The Devil's Fiancée

POV: Serena Caprini

You always remember the moment your life stops being yours.

For me, it was a Wednesday evening. The rain tapped against the windows like impatient fingers, the city cloaked in that heavy gray gloom that always settled over New York before a storm. I was halfway through a plate of lemon risotto in the dining room when one of my father's men leaned in and whispered something in his ear.

He didn't look at me. Just set down his wine glass and stood, napkin still in hand.

"Serena," he said. "My study. Now."

I watched him walk out. He didn't wait for me. He never did.

My mother once told me that being a Caprini meant sacrificing freedom for duty. I'd laughed then. I was thirteen and thought love could soften power. I thought family meant protection. I thought wrong.

The hallway to my father's study stretched longer than it should have, its walls lined with oil paintings of dead men who looked like they'd never smiled. Guards flanked the door as usual, stone-faced and silent. One opened it at my approach without a word.

Inside, the room was dim, lit only by the amber glow of his desk lamp. My father stood behind his massive desk, pouring himself a glass of scotch like it was any other night. He didn't look up as I entered.

"Sit."

I didn't obey right away. That earned me a glance - sharp and assessing, the way he looked at enemies across a negotiation table.

I sat.

"I'm not pregnant," I said, just to break the silence. "In case that's what this is about."

He didn't even blink. "This is business."

"Isn't it always?"

He tossed back the drink, then set the glass down with the kind of finality that made my stomach tighten.

"You're getting married."

The words floated between us, heavy as lead.

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're getting married," he repeated, as if that clarified anything. "To Luca Moretti."

The air left my lungs.

"No."

My father's gaze didn't waver. "Yes."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm not in the mood for games, Serena."

I stood. "You expect me to marry the man who's been trying to kill our family for a decade?"

"It's over."

"Over?" I laughed, bitter. "The blood on our front steps hasn't even dried."

"This ends it," he said, as if that was reason enough. "This marriage puts an end to a war that has cost us men, territory, and reputation."

"And me," I said. "It costs you me."

He walked around the desk, slow and deliberate, like a lion circling prey.

"You're not a casualty," he said. "You're a solution. You want to prove you're more than a spoiled daughter, more than a pretty face living off my name? This is how you do it."

I clenched my fists. "You're using me as leverage."

"I'm securing your future."

"With the Devil."

He smirked. "Call him what you want. You're marrying him in three days."

I stepped back. "You can't do this. I won't."

"You will," he said, and the room turned colder.

"I'm not some bargaining chip you can toss across the table!"

He took another step. "I gave you twenty-three years of freedom, Serena. Parties. Education. Choice. And what did you do with it? Broke curfews. Dated lowlifes. Failed to prove you're worthy of this family."

"I never asked to be part of it!"

"That's not how blood works."

I wanted to scream, to hurl something heavy and sharp at his smug, power-hungry face. But all I could do was breathe - shallow and tight - as he delivered the final blow.

"You're marrying the Devil, Serena," he said, voice low and lethal. "Start praying."

---

I don't remember walking out of his study. The next thing I knew, I was back in my room, pacing like a caged animal.

The city glimmered beyond my window, too far to reach. My fingers trembled as I tore off my earrings, my necklace, the very symbols of the Caprini name. I felt them land on the marble floor with tiny, meaningless clinks.

Luca Moretti.

The name felt like acid on my tongue.

I'd never met him, but I knew his reputation. Cold. Calculating. Merciless. He ran his empire like a surgeon - precise, clean, and with no remorse. Whispers said he strangled his enemies with piano wire, that he made men disappear like shadows at sunset.

And now, I was to be his bride.

His prize.

His hostage.

I didn't cry. I refused to give my father or Luca - or anyone - the satisfaction.

Instead, I packed a bag.

A passport. A burner phone. Cash.

I didn't know where I'd go. Maybe Italy. Maybe nowhere. But I wouldn't let myself be sold off like property.

I was halfway down the back staircase when I saw him.

Matteo.

My brother.

He stood in the shadows of the hallway, arms crossed, watching me with that quiet, disappointed frown he always wore.

"You're not really running, are you?"

I froze.

"I have to."

He stepped forward. "They'll find you. You know they will."

I swallowed. "Then maybe I'll let them kill me."

He exhaled. "Don't be dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic. I'm being sane."

"Serena....."

"He's a monster, Matteo. And I'm supposed to tie myself to him like a ribbon around a time bomb."

Matteo hesitated. Something flickered in his eyes. "It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?"

He looked away, jaw tight. "Do you know what happened to the last woman who crossed him?"

The silence between us grew sharp.

"What happened?" I asked quietly.

"She vanished. No body. No trace. One day she was there. The next, gone."

"Are you warning me?" I asked.

"I'm telling you to be smart." His voice cracked. "Survive this, Serena. However you have to. Just survive it."

He reached into his jacket and pressed something into my hand - a small black key.

"What's this?"

"Insurance," he said. "For when things go bad. Because they will."

---

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The storm outside had finally broken - rain lashed the windows, thunder rumbling low in the distance.

I tried to imagine Luca Moretti's face.

Cold. Dangerous. Unreadable.

I hated that I was curious.

Not about the man.

About the enemy.

Because if I had to marry the Devil...

...I'd find a way to beat him at his own game.

Even if it killed me.

My father's voice echoed in my mind as I drifted into restless sleep.

"You're marrying the Devil, Serena. Start praying."