Chapter 12
Adrian
She's mine.
The thought pulses through me with every heartbeat as I watch my wife sign the marriage certificate. Her hand trembles, the pen leaving an unsteady signature across the page.
Seraphina Nero.
My wife.
The mother of my child.
Mine.
The officiant declares us married, and I don't wait for permission. I pull Sera to me. I want to devour her, claim her in front of every witness, but she's trembling in my arms. So I shift. Soften. Coax her lips apart with gentle pressure instead of demand.
She freezes for half a second before melting into my arms. Her lips part under mine, and I taste her surrender. This might not be perfect, but the way she opens for me makes it clear that there's something here.
I simply need to cultivate it.
When I pull back, her eyes are wide and unfocused. Her lips are swollen, shiny with smeared lip gloss.
Perfect.
The crowd erupts in applause, and I watch color bloom across her cheeks.
I turn us to face them, keeping my arm locked around her waist. She's trembling like a frightened animal, but I expected that. This is overwhelming—the wedding, the guests, becoming a Nero.
She'll adjust.
I'll make sure of it.
There's no other choice.
I guide her down the aisle, keeping a possessive grip on her waist until we're back inside the privacy of the house. Even then, I don't want to let her go. If she hadn't slipped from my arms, I would have held her longer.
"I want to see Gabe," she says immediately. "I did what you asked." She holds up her hand, the diamond band catching the light. "We're married. Now I want to see my brother."
I nearly growl in irritation. "The wedding isn't over, Sera. We have the entire reception to get through."
Her shoulders slump, and tears well in her eyes. "I can't do this, Adrian. I feel like I'm going insane. I can't—"
I reach out, pulling her against my chest. She shivers, and I press a kiss to her forehead. It's more tender than how I normally treat women, but I'm starting to realize I need a gentler hand with Sera. After all, she is my wife now, and her pregnancy makes her delicate.
"I know you're tired," I say quietly. "But I need you to keep it together for a few more hours."
She sags against me, exhausted. I lift her chin with one finger, forcing her to meet my eyes, and brush my lips across hers. "Soon," I promise. Though I'm not entirely sure what I'm promising.
The reception is everything my mother envisioned. Excessive. Opulent. A statement.
Normally I'd fucking hate it, but I like showing off Sera.
The ballroom has been transformed. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across thousands of white roses. Tables are set with china bought by my great-great-great-grandparents. A string orchestra plays classical pieces that fade seamlessly into jazz.
It's beautiful.
It's also a cage, and I can see Sera beginning to understand that. I watch her eyes take it in, see the moment things click into place. This is a show, and we need to put on a flawless performance.
She stays close to me as we make our rounds. Her hand is locked in mine, her smile fixed and brittle. She's barely keeping it together. I can feel the tension in her body, see the way her eyes dart around like she's looking for an exit.
There isn't one.
Not anymore.
"Adrian." Harold Westbrook extends his hand, his wife Patricia beside him. Old money. Real estate empire. Political connections that go all the way to the governor's office. "Congratulations. Your mother told us the happy news."
"Thank you." I shake his hand, pulling Sera forward. "This is my wife, Seraphina."
The possessiveness that floods through me is visceral. Mine to introduce. Mine to protect. Mine to display.
"Lovely to meet you." Patricia's smile is warm but assessing. They all want to know who this mysterious woman is and why, after years of avoiding commitment, I finally decided to settle. "What a beautiful dress."
"Thank you." Sera's voice is quiet. Polite. But I can feel her wanting to bolt.
"Seraphina works in rare book restoration," I say, my hand tightening on her waist. "She has a degree from NYU."
"How interesting." Harold's expression says it's anything but. To him, she's a nobody. A girl I knocked up and had to marry. "You must be very excited about joining the Nero family."
"Thrilled," Sera says flatly.
I bite back a smile. There she is.
"We're the lucky ones," I continue smoothly. "And Sera will be taking over our family's charitable ventures." I turn to Patricia. "Aren't you on the board of the Met?"
She nods, intrigued now.
"I'm sure you'll help guide her." I pause deliberately. "Or rather, listen as she guides you."
The dismissal is clear. Harold catches it immediately, and I see understanding flicker across his face.
"Of course," Patricia says without missing a beat. "We'd be fortunate to have your expertise."
Sera says nothing. Instead, she gives a regal nod of her head, every inch the Don's wife, and I have to suppress a smirk.
"Excuse us," I say, dismissing them. "We need to greet other guests."
Sera sighs but follows me.
"You could have warned me," she mutters once we're out of earshot.
"Do you not want a board seat at the Met?" I arch a brow. "I thought it would be a nice wedding present. That curator who rejected you? She's been angling for a board seat for years. Now you outrank her."
Sera laughs, shaking her head, and something in my chest loosens. I'd buy the entire goddamn Met if it meant hearing that sound again.
We move through the crowd. I introduce her to everyone who matters. Business associates who control half of Manhattan's real estate. Politicians who owe us favors. Judges who've looked the other way for decades. The heads of the other families, all here to witness the Nero heir taking a wife.
With each introduction, I watch her understanding deepen. See her realizing exactly what kind of world she's married into.
This isn't just wealth. It's power. Real power. The kind that shapes cities and destroys lives.
And now it's hers too. I'm hoping she'll see the beauty in it—that even if she didn't choose this, it can still make her happy.
"You're doing well," I murmur against her ear as we pause between groups. "Everyone is impressed."
"I feel like a show pony," she whispers back.
"You're the wife of the Nero heir. You are on show." I press a kiss to her temple. "Get used to it."
She stiffens but doesn't pull away. Playing the part or maybe finding comfort in me the same way I do in her.
Antonio Marini approaches with his nephew. The Marinis are neutral brokers—useful but not particularly loyal. Antonio's expression is pleasant, but his eyes are sharp.
"Adrian. Congratulations on your marriage." He gestures to Sera. "She's lovely."
"Thank you."
"I was surprised to hear about the wedding," Antonio continues smoothly. "Last I heard, you weren't seeing anyone seriously."
"Things moved quickly." I keep my tone even. "When you know, you know."
Antonio's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Indeed. And I understand congratulations are doubly in order. A baby on the way."
Word travels fast.
"Yes." I pull Sera closer. "We're very happy."
"I'm sure." Antonio's gaze slides to Sera, lingering just a moment too long. "If you ever need anything, Mrs. Nero, please don't hesitate to reach out. The Marini family is always happy to help."
It's a power play. Subtle but unmistakable. He's offering her an alternative. A way out if she needs it.
I want to put a bullet between his eyes.
But I can't. The Marinis are our oldest allies.
"That's very kind," Sera says carefully. "But I have everything I need."
Good girl.
"Of course." Antonio inclines his head. "Enjoy your evening."
They move on, and I make a mental note. The Marinis are testing boundaries, seeing if my new wife is vulnerable. Exploitable.
She's not. And I didn't even need to prep her.
We take our seats for dinner. I watch Sera push food around her plate, barely eating.
"You need to eat," I murmur.
"I'm not hungry."
"You're pregnant. You need to eat."
"I'm tired." Her voice is tight. "This whole thing is exhausting."
I lean closer, my lips brushing her ear. "A few more hours. Then I'm taking you home."
"Home," she repeats hollowly. "Right."
Something in her tone makes me pause. But before I can press, glasses begin to chime around the room. I turn to Sera, cupping her face, and kiss her. She kisses me back, but I notice her enthusiasm is fading.
The music starts after dinner. I take Sera's hand and lead her to the floor for the first dance. The orchestra plays something slow and classical. Elegant.
She's stiff in my arms. Moving mechanically. Like a doll.
"Relax," I tell her.
"I'm relaxed."
"You're rigid as a board."
"Can you blame me?" She looks up at me finally. Really looks at me. "I just married a man I barely know. In front of a thousand strangers who are all judging me as either a victim, a threat, or a whore."
Her words make anger flash through me.
"You're my wife. The mother of the future Nero heir. The opinions of lesser people don't matter."
She rolls her eyes, but I'm glad to see her spark return.
"I know this isn't what you wanted," I say quietly, for her ears only. "But it's what we have now. You can fight it, or you can accept it and make the best of it."
"Because you've given me a charity to play with?"
I stiffen. "Because I'm providing for you. Protecting you." My hand presses against the small of her back. "You're a Nero now, Seraphina. That means something."
"That's not marriage. That's ownership."
"It's both." I don't let her pull away. "And you knew that when you put on the ring."
She doesn't respond. Just lets me move her around the floor while cameras flash and people watch.
I can feel her giving up. Accepting. Surrendering to the inevitable.
It should feel like victory.
It does feel like victory.
So why does something in my chest tighten when I see the resignation in her eyes?
The song ends, and I escort her back to our table. She sinks into her chair with obvious relief.
"I'm going to get you some water," I say. "Stay here."
She nods, too exhausted to argue.
I make my way to the bar, signaling the bartender.
That's when Alexei Morozov appears beside me.
He's dressed in an expensive suit that still manages to look cheap on him. Gold watch. Too much cologne. That same arrogant smirk he always wears.
"Adrian." He signals the bartender for vodka. "Congratulations on the wedding. She's beautiful."
"Thank you." I keep my tone neutral. Alexei being here is expected—all the major families were invited. But approaching me directly is bold, especially considering our history.
"Funny how things work out." He accepts his drink, doesn't look at me. "Dimitri was supposed to retrieve her a few days ago. Then he disappears. Turns up dead in a dumpster."
I don't react. "You should keep better track of your people. Not good to have one of your men murdered under your nose."
"Dimitri was my cousin."
"People vanish in this city all the time."
"Not Morozov family." He takes a sip of vodka. "But I suppose these things happen. Especially when someone has something you want. At least, that's what I told your mother when she stopped by to offer her condolences."
This back and forth bores me. I want to get back to Sera. Finish this charade, and then, discover what she's wearing under that delectable dress.
"If you have an accusation to make, make it."
"No accusations." His smile is sharp. "Just observations. Dimitri was sent to collect Gabriel Romano's sister. Payment for his debts. And now that same sister is married to you. Wearing your ring. Carrying your baby." He pauses. "Quite the coincidence."
"Gabriel's debt means nothing to us," I say dismissively. "Fifty thousand dollars? I spend more than that on suits."
"The debt was never about money, Adrian." Alexei's voice drops. "It was about leverage."
"Leverage for what?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" He finishes his vodka, sets down the glass. "Gabriel Romano owed us money, yes. But he also owed us information. About certain shipments. Certain routes. Certain weaknesses in the Nero operation."
My jaw tightens. "Gabriel is a low-level gambler who got in over his head. Hardly an informant."
"Is he?" Alexei straightens his cuffs. "Or is your new wife's brother the reason we've been so successful pushing into your territory lately? Funny how our wins started right around the time Gabriel started playing at our tables."
He's fishing. Testing. Seeing what I know.
I'm confident Sera is innocent of any plots, but I'm less certain about her brother. Alexei is trying to exploit that doubt.
"This is my wedding," I say coldly. "If you have business to discuss, make an appointment."
"Of course. I wouldn't dream of ruining your special day." Alexei smiles. "Besides, I'm sure we'll be seeing much more of each other. Now that we're practically family."
"We're not family."
"No? Your wife's brother owes me. That makes her my debtor by extension. And you married her." He leans closer. "That makes this very complicated, Adrian. For all of us."
He walks away before I can respond.
I grip the bar hard enough that my knuckles go white.
Alexei just issued a threat. A reminder that Gabriel's debt still exists, and by extension, so does his claim on Sera.
And if Gabriel really was feeding information to the Morozovs, then Sera could be part of a much bigger problem than I thought.
I shake off the paranoia. Alexei is playing mind games, trying to undermine my marriage before it's even begun.
It won't work.
Sera is mine. The baby is mine. Whatever games the Morozovs are playing, they've already lost.
I grab the water and head back to my wife.