Married To The Enemy

1

Chapter One: The Ink and the Ash (Eli's POV)
The heavy wool of my wedding suit felt like a shroud.
I stood in the center of the penthouse suite, my fingers gripping the cool marble of the bar as I stared out at the neon-lit Manhattan skyline. Below us, the city streets were a grid of glittering gold and deep shadows, completely indifferent to the monster who now owned me. I looked down at the gold band on my left hand. It felt like a brand, searing hot against my skin. Tonight was supposed to seal the truce between the Volkov and Moretti empires. Instead, it was my execution.
Behind me, the heavy oak door clicked open.
Dante Moretti stepped into the room. I didn't turn around, but I could hear the smooth slide of his leather oxfords against the floor. He unbuttoned his tailored tuxedo jacket and loosened his black silk tie. Even without looking, I could feel his dark eyes tracking my silhouette against the glass. He possessed the kind of cold, lethal intelligence that made him the most feared underboss in the city-and as of three hours ago, my husband.
"You look sharp, Eli," Dante murmured. The sound of his low, raspy voice sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. I heard the amber liquid splash into two glasses as he poured from a crystal decanter. "But you look like you are waiting for an executioner."
"Just adjusting to my new reality," I said, keeping my back to him for a fraction of a second longer to steady my breathing. My heart was a hammer against my ribs, threatening to burst through my chest.
He walked over, his movements entirely silent, and extended a glass toward me. As my fingers brushed his, an unwanted jolt of static electricity shot straight up my arm. I forced myself to meet his gaze. His dark eyes locked onto mine with terrifying intensity.
Dante raised his glass, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "To a long, peaceful union."
"To the future," I replied hollowly.
We drank. The wine was rich, dark, and carried a faint, unexpected bitterness at the finish. I swallowed it down, forcing my expression to remain completely blank.
The moment he set his glass back down on the table, the numbness in my chest turned to pure fire. I knew I didn't have much time.
Years of brutal training under my father kicked in. In one seamless, desperate motion, I reached into my inner jacket lining, my fingers wrapping around the hilt of my silver stiletto blade. I lunged straight for Dante's throat.
Clang.
Metal never met flesh. Dante caught my wrist inches from his jugular. His grip was an iron vice, his expression unsettlingly calm. He didn't even flinch at the blade hovering near his neck. Instead, a slow, dark smile spread across his lips, and he pressed his thumb hard into the nerve of my wrist. My fingers went instantly weak.
"You're fast," Dante whispered, stepping directly into my space. He pressed his chest firmly against mine, using his height and body weight to completely neutralize my leverage. "But your father is predictable. He always sends his best weapon when he wants to break a promise."
"Let go of me," I hissed, struggling against his dead weight, but it was like trying to move a brick wall. "This truce was a lie from the start. One of us leaves this room dead, Moretti."
"Is that so?" Dante chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous, twisted amusement. He didn't disarm me; he just pinned my arm against the glass wall behind me, trapping me beneath him. "Tell me, Eli... how do your lungs feel right now? A bit heavy? Is your heart racing faster than a normal adrenaline rush?"
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my system. He was right. The heat behind my ribs was spreading rapidly, turning into a suffocating, heavy squeeze. My knees felt suddenly loose.
"What did you do?" I breathed, my vision beginning to blur at the edges.
"I knew your father would try to undermine the agreement before the ink on the contract even dried," Dante said, his voice dropping to a smooth, low rumble near my ear. "The wine, my dear husband. It's laced with a slow-acting neurotoxin. In about ten minutes, the paralysis hits your respiratory system."
My blade trembled in his grip. I could barely hold my head up. "You drank it too," I gasped, fighting for air. "You're a dead man."
"I took the antidote with my espresso an hour ago," he replied smoothly. He reached into his vest pocket with his free hand, pulling out a small, glass vial filled with a clear liquid. He held it up between our faces, just out of my reach. "This is the only thing that keeps you alive past midnight."
I glared at him through the rising haze of pain, swallowing down the copper taste of fear. "Kill me then. I'd rather choke on my own blood than be a Moretti lapdog."
"Oh, I don't want a lapdog, Eli. I want an equal," Dante said. His grip on my wrist finally loosened, though he stayed close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Your father didn't send you here to execute a target. He sent you on a suicide mission. He knew I'd be prepared. He wanted us to kill each other so he could claim the Moretti docks without a war."
The realization hit me harder than the poison. My father knew Dante's reputation. He knew this penthouse would be a cage. I wasn't the savior of the Volkov family tonight; I was just an expendable pawn discarded to clear the board.
"He wouldn't," I whispered, though deep down, I knew the brutal math of our world. My father loved power far more than he loved his own son.
"He would," Dante insisted, his dark eyes boring into mine, stripping away the last of my pride. "But we can change the script. Drink this antidote. Truly join me. Give me the encrypted access codes to your family's northern shipping routes, and together, we will burn your father's empire to ash. You won't be a sacrifice anymore. You'll be a king."
My breath hitched. The room was beginning to tilt. I looked at the vial, then up at my new husband-a monster, but the only one offering me a lifeline.
I let my fingers relax. The stiletto blade clattered loudly against the marble floor.
"Give me the vial," I rasped.
Dante's smile returned, fierce, possessive, and triumphant. He popped the stopper with his teeth and held the glass directly to my lips. "Drink, Eli. Our war starts tomorrow."