Rain poured like judgment over the cracked cobblestone alley behind Club Vanta, a place where secrets came to die. Elián Cruz stood handcuffed to a rusted pipe, shirt clinging to his soaked skin, lip split and swollen. Blood trickled down his chin and mixed with the dirty water pooling at his feet.

Across from him stood a man in all black, his presence colder than the storm. Tall. Silent. Unblinking.

Luciano De Luca.

The Don of the De Luca syndicate. The man they called The Viper—because when he struck, you didn’t feel it until you were already bleeding.

Elián lifted his head, jaw clenched. “I already told your men. I don’t know where my brother is.”

Luca’s polished shoes clicked with eerie rhythm against the wet stone as he stepped forward, each pace deliberate. His eyes—ice-gray, emotionless—swept over Elián, not with pity, but with the detached interest of a predator deciding whether to play or devour.

“You don’t need to know where he is,” Luca said, voice smooth and lethal. “Because you’re going to replace him.”

Elián narrowed his eyes. “The hell does that mean?”

Luca crouched, slow and calculating, until their faces were inches apart. “Your brother stole from me. Not just money—he sold my routes, betrayed my house, tried to vanish. Now the only thing keeping him breathing is you.”

Elián’s fists balled behind him. “So kill me, then.”

Luca smiled, but there was no humor in it. Only steel. “Tempting. But I don't waste beautiful things... when they can be broken slowly.”

Elián's heart thudded.

Luca rose to his full height, towering over him. “You’re going to marry me.”

The silence cracked louder than the thunder overhead.

Elián jerked back. “What?! You’re sick.”

Luca tilted his head, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “It’s not personal. It’s strategic. A De Luca marrying the brother of a traitor? It sends a message. Control. Redemption. Submission.”

“You think I’ll wear a ring and smile like your lapdog?” Elián spat. “Screw you.”

Luca turned as if bored. “You’ll do it because you love your brother. Because you're not stupid. And because you know I don't make threats—I make examples.”

“You don’t want me,” Elián growled. “You want power.”

“I already have power,” Luca said flatly. “What I want is for every enemy of mine to look at you and know you’re mine. A living, breathing symbol of my mercy—and my control.”

The handcuffs unlocked with a brutal snap. Elián gasped as his arms dropped, wrists raw and bleeding.

He stumbled to his feet, spine straight despite the ache in his muscles. “This is a damn circus to you.”

Luca took one slow step closer. “No. A circus entertains. I conquer.”

Their eyes locked in the downpour. Raindrops streaked across Elián’s cheeks, but his stare didn’t waver. Neither did Luca’s.

“You have 24 hours to decide,” Luca said softly. “Marry me, and you’ll be dressed in silk and chains. Refuse... and your body will vanish with your brother’s sins.”

Elián swallowed. The air felt colder. He knew monsters existed—he’d grown up around enough shadows to know when one was real.

But Luca wasn’t a monster.

He was a god dressed in ruin.

As the Don disappeared into the storm, leaving only the scent of cologne, blood, and rain behind, Elián was left alone with one cruel realization:

He wasn’t afraid of dying.

He was afraid of what would happen if he said yes.

Elián didn’t sleep.

Not in the alley. Not at the safehouse where Luca’s men dumped him hours later. The rain had stopped, but the cold inside him hadn’t.

He sat in silence on a leather couch, bandaging his wrists with a med kit someone had left nearby. Everything around him reeked of power—polished mahogany floors, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, soft golden lamps humming against velvet curtains.

A palace for a monster.

“Marriage,” he muttered, jaw tightening. “To that bastard?”

He gripped the gauze tighter, blood soaking through from his earlier struggle. It wasn’t the pain that bothered him—it was the choice. Or lack of one.

His brother had always protected him. Even when they had nothing. Even when their mother died and the streets became their home. Elián owed him his life. But this?

Becoming someone else’s... thing?

A knock echoed at the door. Sharp. Measured.

Elián stood slowly. “What now?”

A man entered—mid-thirties, quiet eyes, expensive suit. Not a thug. A handler.

“The Don requests your answer,” the man said, tone dry but polite. “You have one hour.”

“I thought I had twenty-four?”

“Your brother’s heart doesn’t.”

The door shut behind him before Elián could snap back.

He stared at the floor for a long moment, breathing through his rage. His hands shook—not from fear, but from the weight of the invisible chain tightening around his throat.

Then, a screen flickered on across the room.

Security feed.

One camera.

His brother, bound to a chair, bruised and unconscious.

Elián lurched forward. “No—no, no—”

He pressed against the screen, heart hammering. His brother’s chest moved slowly. Alive. Barely.

A note flashed across the bottom: Clock’s ticking, husband.

Elián slammed his fist into the wall, pain shooting through his knuckles.

This wasn’t a choice.

This was a leash disguised as a wedding band.

......................

Thirty minutes later, he was in a car.

No words. No guards with guns. Just him and the same handler from before, driving silently through the heart of the city as neon lights bled against the windows.

“I didn’t even get a ring,” Elián muttered.

The handler smirked. “You’ll get more than that.”

......................

The estate was cathedral-like. Old stone and glass wrapped in roses and secrets. Guards flanked the marble steps. The moment Elián stepped out of the car, the front doors opened like jaws.

Luca stood at the top of the stairs.

Black on black. No tie. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose a line of ink curling down his collarbone.

“Changed your mind?” Luca asked coolly.

“No,” Elián said. “I never had a choice.”

Luca walked down two steps. “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said.”

Elián stopped at the landing, chest heaving. “If I do this—if I say yes—you let him live. You let me live.”

“I keep what I own,” Luca replied. “And starting tonight, that includes you.”

His voice didn’t rise, but it scraped against Elián’s skin like a promise carved in glass.

Elián lifted his chin. “Fine.”

Luca smiled. “Good boy.”

The doors closed behind them, sealing Elián’s fate inside a house where power ruled, love was a myth, and submission was survival.

But as their shadows merged in the candlelight of the grand hall, Elián whispered in his head:

You can ruin me, Luciano.

But I’ll ruin you back.

The walls were too quiet.

Elián stood alone in a corridor that stretched like a spine through the heart of the De Luca estate. Everything smelled like polished wood, cigar smoke, and money. Oil paintings loomed over him—portraits of men with the same ruthless eyes as Luca. Each one looked like they killed for breakfast.

He hated it already.

Behind him, the grand hall echoed with footsteps—Luca’s, measured and slow.

“Follow me,” came the voice.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Elián obeyed, his shoes making the faintest sound on the marble. He didn’t speak, didn’t flinch, even as they passed armed guards dressed like groomsmen. The entire house felt like a war disguised as a wedding.

They stopped at a heavy black door. Luca opened it with one hand, stepping aside.

Elián entered the room cautiously.

A bedroom. Lavish but cold. Black sheets. Minimal decor. One window facing the city. No photos. No softness. Just sharp lines and control.

“This yours?” Elián asked.

Luca nodded. “Now it’s ours.”

Elián turned. “You’re kidding.”

“We’re married in name,” Luca said, stepping closer. “But image is everything. We share a room.”

“So I sleep where your bullets go?” Elián scoffed.

Luca didn’t answer. He walked to a tall cabinet, opened a drawer, and pulled out a folded tuxedo.

“Wear this. The ceremony is in one hour.”

“There’s a ceremony?” Elián laughed bitterly. “Do I get cake too?”

Luca looked over his shoulder. “No. But you’ll get watched. Photographed. Understood.”

“Understood?”

“Claimed,” Luca said, voice like gravel. “The world needs to see it. Touching you becomes a threat. Looking at you becomes a warning. You become untouchable because you’re mine.”

Elián’s stomach twisted, but he didn’t show it.

Instead, he dropped the tuxedo on the bed and stared at the older man. “You want a show? Fine. But don’t think you’ve tamed me.”

Luca moved in one slow step, stopping only inches away. “I don’t need to tame you, Elián. I just need you to stand where I place you.”

He reached out and hooked a finger under Elián’s chin. The touch was firm. Not gentle.

Elián didn’t back down. His eyes locked on Luca’s, defiant. “You think you own me?”

Luca’s gaze lingered on his lips. “I know I do.”

The moment cracked like thunder between them.

Then Luca turned away. “Get dressed.”

......................

The ceremony wasn’t romantic. It was business.

Elián stood beneath a vaulted archway, golden lights painting his skin while a crowd of dangerous men and elegant strangers looked on. None smiled. They observed like wolves watching another pack leader stake a claim.

Luca stood beside him, unreadable.

There were no vows. No music.

Just one sentence.

“I, Luciano De Luca, take this man as mine under oath and power.”

A ring was placed on Elián’s finger. Heavy. Custom. The De Luca crest carved into the metal like a warning.

Elián didn’t respond with words. He met Luca’s eyes, jaw clenched, and slipped the second ring onto Luca’s hand.

No kiss.

Only silence.

Only dominance.

When the officiant nodded, the room erupted into cold applause.

And that was it.

He was no longer Elián Cruz.

He was Elián De Luca.

The pet. The pawn. The proof.

As Luca led him away from the crowd and up the staircase to their room, Elián knew something with absolute clarity:

He had just been locked in a cage.

And now, he had to figure out how to turn it into a throne.