Chapter 2 Signed In Blood

Marcella's POV

My uncle Giovanni had already started sweating before the lawyer even walked in. He kept rubbing his hands together under the heavy mahogany table. I felt nothing but a cold, hard knot in my stomach. It wasn't nerves. It was a focus.

The signing was held in a private room at a neutral law office in Catania. Lorenzo De Luca wasn't there. Of course not. He was too important, too arrogant to waste his time on a formality. Instead, he sent his wolf.

Salvatore Greco, the consigliere.

Greco was older, silver-haired, and dressed in a suit that probably cost more than my burned villa. He had a quiet, polished air, but his eyes were sharp and flat, like granite. They missed nothing. When he looked at me, I felt less like a future wife and more like a piece of property, valuable but difficult.

"Signorina Vale," he greeted me, his voice smooth and low. He gestured toward the contract lying between us. "All the details are here. Very straightforward."

"I will read every line," I said.

Giovanni gave me a sharp, panicked look. Greco just smiled, a thin, professional curve of his mouth. "Of course. Take your time. We appreciate thoroughness."

The contract was long and insulting. It was about power, not love. It was full of clauses about obedience, loyalty, and appearances. It stated that I would not interfere in De Luca’s business, that I would attend all public events as his wife, and that I would never speak ill of the family name.

If I tried to leave, I would lose everything, even the protection that comes with his name. If I betrayed him, the consequences were left vague, but the threat hung in the air like poison. It was a complete submission document.

It meant nothing to me. The paper was just a fancy receipt for my entry into the lion's den.

I read about the estate, Casa della Lucertola. The House of the Serpent. It was perched on the coast near Catania, a massive, remote fortress carved into the rock. That was where I would live. His prison. My opportunity.

I picked up the heavy gold pen.

"Do you have any questions, Signorina?" Greco asked, watching my face.

"Only one," I said, meeting his flat gaze. "The wedding. My uncle said within a week. Is that settled?"

"Yes. It is set for four days from now. A small, intimate ceremony. De Luca prefers to avoid unnecessary fanfare."

Small, intimate. Like a clean, quiet murder.

"Good." I signed my name, Marcella Vale, right over the clause about perpetual devotion. The gold pen scratched against the thick paper.

When I was done, Greco took the contract back and signed the document on behalf of his boss. He sealed the papers into a leather folder, closing the contract like a tomb.

"Welcome to the family, Signora," he said again, using the formal title.

I stared at him, keeping the hatred locked down tight. "Tell your boss I look forward to our future."

He gave me a slight bow. "He will be pleased to hear it."

Later that evening, back in my uncle's cramped apartment in Palermo, I called Elena.

"You signed it," she whispered, her voice tight with disbelief. "You actually signed a contract to marry him."

"It's done," I said, sitting on the edge of the uncomfortable bed. "Four days, Lena. I'm going to be married to the killer."

"Marcella, please. There has to be another way. If he is half as smart as the articles say, he will see right through this. He will recognize the hatred in your eyes."

"I won't let him," I said. "I am practicing. I am a bride, Lena. A trophy. Nothing more. He will see what he expects to see."

"What are you going to do inside his house?"

"I am going to find the weakness," I said, my voice hardening. "He is building a legitimate business empire, but everything is built on blood money. I need proof of the murders. Of the money laundering. Something that no judge in Sicily can ignore."

I had already started my plan. I’d used Elena’s research to print out every public photo available of the De Luca estate. I pinned them up in the spare room of my uncle’s apartment. I studied the walls, the gates, and the layout of the grounds.

"I need your help, Lena," I said. "I need you to work on the outside. Dig into his finances. His political ties. Find the person he pays to look the other way."

"I'm already trying. The De Luca finances are like concrete. It's almost impossible to find a crack."

"Keep trying. I'll be looking for cracks inside."

"And what about protection?" she asked, her voice shaking. "You're going to be alone with him."

I looked at the simple luggage on the floor. I hadn't bought anything but essentials, except for one item.

"I'm bringing a wedding gift just for him," I said. "Don't worry about me. Worry about him."

I ended the call before she could argue more. I couldn't risk her doubts bleeding into my resolve.

The next three days were a blur of cold preparation. There was no joy, no celebration. Just fittings for the wedding dress, a gift from the De Luca family, and the arrival of expensive accessories.

I picked a simple ivory silk dress. It was beautiful, traditional, and entirely meaningless. The long, delicate veil would hide my face, giving me one last shield before I stood before him.

I went shopping only once, not for shoes or jewelry, but for my weapon.

I found a small, sharp folding knife at an old market stall. It was simple, dark steel, and fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. I paid in cash and walked out.

Back at the apartment, I began working on the bridal bouquet. It was large, overflowing with white roses and heavy green stems. I carefully secured the knife to the thick central stem, taping it so it was hidden deep inside the blooms. The roses hid the steel perfectly. It was small, sharp, and easy to use. My hidden promise.

I spent hours practicing. Walking, smiling, and holding the bouquet without letting my fingers betray the tension around the handle. I needed to move like a bride, not an assassin.

I needed to be flawless.

I stood in front of the mirror, wearing the expensive veil and a plain slip. I practiced the face I would show him. Not rage. Not fear. Just a cold, empty obedience. The perfect trophy wife.

He will never see the fire behind my eyes.

I remembered the photos of him. His sharp jaw, his dark, remote gaze. His arrogance. He was playing a game of power and domination. He thought he had already won.

He thought he had me trapped.

On the third night, my uncle came into my room, looking pale.

"The wedding is set for tomorrow morning," Giovanni said quietly. "The De Luca family is sending a car for you at eight."

"Okay." I smoothed the silk dress hanging nearby.

"Marcella, I need to know that you are certain about this. It's not too late. We can call the lawyers. Say you changed your mind."

I looked at him. "And then what, Uncle? Do you think Lorenzo De Luca will just shrug and send a gift basket? He killed my family. He offered me a marriage to end the feud." My voice was flat. "If I say no, the feud starts immediately. And he will finish what he started."

Giovanni swallowed hard. "I just worry about you being alone with him."

"I won't be alone. I will have the memory of my parents with me."

That quieted him. He left the room without another word.

I closed the door and turned back to the mirror. Tomorrow, I will become Signora De Luca. I would wear white, hold roses, and stand beside the man who deserved to burn.

I picked up the heavy bouquet, feeling the hidden steel of the knife against my fingers. This was my vow, not the one I would make at the altar.

I am coming for you, Lorenzo.