~03~

Dante's pov~ 

The car glides through the Petrov gates like a coffin on wheels. Marble lions stare down from their pedestals as if daring me to turn back. I don't. I never do.

The driver pulls up to the steps. I adjust my cuffs, check my reflection in the window — my father's jaw, my mother's eyes, nothing left of me but duty.

Nico Russo stands waiting at the top of the stone steps, the king of this immaculate prison. His smile is all teeth. We shake hands — the weight of two empires pressing our palms together.

He talks about alliances. Promises. The future. The same hollow nonsense my father's been feeding me since I could walk straight and shoot straighter. I nod when I'm supposed to.

And then he gestures, and she steps forward.

For a moment, the picture is perfect — the polished marble, the blooming roses, the daughter dressed in pale blue silk. She's striking — I'd have to be blind not to see it. Her hair pulled back in a loose twist, her eyes dark and unflinching, her chin lifted just enough to tell me she's not here to beg for anything.

I see it. But it means nothing. Pretty chains are still chains. Her beauty is just a layer of gilt on the bars of a cage I never asked for. If anything, it insults me — like Nico wants me to be grateful for the bait.

Her eyes meet mine — steady, sharp. No fear. Good. I don't want her afraid of me. I want her to understand what this is: two people thrown together like dogs in a ring, neither one with a choice.

She stops in front of me. Her father's hand hovers at her back — but she angles away from his touch, subtle but clear. There's defiance in her spine, in the slight tilt of her mouth. I can respect that — but it won't change a thing.

I let my gaze run over her — cold, clinical. The way you'd assess a weapon you didn't choose but now have to carry.

"You'll do," I say. The words fall flat on the marble between us.

Her mouth curls — not soft, not sweet. A smile that cuts instead of warms. "So will you." Her tone is calm, controlled — her own mask fitting just as neatly as mine.

We hate this. We hate each other — not for who we are but for what we represent. The loss of choice. The promise of a life shackled to someone we never wanted.

I hold out my arm because the ritual demands it. She slips her hand through, her grip light but steady — not clinging, not shaking. Just a formality.

We stand like that for a moment — two perfect figures playing at being the future of our families. Her eyes flick up to mine, searching for something — a crack in the ice, maybe. She won't find it.

I feel nothing for her. Not pity. Not desire. Not hope. Just the cold satisfaction of knowing I can do my duty without giving her any part of me I don't choose to surrender.

She can keep her beauty. I don't want it. I don't want her.

I turn us toward the doors, her hand still resting on my arm like a promise I never made. She matches my pace, chin lifted, steps sharp on the marble. Two strangers bound in gold.

She doesn't look at me again. I don't give her the chance.

********

A/N 

sorry i know this chapter is a bit short but i need to set the scene so trust the process and please do leave comments i love reading them.