoiding me, barely even looking my way. He blames me; I’m sure of it. I blame me, too. I should have kept my mouth shut. I shouldn’t have run from a fate that I only delayed in doing so.

This all started with my father.

I glance over my shoulder at the trees behind us. He should be here, but I’m not surprised he’s not. He’s changed so much that I hardly recognize him anymore. One would think the vulnerability that had him coming to the Dark Sovereign for help would humble him and let him feel indebted to this family. But clearly, that’s not the case, as he hasn’t shown his face to pay his respects.

“In Leviticus, the Lord says do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people. Aurelio Le Fonti is not our people!” Father Kent’s angered voice cuts through the air before he lets out a breath and turns to face Nicoli. “Forgive me. I’ve allowed my emotions to interfere with my duty. I forget myself and the reason we’re here today. To bury a loved one and to mourn without question or judgment.”

Nicoli nods in understanding. Everyone looks at him now, to fill the void of Alexius’ absence. Other than Leandra, this has impacted him the most. He doesn’t want the burden of leading this family, or to reign over this empire. But now, he has no choice.

The quiet in the air is palpable, thick with sorrow, each breath pulling it deeper into our lungs. The echo of Father Kent's apology still lingers as we stand for a prayer. Or a psalm. Or something. I’m a shit Catholic. I barely went to Sunday school and paid zero attention in church.

One by one, Nicoli, Isaia, Maximo, and Rome walk toward the casket, beams of sunlight reflecting off the polished mahogany. I met Rome for the first time when he arrived on the estate three days ago. He looks like them—dark hair, tanned skin, raw power.

Together, they lift the casket with the bouquet of white flowers and, as pallbearers, carry it inside the mausoleum. I don’t follow. I don’t feel like I have the right to. Instead, I stay outside, frozen in my place like a statue, watching as they disappear into the grand stone structure.

The cold wind whips my hair across my face, stinging my skin. Everyone else has moved inside, the heavy, aged doors of the mausoleum now closed behind them. I don’t feel my legs move or hear my own voice break the silence. I’m just here, rooted to this spot, void of thought. Empty. Unsure.

Uncertainty is more crippling than fear. Fear is a response to something known, something we can confront or flee from. But uncertainty? It’s the absence of clarity, and it leaves us paralyzed by the endless possibilities of what could be. It lingers in the shadows, slowly eroding our sense of control.

There’s no telling how long I stand there when my skin starts to prickle, and awareness fills me.

Caelian.

I turn to face him, and in that moment, he takes my breath away, his silhouette a dark figure against the backdrop of the mausoleum. Even in mourning he remains beautiful. A creature that sings to my blood even through the silence that plagues us.

The winds wrestle with the edges of his black coat, his face set into hard lines of melancholy. But behind those amber-brown eyes lurks an anger, a rage threatening to consume his entire being. And it scares me.

He pulls a cigarette from his coat pocket and lights it with deft, elegant movements, inhaling deeply before blowing out a smoky sigh while not taking his gaze off me once.

I’m about to turn as the silence becomes almost as unbearable as the funeral I caused when he speaks. “Come with me.”

A spark of hope flares, but his eyes are cold and implacable.

“Where—”

“Can you not do anything without questioning everything?”

“That’s not what?—”

He turns and walks, and I suck in a breath as my chest constricts. “Caelian…”

“For the love of God, Giana.” He whips around with fire in his eyes. “For once, can you just do as you’re told? Surely you can show me that fucking courtesy since I just buried my—” He chokes on the words, glancing up at the gray sky, clenching his jaw, and my heart shatters for him.

I hurt…for him.

He takes another draw from his cigarette before flicking it and stomping it into the earth. “Just today, New York.” He fixes his gaze on me again. “Because I just buried my mother.”