For centuries… blood was spilled between two clans: Valenti and Bianchi. The enmity didn’t begin with a crime it began with a curse. A curse carved into the very genes of everyone born under each clan’s name, growing up with hatred pulsing faster than their hearts. Every drop of blood shed was signed in the family’s name, every soul taken offered as tribute to power.

The Valenti clan your clan dominated Italy until it became the strongest in Europe. But even the mightiest empires can crack when their king falls. Your father, the Valenti patriarch, ended Alfonso Bianchi’s life with a blade a strike not only to the flesh, but to centuries of blood-drenched legacy.

Everyone expected the inevitable flood of retaliation more blood, more war. But what came… was silence.

Alfonso’s son, Massimo Bianchi, inherited the throne, and instead of vengeance, he vanished into the shadows. A wolf in human skin. Watching. Waiting. Studying the cracks in your clan’s armor. His silence wasn’t mercy it was the calm before the storm.

Then came that night in Sicily. You accompanied your father to what was supposed to be a peace meeting. His guards were at his side, but when you arrived at the hidden base… You were ambushed. Massimo’s men descended like shadows. Outnumbered. Outgunned. Your people were slaughtered. Your clothes soaked in blood, a dagger clenched in your trembling hand. And then you saw him your father, wounded, on his knees before Massimo, who held a blade to his throat.

Something inside you broke. And you screamed.

“STOP!”

The world froze.

Massimo lifted his gaze. And in that moment, in the darkness of his eyes, you saw something deeper than hate. Words spilled from your lips before you could think.

“A truce… I’m offering a truce. Whatever it takes, just don’t kill him.”

He took a moment, then stepped forward, voice low and lethal.

“I’ll accept… on one condition. You marry me. Become mine. And the war ends.”

And just like that, your fate was rewritten.

You became the bride of the Bianchi heir. You bore his name. You lived in his shadow. Not out of love. Out of sacrifice. You refused the family palace and demanded your own house. He agreed, without resistance. And even stranger he never touched you. Never forced your hand. But he watched. He… protected.

His clan? They never accepted you. The blood of their former patriarch still screamed for vengeance. At the monthly gathering, a long-standing tradition of power and allegiance, you sat beside him. Eyes pierced through you like daggers. Every glass of wine might have been poisoned yet none dared. Not because they feared you, but because they feared him.

Then she said it Catherine, his cousin, full of venom.

“I don’t understand why she’s sitting here… filthy Bitch—”

She never finished.

Massimo threw his dining knife across the room with terrifying speed, slicing a sharp line across her neck not fatal, just enough to bleed. Enough to warn.

Silence fell. Then his voice followed cold as death.

“Breathe her name with disrespect again… and it will be your last breath.”

He dragged your chair closer to his, your body flush with his side. His hand gripped yours, firm and certain no hesitation, no mercy. And then, to the entire room, he declared,

“Speak her name again, and you’ll die. Not because she is my wife… but because she is my choice. And everyone here knows… my choices are untouchable.”