Chapter One: The wedding.

Ava

Finding out my father sold me off to a sadistic Mafia Don to save himself was not how I expected my twenty-first birthday to go.

But alas. Here, I am.

“Are you okay?” My father asks, his voice layered with concern. I turn to observe him, my eyes roaming up and down his slouched shoulders. He was dressed in a black tuxedo one of the men who had brought us in had given him shortly after we arrived at the church. His hair was pushed back, the result of countless hand motions through the balding strands in order to appear much younger than he actually was.

It doesn't work.

“Ava… Please talk to me”

I let out a breath, then pressed my lips together forming a thin line. How exactly did he expect me to answer that?

Oh, of course, Dad, I’m fine; it’s great that you sold me to a literal mafia boss to save your life; I totally understand and forgive you.

My lips twist downward at the thought.

My father had sold me to one of the most ruthless men in all of Chicago in order to save his neck and waited until my wedding, which just so happens to be my birthday day, to tell me about it.

Can you believe that? He waited until the day of my literal wedding day, despite knowing for months, to tell me what he had done.

Two of Antonio's men had stormed into my bedroom and forced me and my father into a car before driving us to the chapel where my soon-to-be father-in-law and husband-to-be were waiting.

We were currently in the dressing room, and while my father was doing a terrible job at calming me down, I had resorted to giving him the silent treatment.

My gaze wandered to the mirror, admiring how the ivory fabric of the wedding dress I was given minutes ago hugged my body. I always imagined wearing my mother’s wedding dress on my wedding day, but the delicate lace clinging to my curves was nothing like the once-white satin dress buried away along with the rest of my mother’s things in the attic.

“You can’t remain silent forever. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to talk to me.” his voice cut through my thoughts, but I couldn’t bring myself to reply to him. Instead, I continue to fix my gaze on my dress in the mirror, pretending to be oblivious to his persistence.

His voice rang again, softly this time, “I know this whole arrangement may seem a little… unexpected but you have to understand, this was the only thing he wanted. You were the only thing he wanted.”

Il Mercante di Morte. Merchant of death.

It was what the Italian mafia called men like my father.

Men who sold weapons to the mafia in exchange for temporary power, and were too blind to see the inevitable consequences their actions would cause. My father believed he could outsmart men who built their empires on the blood of their enemies and the loyalty of their partners and that was the beginning of his and my downfall.

The Moretti Family was one of the three crime families that operated in Chicago. The families were of Italian, Russian and Irish descent but the Morettis were the most ruthless of them all. Their Leader, Alessandro Moretti, was a man known for his precision and unwavering authority. He ran his business like a well-oiled machine and left no room for screw-ups. Two months ago, my father made the mistake of selling faulty guns to the Moretti Mafia. His actions resulted in the death of three of Alessandro's men. One of which was his nephew.

As you would expect Alessandro wasn’t too pleased to find out that the cause of his nephew's death was my father. A life for a life was the number one rule of the mafia and Alessandro was determined to make my father pay with his.

Until he saw me.

Well a picture of me.

On my father's table. He took one look at that picture and decided that I would be the perfect fit for his son.

As his bride.

As twisted as it sounded, Alessandro Moretti believed that forcing my father to give up his only daughter to his son would be punishment enough for my father.

“You sold me.” the words fell from my lips before I could stop them. My nails bite into the flesh of my palm as I stare at him through glassy eyes.

He tipped his head back, briefly closing his eyes, “Ava, it isn’t like that. Alessandro… this was all he wanted. For you to marry his son. If I hadn't agreed to this he would've killed the both of us. I didn't have a choice.”

“You had a choice. You could’ve chosen not to sell off your only daughter to a monster. But you didn’t.”

He ran his fingers through his thinning hair, finally meeting my gaze. “Antonio will be good to you. His father will make sure of it.”

I almost laughed at how convinced he sounded that Alessandro, a man who was notoriously known for going back on his words, would ensure that his son would treat me well.

As the next in line for his father's role as the head of the Moretti family, Antonio Moretti was as ruthless and vile as they came.

I had heard rumours about my future husband. About how he killed without a second thought and how he was willing to do anything and everything to get what he wanted. He was a murderer and a rapist who spent most of his nights visiting clubs, surrounded by women, alcohol and drugs.

Although his father had spent most of his life preparing him to become the perfect successor, Antonio had fallen short in his path to being the next head of the Moretti Mafia.

It was one of the reasons Antonio's father was desperate to get him married. Alessandro was getting old and Antonio had shown no interest in settling down.

The mafia needed heirs to survive, and since neither of Alessandro's children was interested in marriage, he was forced to play the role of matchmaker in their lives.

A soft knock echoes through the room and I drag my gaze towards the door where it's coming from.

“Two minutes until the ceremony.” A voice says.

My shoulder stiffens.

I wait until the footsteps fade away before turning to my father once more.

My heart sinks. I turn to my father, my tone desperate as I beg, “Please don’t make me do this.”

He had to see that this was wrong. That he was making a mistake.

My father looks away, shoulders slumped as he stands there, defeated. His unspoken reply simmers in the silence.

It’s already been done.

My heart hammers against my rib cage as the heavy oak doors of the chapel fall open. Silence falls over the guests as they stand and turn around to witness my entrance.

Breathe, I remind myself because it appears that I have forgotten.

The grand cathedral, adorned with white roses and soft lighting looks like something out of a dream. White rose petals lay scattered across a narrow crimson aisle that ran from the grand entrance down to the altar where my future husband stood.

The sight would’ve been breathtaking if it wasn’t for the tiny knot of dread gnawing at my chest.

My father bent his arm, extending his elbow for me to hold on to. With trembling fingers, I settle my right hand over the smooth fabric of his tuxedo jacket. The delicate fragrance of roses lingers in the air as my father begins our descent down the aisle.

My eyes sifted through the faces that filled each pew. I had never met any of these people but yet Alessandro had deemed each of them of utmost importance to be in attendance.

I wondered if they were aware of the circumstances surrounding this wedding. Did they even care that they were attending the wedding of a man who had caused suffering to hundreds?

My father mumbles something under his breath, but I pay him no mind. Instead, my gaze finds the man I will soon refer to as my husband in a matter of minutes. He isn't much taller than me. His face is round and chubby and reminds me more of the weirdly shaped potato my brother Aaron found in my mother's garden when we were children. His hair is dark and noticeably thinning with bald spots at the center of his scalp. The buttons of his tux strain around his belly as they try to keep the fabric taut.

He wasn't attractive by any means but I already knew this.

I suppose that’s what happens when you’re in your late forties and as powerful as Antonio.

You tend to let yourself go.

But none of that bothers me the way his eyes do.

Dark and soulless.

Antonio watches me walk down the aisle with the same predatory intensity as a lion stalking its next prey. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and when Antonio's gaze briefly collides with mine, I see his.

And it makes me sick. Bile rushes up my throat but I push it down.

His gaze never leaves mine, and the closer I get to the altar, the more my heart sinks. An irresistible urge to turn around and run away grows with each passing second, but I know I won't be able to take a single step before a bullet finds its way up the back of my skull.

My father releases my hand once we've reached Antonio and for a moment I allow myself to believe that he has come to his senses and is letting me go but my momentary relief is soon replaced with an unnerving sense of panic as Antonio extends his big grubby palm towards me and without waiting, takes my hand from my father.

The moment His fingers curl around my wrist, a jolt of revulsion shoots through me, I fight the urge to jerk away, forcing myself to accept the unwelcome weight of his touch. From the corner of my eye, I see the handle of a gun sticking out from Antonio’s best man’s pants.

I swallowed and forced my eyes away from the weapon. Instead, I readjusted my gaze to the balding man in front of me.

The corner of Antonio’s lips curl into a cruel, sadistic smirk and he squeezes my hand, the warning he intended clear in his grip.

Try anything and you’re dead.

“Smile”, comes his cruel voice “It's your wedding day.”

I do as he says. Forcing a tight-lipped smile onto my lips. His smirk widens.

“Better,” he says and turns to the priest, signalling him to begin the ceremony.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest began, “We are gathered here today to join your daughter Ava Blackwood and your son Antonio Moretti in holy Matrimony…”

From the corner of my eye, I find Antonio's eyes locked onto the swell of my breast. He darts his tongue out, licking his bottom lip and disgust knots around my stomach.

The hall is silent when the priests ask if there are any objections. Nobody says a word.

Please, God, save me. Please, God…

The priest turns to me. “Do you, Ava Blackwood, take Antonio Moretti to be your lawfully wedded husband as long as you both shall live?”

I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip and open my mouth to say the words I know will seal my fate forever, when a voice erupts from the back of the room, stopping me.

“Well, Well, Well, isn’t this lovely?”

The intruder starts, each word accompanied by a deliberate slow clap.

His voice is smooth and deep, sending a shiver through me. Each word is laced with a faint Russian accent, tangling around each syllable that leaves his lips.

Murmurs break out from the audience while I turn around narrowing my eyes, trying to find the cause of the disruption. My breath catches in my throat when my gaze collides with a pair of deep green eyes. There, at the back of the room, stood the most devastatingly handsome man I had ever seen, leaning against the door frame of the exit.

A dim light flickered above him and I watched as the intruder made his way towards us. Something about his presence changed the atmosphere in the room. It consumed me. How easily his presence changed the room. There was something about him that went beyond his height and the impressive bulk of his frame.

Power.

Pretty quickly I concluded that he was one of them.

Except he shouldn’t be here.

He wasn't invited.

Yet, there he was.

My lips parted in a gasp as my eyes swept over his features. He was striking, in a dangerously unsettling way. His sharp jawline and neatly trimmed beard gave him an air of calculated refinement, but there was nothing soft about him. He was dressed in a plain white shirt that showed off the planes of his broad shoulders. The fabric clung to his frame and the first two buttons were undone, exposing the patterns of dark ink etched in his skin from the side of his neck to the center of his chest and lower.

An unexpected image of me tracing the curves of the design inscribed in his skin with my finger suddenly flashed through my mind, startling me. I've never been one to fawn over tattoos but on him the ink only added to the allure.

“What is the meaning of this?” Alessandro roared, rising to his feet, his face flushed with rage. A thick vein bulged the side of his neck, pulsing with his anger.

I barely have time to register Antonio's grip on my wrist before he yanks me to his side, his fingers pressing into my skin as he turns to face the stranger.

"Do you have any idea what you’ve just done.” he growled, his voice thick with barely contained rage.

The intruder pauses mid stride. His Green eyes find mine in the midst of the chaos and I freeze.

Those eyes. I've seen them before.

But where?

I frown, urging my brain to recall where I’d seen him and instead come up blank.

“You” it's my father's voice that slices through the tension. His eyes are wide like he's just seen a ghost, except he's looking directly at the intruder, “It can’t be… you’re supposed to be dead.”

Dead?

Did my father know this man?

Uneasiness crept through me. There was something about my father's reaction that told me I was missing something.

A maniacal grin curled at the corner of the intruder's lips, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “I got better”

“Enough!” Alessandro roars, settling his angry gaze on my father, “Do you know this man Marcus?”

My father doesn't respond.

“Allow me to introduce myself.” the stranger began, his voice low and dripping with menace.“My name is Nikolai Volkov and I believe you have something that belongs to me.”