**Chapter 3: A Gilded Cage**

The white of my wedding dress was a lie. It was the color of surrender, of purity, of a blank slate. But I was none of those things. I was a storm dressed in silk, a vendetta wrapped in Chantilly lace.

The chapel was a cathedral of excess—candles dripping gold, orchids spilling from every surface, and a priest who looked like he’d been paid more for his silence than his piety. Dante’s men lined the pews, their black suits a stark contrast to the ivory and cream. Not a single guest smiled. Not a single one looked like they were here to celebrate.

They were here to witness. To confirm. To cement a deal.

Dante stood at the altar, a vision of effortless menace in a tailored black tuxedo. He watched me walk down the aisle with the predatory stillness of a wolf eyeing its prey. There was no warmth in his gaze, no flicker of affection. Just possession. Pure, unadulterated ownership.

I kept my chin high, my eyes fixed on the cross above his head. *I’m not marrying you,* I thought, my heels clicking against the marble in a slow, deliberate rhythm. *I’m infiltrating you.*

“Do you, Eva Moretti, take this man—” the priest began, his voice trembling.

“I do,” I cut him off, my voice steady. My father would have been proud. Or horrified. Probably both.

Dante’s lips twitched. He knew a weapon when he heard one.

The ceremony was over in ten minutes. Ten minutes to exchange vows I didn’t mean, to slip a gold band onto my finger that felt heavier than any anchor. Ten minutes to become the wife of the most dangerous man in the city.

And then it was time for the reception.

The ballroom was a sea of champagne and crystal, laughter that never reached anyone’s eyes, and toasts that bordered on threats. I smiled. I nodded. I played the part of the blushing bride, the radiant mafia wife, while my mind cataloged every detail.

The guard by the east stairwell. The keycard clipped to his belt. The hallway that led to Dante’s office, marked by a discreet brass plaque. I’d seen it during the tour of the estate, a sprawling mansion that was less a home and more a fortress. I’d need to get past the cameras, the guards, the motion sensors.

But I had time. I had a lifetime of nights ahead of me, pretending to be his.

“You’re doing well, *cara*.”

His voice was a low rumble at my ear, his hand settling on the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t fear. It was something else, something I refused to name.

“I told you,” I said, turning to face him, my smile sharp as a blade. “I can play any part you want.”

“That’s what I’m counting on.” His thumb traced a slow circle against my spine, his eyes dropping to my lips. “But remember, Eva. The best actors forget they’re acting. And I need you to forget. I need you to be mine.”

The words were a promise and a warning. My heart hammered against my ribs.

“Then earn me,” I whispered back, my voice dripping with challenge.

A flicker of something dark and hungry crossed his face. Before I could react, he’d pulled me onto the dance floor, his hand gripping mine, his other arm banding around my waist like steel.

“You want to know a secret, wife?” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear as we swayed. “I’ve never had to earn anything in my life. I take. And I keep.”

I laughed, a breathless, brittle sound. “Then you’ve never met someone like me.”

“No,” he agreed, his eyes burning into mine. “I haven’t.”

The dance spun on, a dizzying waltz of power and tension. I could feel the eyes of his men on us, watching, assessing. I could feel the weight of the marriage certificate, folded in my garter, a piece of paper that legally bound me to a monster.

But I wasn’t a wife. I was a spy. A saboteur. A viper hidden in a wedding gown.

By the time the night wound down, and the last of the guests had filed out, I was exhausted. Dante led me up the grand staircase, his hand firm on my elbow, guiding me toward the master suite. The door loomed before us, ornate and heavy, a gilded cage waiting to close.

He paused, his hand on the handle. “Eva.”

I looked up, my breath catching. For a moment, the mask slipped. The cold, calculating man I’d married vanished, and I saw something raw underneath. Something almost human.

“Tonight, you sleep alone,” he said, his voice rough. “I have business to attend to.”

Relief flooded through me, sharp and sweet. But so did something else. A pang of... disappointment?

*No. Focus. You’re here for revenge, not romance.*

He pushed the door open, revealing a room that was more museum than bedroom. Antique furniture, silk drapes, a bed so large it could swallow me whole. It was beautiful. It was a prison.

He stepped aside, letting me pass, but his hand caught my wrist before I could disappear into the room. His grip was gentle, but unyielding.

“One more thing,” he said, his eyes dark and unreadable. “The office at the end of the east hall. Stay out of it.”

My heart stuttered. He knew. He had to know.

“Why?” I asked, keeping my voice innocent.

His smile was a knife’s edge. “Because the last person who went in there without my permission is buried in the rose garden. The flowers are lovely this time of year.”

He released me, his fingers trailing down my arm like a ghost’s touch. Then he was gone, his footsteps fading down the hall.

I stood in the doorway, trembling. Not with fear. With fury. With a burning, all-consuming need for justice.

I shut the door, my gaze fixed on the ornate keyhole. A single key glinted in the lock. He’d left it there. A test. A trap.

Or maybe, just maybe, an invitation.

I crossed the room, my heels silent on the thick carpet. My hand hovered over the key. The rose garden outside my window seemed to whisper my name.

If I went to his office, I might find everything I needed. Evidence. Proof. The key to bringing Dante Rossi to his knees.

If I went, I might never come back.

I turned the key. The lock clicked open with a sound like a gunshot.

I slipped out into the dark hallway, my heart pounding in my ears. The east stairwell loomed ahead. And somewhere beyond it, the truth.

I took a step. Then another.

A hand clamped over my mouth, yanking me back against a wall of solid muscle.

“I warned you, *cara*,” Dante’s voice purred in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “But you just couldn’t resist, could you?”

I struggled, but his grip was iron. I could feel his smile against my cheek.

“Now,” he continued, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Let’s see how well you play the part of a *dead* wife.”