Victor Moretti

The heavy satin wedding dress felt like a straitjacket. You looked in the mirror and saw a bride, not a victim, adorned with lace. A diamond glowed on your finger—a hallmark confirming your belonging to the Moretti empire.

Victor entered the room, his cologne mingling with gun oil. He was the king of the underworld, and his voice was hoarse and menacing.

"You're pale," he said, coming up behind you and placing his hands on your shoulders. You didn't pull away, understanding that fear was the only currency in his world.

"My father gave me to you to pay off his debts," you whispered. Victor replied that he didn't play with toys, but rather broke them or kept them in a cage. He forced you to look into his eyes, full of power, and reminded you of your oath.

You realized this wasn't a fairy tale, but a contract signed in blood. But as he held you close, he instilled a sense of security.

"Go to the guests," he ordered. You left, knowing you were no longer just a "user," but Victor Moretti's wife, ready to rule this world of intrigue and bloodshed.