Bonus Chapter
Sneak Peak!
GIULIA
The first explosion hits before I can breathe.
Heat slams into my back, violent and alive a wave of fire that turns the night into something monstrous. The dock erupts around me: metal shrieking, containers bursting open like wounds, flames clawing their way skyward. My ears ring with the force of it.
Men are screaming.
Running, bleeding.
And I'm right in the middle of it.
"Giulia!"
I don't stop.
I can't. My heels are gone kicked off somewhere behind me and now my bare feet slap against oil-slick concrete as I sprint between towering shipping containers. Smoke chokes the air, thick and bitter, burning my lungs with every inhale.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
This shipment was everything. My father's biggest deal of the year. The kind of move that keeps men loyal and enemies quiet. It was supposed to secure our position for another five years, cement alliances that took decades to build.
And now it's burning to ash.
Gunshots crack somewhere to my left. I flinch, ducking instinctively as a bullet ricochet off metal with a sharp ping. My heart slams against my ribs, wild and panicked, but I don't slow down. I've grown up around violence it's the soundtrack to my world, as familiar as my own breathing. But this? This is different.
This is chaos. This is war. "Giulia, stop!"
A hand grabs my arm, yanking me hard enough that I stumble. I twist, ready to fight, but freeze when I recognize the face. Vito. My father's consigliere. His suit is smeared with soot, his usually perfect hair disheveled, but his eyes are sharp focused in a way that makes my stomach drop.
"This way," he snaps.
"I'm not leaving," I start, trying to pull free. "I need to find my father."
"You don't have a choice."
His grip tightens, bruising. He drags me toward a sleek black SUV idling near the edge of the dock, its engine growling like it's just as impatient as he is.
"Vito, what is happening?" I demand, breathless and furious. "Who did this?"
He doesn't answer. That's what scares me most.
The back door of the SUV is yanked open, and before I can argue again, I'm shoved inside. The leather seats are cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the inferno raging just yards away. My dress is singed at the hem, and I realize I'm shaking not from fear, but from adrenaline and rage.
Vito climbs in after me, slamming the door.
"Go," he orders.
The driver doesn't hesitate. Tires screech as we peel away from the docks, leaving the fire and whatever just happened behind us.
For a moment, all I hear is my own breathing. Fast. Uneven. Wrong.
I turn to Vito. "You're going to explain. Now."
He straightens his cuffs like we're not fleeing a burning crime scene. Like everything is normal. Like my world isn't collapsing.
"There's been... a complication," he says smoothly.
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "A complication? The shipment is gone, Vito. That's not a complication that's a disaster."
His gaze shifts to me, something colder settling into his expression.
"Yes," he says quietly. "It is."
A chill slides down my spine. Something in his tone feels final.
"Then we fix it," I snap. "We find out who did this, we retaliate "No."
The word cuts through me like a blade.
I stare at him. "What do you mean, no?"
Vito exhales slowly, like he's preparing to deliver bad news he's already accepted.
"The debt has already been called in."
My stomach twists. "What debt?"
His eyes meet mine. And for the first time in my life, I see something close to pity there.
"The one your father can't afford to pay," he says. "Not anymore."
My pulse stutters. The implications crash over me like a second wave of heat. "No," I whisper. "No, he wouldn't."
"He already has."
The car feels smaller suddenly. Tighter. Like the walls are closing in.
"What did he do?" I demand, my voice shaking despite my effort to keep it steady.
Vito doesn't look away. "He negotiated peace."
My laugh comes out sharp, disbelieving. "With who?"
But I already know. There's only one enemy powerful enough to demand something like this. One man ruthless enough to turn a disaster into leverage.
Vito's silence confirms it.
My chest tightens. "No," I say again, stronger this time. "Whatever he agreed to, we can renegotiate. I'm not."
"The terms are final."
The words land like a death sentence.
"What terms?" I bite out.
Vito's jaw tightens. Then he says it.
"The debt is yours, Giulia."
Everything inside me goes still. The world tilts.
"What?"
"You are the collateral," he continues, his voice calm and controlled. "The agreement is simple: a marriage contract in exchange for peace between the families."
For a second, I can't breathe. The air feels thick, suffocating.
"You're joking," I say, but there's no humor in it. Only disbelief. "Tell me you're joking."
"I'm not."
My hands curl into fists. "He doesn't get to decide that. I'm not property."
"In our world," Vito says quietly, "everything is.
Everyone is. You've always known that."
Rage surges through me, hot and blinding.
"I won't do it."
"You will."
The certainty in his voice makes something cold settle in my chest.
"I'll run," I shoot back.
"I'll disappear before I let him hand me over like a piece of merchandise."
"You won't make it past sunrise."
Silence falls between us. Heavy. Suffocating.
Because we both know he's right. In this world, there are no real escapes. There are only exchanges of power, and right now, I have none.
I press back against the seat, my mind racing, searching for a way out that doesn't exist.
"Who?" I ask finally, my voice quieter now. Dangerous. "Who am I being sold to?"
Vito studies me for a moment. Then: "Salvatore Rinaldi."
The name hits like a bullet.
I've never met him. But I've heard enough. Everyone has. The Don of the southern syndicate.
Cold. Strategic. Untouchable.
A man who doesn't lose. A man who doesn't forgive. A man who doesn't hesitate.
And now, my husband.
"No," I whisper, shaking my head. "No, there has to be another way."
"There isn't."
The car slows. I look up, realizing we're no longer racing through the city. Instead, we've pulled up in front of a private club velvet ropes, guarded entrance, men in tailored suits standing like statues.
Neutral ground, of course. Everything about this is already arranged.
My throat tightens.
"You're not even giving me time to think," I say.
"There is no time," Vito replies. "They're waiting."
Of course they are. Because in this world, deals don't wait. And neither do monsters.
The door opens. Cool night air rushes in, carrying the faint scent of smoke still clinging to my skin. I realize I'm still barefoot, still covered in soot. Still dressed for war, not negotiation.
"Giulia," Vito says, softer now. "This is the only way to prevent a war."
I look at him. Really look. And I realize something that makes my stomach drop even further.
He believes that. Which means my father does too.
I swallow hard, forcing my spine straight. If they think I'm going to walk in there and play obedient, they don't know me at all.
"Fine," I say, stepping out of the car. "Let's meet him."
The club is dim, all low lighting and expensive silence. The kind of place where power doesn't need to announce itself it just exists. Eyes follow me as I walk in. Some curious. Some amused. Some pitying.
I ignore them all.
I don't stop until I reach the private section in the back, where a small group of men waits around a table. And him.
Salvatore Rinaldi.
He doesn't rise when I approach. Doesn't speak. Doesn't move. But somehow, he owns the room anyway.
Tall. Broad. Dressed in black like the night itself answers to him. Ink snakes up his hands, disappearing beneath the cuffs of his shirt dark, deliberate, permanent. His gaze lifts to meet mine.
And just like that, everything shifts.
Cold. Sharp. Assessing. He looks at me like I'm not a person. Like I'm a decision already made. A document already signed.
I lift my chin, refusing to look away. If he expects fear, he's going to be disappointed.
Silence stretches between us. Then he reaches forward, sliding a folder across the table. The sound is quiet. But it echoes like a gunshot.
"A contract," he says, his voice low. Controlled. Final.
I don't touch it.
"What makes you think I'll sign anything?" I ask.
Something flickers in his eyes. Not anger. Not amusement. Something darker.
"Because," he says, leaning back slightly, his gaze never leaving mine, "you don't have a choice."
My pulse spikes. "I always have a choice."
He studies me for a long moment. Then his lips curve just slightly. Not a smile. Something more dangerous.
"You're the collateral," he says. "And you're coming with me tonight."