Claimed

8. The Devil’s Bride

Chapter eight

The Devil’s Bride

An hour later, I found myself standing at the makeshift altar at the far end of the grand ballroom.

The same room where blood had been spilled earlier was now transformed into a twisted version of a wedding chapel.

Rows of Gianni’s men and their women sat silently, their eyes fixed on the scene before them, waiting for the union of their leader and his new bride.

The crystal chandeliers had been dimmed. Hundreds of red and white roses had been arranged around us.

This would be no ordinary wedding.

Gianni stood beside me, dressed in a new tuxedo that matched the dark, dangerous energy he exuded. The fabric was black as midnight, with subtle blood red accents lining the edges of his lapels and cuffs.

He looked every bit the Devil of Shadows, a man whose very presence demanded fear and respect.

My mind drifted back to the when I had been escorted to a suite upstairs.

When I entered the room, I was overwhelmed by the sight of over forty very expensive bridal gowns. Each was more beautiful and elaborate than the last, and all arranged for my choosing.

Both a hair stylist and makeup artist waited nearby, ready to transform me into the perfect bride.

But the reality of the situation had hit me like a freight train.

With that, I excused myself and barely made it to the bathroom before I vomited in the toilet. It was my body’s desperate attempt to expel the terror that had settled in my gut.

Afterward, I cleaned myself up, scrubbed away the remnants of the Vampire Queen stage makeup, and took off the now ridiculous costume and pointe shoes.

In fact, I didn’t know if I would ever be able to dance again.

Would Gianni understand my passion?

The possibility that my career now lay in his hands broke my fucking heart.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, trying to recognize the woman looking back at me. She looked frightened. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead, evidence of the inner turmoil consuming her.

It was as if I were seeing myself for the first time, trying to understand this new person who seemed so different from the one I knew before.

Who would have a new life.

A new husband.

Letting out a long breath and getting control of my nerves, I returned to the suite, greeted the make-up artist and hairstylist, and then I carefully selected a gown—one that was elegant and beautiful despite the circumstances.

It would probably be my only wedding.

This was not the sort of man to allow a divorce.

And men like him didn’t leave their wives either, they just fucked around on them.

My only escape from this marriage might end up being Gianni’s death.

That realization broke my heart even more.

Either way, I picked the perfect bridal gown. It was a masterpiece of silk and lace, with a fitted bodice that hugged my curves and a skirt that flowed like water around my feet. Delicate lace details adorned the sleeves and neckline, while tiny pearls were sewn into the fabric, catching the light and shimmering with every movement.

It was the kind of gown I might have chosen in another life, for a wedding where I wasn’t marrying a man who terrified me.

But. . .I had to make the best of this.

Slipping into the gown was like becoming someone else, so far removed from the person I had known up until now.

The stylist and makeup artist worked their magic, pulling my hair up into an elaborate design of curls and pinning a veil of the finest lace to it.

My makeup was bold, gold and pink contrasting against my dark brown skin, making my eyes stand out even more.

When they were finished, I looked every bit as regal as the woman I was about to become.

For all intents and purposes, I was a bride.

Once done, I made my way back to the grand ballroom where Gianni awaited me at the altar.

A soft hush fell over the ball room as I entered.

Gianni turned to look at me, and his lips curled into a smirk at the sight of my transformation. His eyes slipped over my body with clear approval and a sense of ownership that sent chills down my spine.

Here it is. This is the moment.

Now, as I stood next to Gianni, I felt the weight of this moment pressing down on me.

This was real.

This was happening.

I was about to become the wife of the Devil of Shadows, bound to him in a way that no ceremony or vow could ever truly capture.

The priest stood tall with gray hair and an aging face lined with life experience and a sense of duty. His expression was serious, and his eyes seemed to carry a weight beyond his years.

I glanced down at the priest’s hands and my eyes widened in shock.

In one hand he held a worn Bible. Its pages were dog-eared and stained with use.

But in the other hand, he gripped a large knife with a chilling ease. The blade was old and ornate, its hilt adorned with a precious stone.

Why does he have that?

As my gaze locked onto the knife, my heart hammered against my ribcage.

A lump began to form in my throat, cutting off any words I might have spoken. My palms were clammy within the lace gloves that felt more like shackles than adornments.

So many questions spun in my head.

Why did he have a freaking knife at the altar?

And what did he intend to do with it?

My heart raced with fear and confusion.

Gianni must have noticed my unease because he gently grabbed my hand and squeezed it tenderly, pulling me back into the present.

I gazed at Gianni—the man that would soon be my new husband.

What would it feel like to be touched by him?

To be claimed by a man whose hands had not just delivered unspeakable pain to Vito, but promised me pleasure by those same hands?

I’ll know soon enough.

I swallowed.

The priest cleared his throat.

When he finally began, his words were familiar, the traditional vows of love and loyalty, but there was something else woven into them—something darker.

“Gianni Fortunato,” the priest said, “do you take this woman, Erica Isabella Giordano, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To protect her with your life, to shield her from all harm, and to bind her to you with the blood of your enemies?”

I blinked.

With the blood of what now?

Gianni’s voice was low and firm. “I do, and I will spill every last drop.”

Umm. . .I am not a devout Christan, but I know this is not in the Bible.

“And you, Erica,” the priest turned his gaze to me, “do you take this man, Gianni Amadeo Fortunato, to be your lawfully wedded husband? To stand by his side, to honor him, and to accept the blood that will be spilled in your name?”

Oh my God. Can we not spill anymore blood in my name?

Stunned, I stood there with my mouth open.

The priest gave me a warm smile. “Should I repeat the question?”

“Uh. . .n-no.” I swallowed hard.

My heart pounded in my chest.

But I knew I had no choice.

I had to accept, had to submit to this fate if I wanted to survive. “I do.”

A soft sigh left Gianni as if he feared for a few seconds that I would say no.

That caught me off guard.

I checked him and saw fear flicker across his eyes and then disappear. It was so fleeting that I almost missed it, but it was there, and it sent a ripple of uncertainty through me.

What? Why was he scared?

Could it really be that Gianni had been nervous that I might say no?

The thought seemed absurd.

This was a man who had just orchestrated a brutal spectacle to assert his dominance, who wielded power and fear like weapons.

Yet, for a split second, I had seen something almost human in him—something that hinted at vulnerability.

As the priest continued the ceremony, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Gianni than the terrifying image he projected. He wasn’t just a cold, ruthless killer; he was a man who, for whatever reason, really wanted me by his side.

A man who had feared—even if just for a moment—that I might refuse him.

He said that he had waited a long time to have me. But when did he first see me?

I glanced at him and once again—just like in the moment when I’d first saw him—he looked familiar.

Have I seen him before? I feel like I have. But. . .there’s no way I would have forgotten that face.

I thought back to his quick show of fear as he waited for me to say I do .

Could it be that he cared for me in some twisted way?

That behind the possessive dominance, there was a part of him that valued me not just as a possession, but also as a partner?

My mind raced as I stood beside him, replaying the events of the past few hours. I thought about the way he had looked at me when I walked into the ballroom, the way his eyes had traced the curves of my body with something more than mere lust .

There had been approval, yes, but also something deeper, something that hinted at a connection between us that went beyond the physical.

And then there was the way he had squeezed my hand just moments ago, grounding me when I had felt like I might drown in the overwhelming reality of this situation.

It had been a small gesture, but it spoke volumes.

It was as if he was trying to reassure me, to let me know that I wasn’t alone in this, even though it felt like I was.

Or was this just wishful thinking?

Did the Devil truly have a heart?

As I stood there, I realized that maybe, just maybe, this marriage didn’t have to be one of my complete submission.

Maybe I could carve out a space for myself within his dark world, a space where I could have a say, where I could assert some independence.

Gianni had shown me that he valued honesty, that he respected my courage to speak the truth even when it meant condemning my own brother.

Perhaps that was something I could build on.

However, I wasn’t na?ve either.

I knew that Gianni was still a dangerous man—a man who ruled through blood-curdling fear and deadly violence.

But perhaps within the confines of this marriage, I could find a way to balance the scales, to ensure that my voice was heard, that I wasn’t just a pawn in his game.

If he cared enough to fear my rejection, then maybe I could leverage that care to gain some autonomy.

As these thoughts swirled in my mind, the priest raised the knife in the air and grabbed my attention back.

Seriously. . .what is he going to do with that?

Gianni let go of my hand and whispered, “Take off your glove. Then, place your hand in front of you and show the priest your palm.”

Uh. . .I don’t think. . .I want to do that.

Still, I took off my glove.

Gianni did what he’d told me. He placed his own huge hand out and showed the priest his palm.

Nervous, I did the same.

So. . .he’s not going to cut us or anything right?

“This is not just a wedding or a marriage.” The priest kept the blade in the air. “This is an oath. Our covenant. An allegiance sealed by blood. And this has been tradition in the Fortunato Family for generations.”

Okay. That’s cool, but. . .are you going to cut us?

The priest continued, “We shed blood today under the witness of God.”

Oh no. I think he is going to cut us.

“For love and loyalty only flows through blood.”

I feel like love and loyalty can flow through water and hugs and things that don’t involve cutting me.

As if Gianni could hear my thoughts, he whispered to me, “Everything will be alright. It will barely hurt.”

Sure. Says the person that just cut off a hand.

The priest stepped forward.

My stomach churned.

And then a gasp tore from my lips as the priest took the blade and sliced through Gianni’s palm.

What?!

Blood welled up against Gianni’s pale palm, staining his skin and dripping onto the marble floor, yet Gianni didn’t even flinch.

Oh no. That’s going to hurt.

The priest turned to me.

I tried not to whimper, but I couldn't help it.

The sight of the blood on Gianni's hand and the gleaming knife approaching my own made me want to faint.

This is completely unnecessary!!

Gianni’s voice went steady. “Do not worry, my love. Whatever cut is there, no matter how deep. . .I will heal it.”

Taking one last shuddering breath, I extended my trembling hand to the priest and braced myself for the pain.

Fast, that icy blade came into contact with my palm. Pain seared through me, and I cried out involuntarily.

A thin line of red appeared on my palm and blood started to pool, hot and wet against my skin.

What the fuck?! I already said I do. Did we really need to cut each other?

My bottom lip quivered.

That bastard priest grinned. “Bring your hands together.”

Someone take me to the hospital.

I whimpered again but complied, bringing my hand into contact with Gianni’s. His wounded palm met mine and I vowed not to whimper again.

Instead, I gritted my teeth as our blood mingled together. That crimson liquid seeped into each other’s cuts and palms, dripping down our arms, staining my gown.

And I watched in a daze.

The pain was sharp but brief, eclipsed by the weight of what this act symbolized.

Gianni turned to me and wrapped his other hand around our hands, completing the bond.

O-kay. Almost over.

When Gianni pulled his hands away, he immediately slipped a ring on my finger as if he’d been waiting for so many years to do this.

Oh shit.

I looked down at it.

The ring was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. A gleaming row of diamonds formed the band. Interspersed between them were deep, blood-red rubies—fiery and dark. The contrast between the cool clarity of the diamonds and the burning intensity of the rubies made the ring a perfect symbol of this new bond with Gianni—one built on love and blood.

I looked up at Gianni, and he seared me with his gaze.

The priest spoke, “Then by the power vested in me, and by the blood that has bound you, I pronounce you husband and wife.”

“Now we are truly bound by blood.” Gianni lowered his head to kiss me, and I braced myself for the harshness of his touch.

Surely the devil’s lips would be cold and venomous.

Surely his mouth would be just as jagged as the saw he’d held in his hands not long ago.

But instead, I was met with a kiss so sensual, so unexpectedly tender, that it took my breath away.

Took it all away.

His lips moved against mine with a slow, deliberate intensity, igniting things that have never been ignited within my core before.

Sparks of heated, penetrating emotions.

Desire.

Longing.

Utter craving.

Sure, I had only been kissed once in my life. I’d been busy with ballet and Vito had even explained that my stepfather’s men had kept guys away from me.

But this was the kiss that I read about in romance novels and fairytales.

The kiss that the prince gave the new princess.

The kiss that said happily-ever-after and I’ll love you forever.

He kissed me as if he was claiming not just my body, not just my heart, but my soul, and in that moment, I realized even more that this marriage would be anything but simple.

There was power in his kiss.

A demand and promise of utter commitment and earth-shattering possession.

It was a kiss that promised mind-numbing pleasure and delicious pain.

Dominance and surrender.

And I found myself craving more, despite everything I knew about the man who had just sealed our bond with blood.

But what haunted me too, was the hint of desperation coming from that kiss and the way his tongue dove into my mouth like he was starving.

Like he was deliriously hungry for my taste.

That kiss said that I had his heart and soul too.

That I also was in control.

Oh. My. God.

Against my will, I found myself responding to him, drawn to it.

Kissing him back and groaning right in front of the priest and all the guests.

I kissed the Devil back and had not one regret.

And when Gianni finally pulled away, that kiss lingered on my lips, leaving me breathless and utterly disoriented.

Well. . .that’s another. . .plot twist. . .

I had braced myself for something cold and brutal—something that would remind me of the monster I had just married.

But instead, I had been met with a kiss so intense, so sinfully good, that it left me reeling.

Was this what it felt like to kiss the devil?

To taste the forbidden fruit and realize that it was sweeter than anything I had ever known?

To feel a pull so strong that it drowned out every warning, every instinct to run?

To feel as though I was being drawn into a world of sin and shadows, and yet wanting to willingly go even further?

Desire blazed through me.

I wanted another kiss, but everyone was getting up to congratulate us.

And the whole time, Gianni watched me.

He didn’t even speak to the others.

Passion burned in his gaze.

Surely, he felt the same way I did?

Forget about them. . .kiss me again. . .and then take me to the hospital.