đź“– Vows of Blood
By Islamiyah
---
The dining room stretched wider than most homes. It glowed under a gilded chandelier shaped like a crown of thorns, each crystal shard catching the firelight like blood on glass. Selene sat stiffly at the far end of a black marble table, her dress fitted, her mouth sealed, her mind racing.
This wasn't a dinner.
It was an audition.
To her left sat two men who looked more like wolves than businessmen. Across from her, a woman with silver-streaked hair and diamond eyes stirred her wine without sipping it. Everyone here had blood on their hands—and no one bothered to hide it.
Luciano entered last.
As always.
He wore black again, tailored so sharply it looked like it might cut the air around him. When he walked into a room, time didn't stop—it surrendered.
He didn't look at Selene as he took the seat at the head of the table beside her. But she felt him. The way a forest feels fire before the flames arrive.
"This," said a voice from down the table, "is the bride."
Selene turned slowly. A man with greying temples and eyes like shattered coal smirked at her. "The witch with Moreau blood."
The table quieted.
Luciano's fork paused in mid-air.
Selene placed her wine glass down. Perfectly. Quietly. "We don't use that word in polite conversation."
"Which word?" the man sneered. "Bride? Or witch?"
"Both," she said calmly. "Unless you're brave enough to call me something worse."
A few amused coughs echoed across the room. The man leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. "Bold."
"She's a Moreau," someone whispered. "They're born with the spine of serpents."
Luciano didn't speak. But she felt the shift in the air beside him.
"I married her for strength," he said finally, voice smooth and sharp. "And it seems I've gotten exactly that."
That was the first time he'd acknowledged her directly since the ceremony.
Her stomach twisted—why did it sound like a compliment and a warning at the same time?
---
By dessert, the conversation had drifted from mafia contracts to property threats to mysterious accidents that weren't accidents at all. Selene listened more than she spoke. She was new to this room—but not to war.
Luciano's hand rested near hers on the table. Not touching, but close enough to remind her: We're partners now. Whether you like it or not.
"You're quiet, Mrs. D'Amore," said the diamond-eyed woman. "We expected more fire from the Moreau line."
Selene looked up with a slow smile. "Fire is best used when it can burn something."
Luciano smirked.
The woman raised her glass. "Touché."
But the man across from her wasn't finished. "Tell me, then. Since your family trades in secrets and curses—what curse did you bring with you?"
Luciano looked at him. Just once. The man instantly shut up.
The silence that followed was heavy. Ancient.
Selene's voice cut through it.
"There's only one curse at this table," she said, lifting her glass. "And it's the belief that power belongs to those who shout the loudest."
Luciano raised his brow—just slightly.
Then, for the first time, he clinked his glass to hers.
A gesture. A signal.
You passed the test.
---
That night, back in her room, Selene stood at the window watching the shadows shift across the estate courtyard. She didn't know what they'd decide about her. But she knew she'd just placed her first stone on the board.
A soft knock sounded at her door.
She turned.
Luciano stepped inside without waiting for permission. "You handled them."
"I've dealt with worse," she said, folding her arms.
"You impressed them."
"I wasn't trying to."
"That's why you did."
He took a step closer. No jacket. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. More dangerous in simplicity than most men in full armor.
"You didn't deny the bloodline," he said.
"Would it matter?"
"Only if it's real."
She met his gaze. "Do you think it is?"
Luciano studied her for a moment. Then he reached out and brushed her cheek—slow, deliberate, like he was searching for something beneath the skin.
The candle beside her flickered. Stronger. Brighter.
His eyes didn't move. "Yes."
Her breath caught.
He stepped back. "Dinner's over. The game's begun."
And he left, just like that.
But the room didn't feel empty.
It felt alive. Awakened.
As if the shadows themselves had started watching.