They married in the chapel beneath the estate — ancient stone, lit only by flickering candlelight and the soft rhythm of rain overhead.
There were no guests.
No flowers.
No music.
Just him.
Just her.
And the priest who didn't dare ask questions.
Luciano stood in a black suit, the collar of his shirt soaked in blood from the wound he refused to let anyone stitch. His eyes never left her. Not once.
Amethyst wore the moonlight-colored gown he had chosen days ago — the one she swore she'd never wear. Now, it fit like destiny. A knife disguised as silk.
Her heart beat like thunder.
The priest spoke the words.
"Do you, Luciano Valeri, take this woman—"
"I do," he cut in, voice rough and certain.
Amethyst swallowed. Her voice trembled, but her eyes did not.
"I do."
Luciano stepped forward.
He didn't lift her veil — because there wasn't one.
There was no pretending in this marriage.
No illusion.
When he kissed her, it was not soft or tender.
It was war.
A claim. A promise. A warning.
And she kissed him back like a crown was being fastened to her skull — heavy and cold, but hers.
When they pulled apart, the priest began to speak again, but Luciano raised a hand.
"One more vow," he said.
Amethyst looked up at him, confused.
Luciano reached into his jacket.
Pulled out a small knife.
Gasps echoed behind them — his guards, the priest, even the maid who had dared to peek in. But Luciano's eyes never left hers.
"Your blood for mine," he said softly. "No power greater."
Amethyst blinked. "You want a blood vow?"
He nodded. "It's how we seal family. Loyalty. Protection."
He offered the blade.
"You don't have to."
But she didn't hesitate.
She took the knife.
She sliced her palm clean and steady — and didn't flinch.
Luciano did the same.
Then he pressed his hand to hers.
Their blood mixed, warm and ancient and binding.
And just like that, it was done.
They were no longer strangers.
Not captor and captive.
Not killer and stolen girl.
Not even husband and wife.
They were allies.
Weapons.
A new empire waiting to rise.
When the others left, and the door sealed shut, he turned to her in the quiet.
"You're not afraid anymore," he said.
"No," she replied. "But you should be."
Luciano laughed — a low, hungry sound.
Then he pulled her to him, not like something delicate, but something unstoppable.
"You'll burn the world with me," he whispered.
She smiled — small, sharp, wicked.
"Only if I get to light the match."