The gunshot had been a warning.
Alessia knew it the moment Dante's grip tightened on her waist, his body shifting instinctively between her and the door. The wedding guests—a who's who of Obsidian Falls' underworld—reacted like the predators they were. Hands slid to hidden holsters. Glances sharpened into blades.
But no blood stained the cathedral floor.
Yet.
Dante's thumb brushed the pulse hammering in her wrist. "Nervous?" His voice was a dark caress, meant only for her.
She bared her teeth in something too sharp to be a smile. "I don't scare easily."
His laugh was a rumble of thunder, low and dangerous. "We'll see."
The reception was a war masquerading as a party.
Crystal glasses clinked under chandeliers dripping with candle wax and old money. Alessia sipped champagne, her gaze tracking the room—her father's men clustered like vultures, Dante's inner circle circling like wolves. And in the center of it all, her new husband, a king in a den of thieves.
"You're staring."
She didn't turn as Nicodemus "Nico" Valtieri, Dante's younger brother, slid into the chair beside her. His grin was all mischief, but his eyes were calculating.
"I'm assessing," she corrected.
Nico swiped her glass and took a sip. "Assess faster. The fun starts at midnight."
Before she could demand what he meant, Dante's hand landed on her bare shoulder, his touch burning through the lace of her wedding gown. "Dance with me."
It wasn't a request.
The music was a waltz, but this was no fairy tale.
Dante's palm pressed against the small of her back, steering her through the crowd with possessive precision. Everywhere they touched, her skin prickled—half fury, half something far more dangerous.
"Who fired the shot?" she demanded, her voice lost beneath the violins.
His fingers flexed against hers. "Does it matter?"
"It does if they were aiming at me."
Dante spun her abruptly, her back meeting the cold marble pillar as his body caged her in. The air between them crackled. "You think I'd let someone take what's mine?"
Alessia refused to flinch. "I don't belong to you."
His lips grazed her ear, a mockery of a lover's whisper. "You signed the contract, principessa. Every breath you take is mine now."
The words should have chilled her. Instead, heat pooled low in her stomach.
Damn him.
Midnight came with a knife to the throat.
Alessia had just slipped away to the terrace when a hand clamped over her mouth, steel biting into her skin.
"Hello, little dove," a familiar voice purred. Lucian. Her father's most feared enforcer—and the man who'd trained her to shoot before she'd learned to dance.
She elbowed him hard in the ribs. "You're supposed to be dead."
Lucian chuckled, wiping the blood from her neck with his thumb. "Rumors of my demise were… exaggerated." His smile faded. "Your father didn't send me. You're in danger."
Before she could respond, the terrace doors burst open.
Dante stood silhouetted against the light, a gun leveled at Lucian's head. His voice was lethally calm. "Take your hand off my wife."
Alessia stepped between them. "Wait—"
The gunshot was deafening.
Lucian collapsed, crimson blooming across his chest.
Dante didn't lower the weapon. "Anyone else care to interrupt our honeymoon?"
The crowd scattered.
Alessia whirled on him, her voice a venomous whisper. "He was warning me!"
Dante holstered the gun and gripped her chin. "And now I'm warning you." His kiss was a brand, a punishment. "Trust no one. Not even me."