Bets & Blades (Venom Next Gen #6)

Prologue

Minerva

The moment I step into my father’s office, I know I’ve walked into an ambush. I pause in the doorway for a breath too long, the old instinct kicking in—make yourself small, quiet, easy to ignore. It never works, but my body still tries.

The air is thick with cigar smoke and old money, the kind that sticks to the walls, saturates the furniture, and seeps into your skin until it owns you.

The overhead chandelier bathes the room in warm, deceptive light, reflecting off the glossy mahogany desk where Vittorio “Vito” Marino sits, a king on his throne.

The air hums with power, control, expectation—the very foundation of my father’s world.

A single, untouched crystal tumbler of whiskey sits in front of him. Not a drop consumed, yet its mere presence is enough to send a warning: He is in complete control. He is waiting for me to understand that.

But I already know the truth—I have never had control here.

I hover in the doorway, willing my pulse to slow as I take in the scene.

My father is dressed in a tailored black suit, crisp white shirt open at the throat, gold signet ring gleaming against his tanned fingers.

His salt-and-pepper hair is combed back with sharp precision, his expression smooth, unreadable.

Luca Bianchi stands at his right like a shadow. Total predator vibes.

He’s wearing that same trouble-making smirk he’s had since we were kids, arms folded over his massive chest as he watches me with way too much confidence.

The sickening feeling in my gut intensifies.

My father exhales, then lifts his gaze to mine. Dark. Calculated. Unmoved.

“Minerva Louise.”

My muscles clench at the full name. It’s only used to remind me who I’m supposed to be—and how far I keep falling short. I force myself to step inside, keeping my chin high even though every instinct screams at me to run.

“You wanted to see me?” My voice is even. Good. It has to be.

There’s a pause—a test—before my father finally speaks.

“We’re done with this little rebellion.” His voice is deceptively calm, silk stretched over steel. “You’ve had your fun pretending to be a scientist. But now, it’s time to do what’s right. All that education, and you still don’t understand your place.”

The weight in my stomach turns to ice. “And what’s that?”

He takes a measured sip of his whiskey, then sets the glass down with a sharp clink. “You’re marrying Luca. Marino women don’t choose. They are chosen.”

I don’t blink. I don’t move. I don’t react.

It’s not shock—it’s familiarity. I’ve always known this day was coming.

Luca shifts beside my father, and I feel his satisfaction before he even opens his mouth.

“Come on, Minnie,” he drawls, pushing off the desk and moving toward me. “You know this was always the plan. I’ll never understand why you always have to be so difficult. So defiant.”

The way he says my name makes my skin crawl. He says it like it’s a flaw. Maybe it is. Maybe I’ve always been too loud, too stubborn, too opinionated for men like him.

Swallowing the nausea creeping up my throat, I take a step back, forcing the words out. “There is no engagement.”

Silence.

Until Luca gives a slow, patronizing chuckle. “Well, not yet. But don’t worry. You’ll come around.”

My father’s fingers drum against his desk once—sharp, deliberate. “No, she won’t.” His voice drops, heavy with disgust. “She still thinks she has a choice.”

My nails dig into my palms. “I do have a choice.”

He rises to his feet in a single, fluid motion. The air in the room shifts.

“No.” He steps around the desk. “You don’t.”

He stops in front of me, so close I smell his cologne—rich, expensive, suffocating.

“You walk out that door, little girl?” His voice is gentle, and it makes my heart trip over itself.

This is it. The final test. The moment when I’m supposed to break.

He leans in slightly, his next words spoken just for me. “You’re dead to me.”

No money. No safety net. No family. Nothing.

The floor tilts beneath me, the weight of my entire life pressing against my ribs, trying to suffocate me.

But then Luca shifts, smirking like he’s already claimed his prize, and something inside me snaps.

I straighten my spine. “Then I guess you’ll have to find another daughter.”

And then I turn around and take one step.

“You don’t get a choice!”

The office shakes with the force of his rage, his voice slamming into me like a physical blow. A sharp crack echoes as his palm collides with the surface of his desk, rattling the glass of whiskey.

I freeze. Not because he scared me, more like because this is the moment I always knew was coming. Slowly, I turn back around.

My father takes measured breaths, but his eyes burn with cold, livid fury. He’s always been a man of control, of power. He doesn’t lose his temper—not unless he’s already decided to destroy something.

And right now? That something is me.

“You are a disgrace,” he jeers. “Running around like a street rat, embarrassing this family with your… what, your underdeveloped body and plain face? Your little science projects? Your ridiculous career?”

A career I built from nothing.

A career I fought for while he mocked it, dismissed it, and refused to see me as anything but a wasted investment.

The words land exactly where he aims them—right in the tender, stupid place that still wants him to be proud of me. I’ve spent years pretending those words no longer sting. They do.

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. “It’s not a project. It’s my life.”

My father exhales through his nose, like I’m the most exhausting person he’s ever dealt with.

“You are a Marino.” His voice is low, vibrating with tightly leashed fury.

“And Marinos do not waste time on childish ambitions. We do not disgrace our family with wild, stubborn rebellion. We look the part. We are the part. A woman with no discipline is a liability,” he murmurs, almost regretful.

“You should have been easier to mold. From this moment forward, you will be.”

Luca chuckles beside him. I can feel his amusement before I even look at him—lazy, self-satisfied. His eyes track every flinch, every inhale, filing them away under “weaknesses I plan to use later.”

“Come on, Minnie,” he drawls, stepping forward. “You were promised to me. Why are you making this so hard?”

I hate when he calls me that.

He reaches for me—his fingers brushing against my elbow, too familiar, too possessive—and I jerk away.

His smirk fades.

I lift my chin. “Because I don’t want you. I don’t even like you.”

A slow, dangerous shift darkens Luca’s face. He doesn’t like being denied as much as my father doesn’t like being defied.

Dad’s gaze sharpens. “You think you’re walking away from this family?”

“I know I am.”

His lips press into a thin line. And then, in an instant, he schools his expression into something cold. Unmoved. Stepping closer, he reaches into the inside of his jacket pocket. For a flicker of a second, my body tenses—old, trained fear clenching in my ribs.

But all he pulls out is a sleek black leather wallet. And then, without a word, he pulls out a single hundred-dollar bill. I go ice cold. I know what this is. I’ve seen him do this before.

He holds it between two fingers and extends it toward me, expression unreadable. “This is my final gift to you. I suggest you use it wisely.”

I don’t move. The paper barely shifts between his fingers.

Luca exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head like I’m a silly little thing making a silly little mistake.

Dad tilts his head. Waiting.

I let the silence stretch. I let the insult settle. I let my father believe, for one final second, that I am small.

And then I reach forward.

Grab the bill.

I rip it in half.

Luca actually looks surprised, but my father doesn’t blink. Doesn’t react. The man who’s supposed to love me, protect me, just stares at me like I’m already a ghost.

“Fine.” My voice is flat. “I’ll go.”

He lifts his chin. “Don’t bother coming back.”

I exhale, steadying myself. I fold the last twenty-six years into a tight, locked box inside me.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And then I walk out with my fists clenched but my chin up. I make it five steps down the hall before I hear Luca’s footsteps behind me.

Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.

He’s enjoying this.

I don’t stop walking. I don’t look back.

I keep my focus on the double doors that lead to the main hall—I have to get to my bedroom and pack a few things before I exit toward freedom.

But Luca grabs my wrist before I can wrap my fingers around the door handle.

My pulse ricochets against bone. I’m not surprised because my body has been trained for this.

The pressure isn’t hard enough to leave a mark—he’s too careful for that—but hard enough that I know he could. Hard enough that my body locks up, every instinct screaming.

“You really think you can just walk away?” His voice is smooth, almost amused.

I yank my arm. “Let me go.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he tugs me an inch closer. His grip is warm, calloused, strong. The grip of a man who’s never once doubted his own power.

“Relax, Minnie. You’ll get used to the way I touch you.” His smirk deepens. “But right now, we need to have a talk.”

I glare at him. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

He laughs, and I stare at his big, dumb face. I want to punch him in it.

“Sure, there is. Like how you’re going to be a good girl and stop all this nonsense. Like how you’re going to get your ass back upstairs, put on that little black dress I like, and start acting like a real fiancée.”

A slow, sickening chill spreads through my limbs.

“Luca,” I warn. “We are not engaged.”

He tuts. Like I’m some misbehaving child.

“Minnie, Minnie, Minnie. See, that’s where you’re confused.” He leans in, voice dropping. Dark amusement curls around every word. “You’re already mine. You always have been. Your father promised me.”

His fingers flex around my wrist, and I yank my arm again.

“Let me go,” I snap.