His Reluctant Bride (The Below #2)

Prologue

VIVIAN

The scream that pierced the air raised the hair on the back of my neck.

At first, I thought it was one of the spectators, some crazed sicko getting off on the blood and tears of others.

But then, it hit me—I was the one screaming.

The sound tore from my throat, ragged and desperate.

It was my voice that was begging and pleading.

It was my voice that sounded so shrill and raw.

“Stop! Please! Let him go!” I was on my knees now, my fingers scrabbling over the cold, blood-slicked stage.

Tears streamed down my face, hot against my skin as I sobbed, the world around me turning into a blur of dark shapes and harsh laughter.

“He’s just a boy! He’s only eighteen! You can’t do this!

He didn’t know. He doesn’t belong here!”

I couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t be real.

It couldn’t be happening. What the fuck had gone wrong?

Will had spent countless sleepless nights perfecting his algorithms. How had they failed him?

There was no way those other contestants had cracked that riddle legitimately.

It had to be rigged. A setup. Some twisted game Will had unknowingly stepped into, and now it was going to cost him his life, all in the name of entertainment.

I stared at Ciro, willing him to remember me.

He’d taken an interest in me one night several months ago when Vincenzo had requested Celeste and I attend a meeting with him.

Although, he probably targeted many women, and my face was just one of many in a sea of whores he likely used and tossed to the side—or worse.

Beside me, Will trembled, his eyes wide with terror, his face so pale it looked like the life had already left his body.

My heart clenched painfully at the sight.

I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let them take him. Not after everything we’d been through.

Not after all the years I had kept him safe, the nights I’d spent convincing Roberto to take Will in when he had no one.

I had promised myself I would protect him, that he’d have a chance at more than the shitty hand life had dealt him.

“Take me instead,” I pleaded desperately, turning my tear-streaked face to Ciro, to the executioner, to anyone who would listen. “Please... I’ll take his place. I’ll do whatever you want. You can kill me if that’s what it takes. Just let him go!”

But the crowd... Gods, the crowd. They were laughing, their eyes gleaming with perverse delight, their cheers slicing through my hope.

“Kill them both,” someone jeered. “Let’s see if her screams are sweeter than his!”

My vision blurred, and my chest was so tight I could barely breathe. Each sob tore out of me. I had never felt so helpless, so utterly broken. I was pleading for mercy, but it was like throwing pebbles into a stormy ocean—nothing came back but cold, cruel indifference.

I turned back to Will. He had no idea what to do.

There was no way out. Fuck. This was my fault.

I should have stopped him. I should have known better.

I should have kept an eye on what he was working on all those late nights when I fell asleep in front of the TV and woke to the sound of him clacking away on his laptop.

The guilt threatened to crush me as I kept screaming, kept begging until my voice cracked. My knees ached from the hard floor, but it didn’t matter. Not when Will’s life was on the line.

Then everything stopped.

The air went still. The raucous cheers and jeers died down to a murmur.

A sudden, oppressive silence fell over the hall, and every eye turned toward the center aisle.

My heart skipped a beat. A thick, black cloud swirling like smoke glided toward the stage.

The crowd parted, their excitement tempered with fear.

Oh, fuck. I knew exactly who that was.

The Shadow.