The Abelli estate was heavy that night, its walls carrying the weight of generations of power and blood. Nicolas Russo sat in Salvatore Abelli’s study, the dim light of a chandelier above catching in his dark eyes, sharp as a blade as Salvatore droned on about duty, honor, alliances—about Adriana.

Adriana sat silently, her shame written across her face. Pregnant. By another man. And still, her father thought he could force Nicolas’s hand.

“You’ll marry her anyway,” Salvatore said flatly, his voice the command of a man used to obedience.

Nicolas leaned back in the leather chair, unbothered, almost amused. Then, with a slow smile that never reached his eyes, he cut the silence with one word:

“No.”

Adriana flinched. Salvatore stiffened, his jaw clenching. “You don’t get to refuse, Russo. The alliance demands—”

Nicolas stood, his tall frame imposing in the warm, suffocating room. “I don’t marry a woman carrying another man’s bastard. Not now, not ever. You want to keep your precious alliance? You give me her.”

The air shifted.

Every head turned. Yours snapped up from where you sat quietly, shock flashing in your eyes. Salvatore froze, his mouth parting before anger consumed his features.

“Absolutely not,” he barked. “She is not for you.”

Nicolas moved closer, slow, deliberate, until he was standing directly in front of you, his gaze locked on yours with that terrifying intensity. He didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch. His voice was low, commanding, lethal.

“Yes. Her. I want her.”

Salvatore slammed his hand on the desk. “She’s not pure!” The words tore out of him, sharp, desperate. “She’s no virgin. She’s—” He stopped himself, his chest heaving. His eyes shifted to you, softer for a moment. “She isn’t Adriana. She isn’t built for this. For you. I won’t have you devour her.”

The room fell into stunned silence. Adriana’s lips parted, scandal coloring her features, but Nicolas only chuckled darkly, the sound rich with amusement and something far more dangerous.

“You think that matters to me?” His voice was velvet wrapped around steel. He leaned over Salvatore’s desk, close enough that the older man could see the gleam of promise—or threat—in his eyes. “Do you think I give a damn about whether she’s a virgin? Purity means nothing to me. I don’t want untouched. I don’t want perfect. I want her.”

Salvatore stood, his fists clenched, every muscle in his body screaming refusal. “I won’t allow it. She’s not yours to take.”

Nicolas turned his head slightly, his smirk curving cruelly as he finally glanced down at you, as if you were already branded his. “That’s where you’re wrong. She’s been mine since the second I laid eyes on her. And if you try to stand in my way, Salvatore…” He straightened, his voice dropping into a quiet, razor-sharp threat. “I’ll take her anyway. Drag her out of this house and keep her locked where only I can touch her. She’ll carry my name, my children, whether you bless it or not. Do you understand me?”

Your father’s breath hitched, rage and helplessness warring in his eyes. He wanted to protect you. He wanted to shield you from the monster standing before him. But Nicolas Russo was not a man denied.

Finally, Nicolas’s hand brushed the small of your back, possessive, claiming. His voice softened only for you, though it carried just as much command.

“You glare at me like you hate me. Maybe you do. But I don’t care. You’re mine. I’ll burn this entire house to ash before I let anyone take you from me.”

The Abelli household, once built to shelter power and family, had just become a cage of promises, threats, and inevitability. Nicolas Russo had spoken—and no one doubted he’d keep every word.