His Bride Of Revenge

**Elena's POV**

The vase smashed against the wall, shattering into pieces before I even realized I'd thrown it. Water sprayed everywhere, and the tulips lay scattered across the wet floor.

My father's voice still echoed in my head.

"Your wedding is in two weeks."

Two freaking weeks!

My fingers curled around the edge of the table, itching to grab something else and hurl it across the room, but I knew it wouldn't matter; nothing I broke would fix any of this.

I stared at the mess on the floor, the tulips crushed beneath my heel, and my chest tightened.

For a second, I could see my mother's hands pressing bulbs into the earth as I watched her, waiting for the smile she always gave me when she caught me looking.

"Gosh, I missed those smiles so much it hurt."

Nothing felt real anymore, not since the crash.

My shoulders slumped, and I let the numbness wash over me, too tired to fight it.

Then the door creaked open behind me. "Elena."

I turned, and my father stood there.

"You already set the date?" I shot at him, not even waiting for him to enter the room.

He exhaled slowly and quietly. "It's about time." His eyes were fixed on the wall just beyond my shoulder, avoiding my gaze. He kept staring there as he said, "Stefano is coming for lunch tomorrow."

"Lunch?" A bitter laugh escaped me. "You're planning my wedding like it's a business meeting."

"It is business," he replied gently. "You've been through so much, Cara mia. Stefano is a good man, and his father was my friend. This marriage will keep you safe."

Safe.

I flinched at the word and let my shoulders slump slightly, letting out a sharp sigh. The word felt like a lie every time I heard it.

I bent down to pick up the shattered vase, pretending to care about the mess because I couldn't look at him. "If safety is what you want, Father, then build me a prison," I whispered, barely audible.

"You think I haven't already lost enough? Your mother..."

"Don't," I interrupted, tears building up. "Don't use her to justify this."

He sighed deeply, running a hand over his face. "You'll understand one day."

"I understand perfectly," I whispered, the ache in my chest deepening.

He turned to leave, and the door closed behind him, leaving a silence heavier than his words.

I stayed there, my knees pressed into the wet floor, watching the water creep up my dress until it clung to my skin.

Three long months had passed since the crash. Two months had passed since I woke up and found my life rewritten.

People kept saying I was lucky to be alive, but I never felt lucky. Some days, I wished I hadn't woken up at all, because at least then I might finally get some peace.

There was just this emptiness inside me, as if something important had been scooped out, leaving nothing but the empty space.

I walked to the window and pressed my palm against the cold glass, staring out at Milan spread below, all lights and movement and freedom. And I felt smaller than ever, trapped on the wrong side of the glass.

I thought of my mother, who died in a shootout four years ago, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was the cost of my father's world.

After that, he promised to keep me safe, but his protection felt like a cage.

For a moment, I imagined a different life. My mother would still be alive, and my father would be just an ordinary man. Maybe I'd be out somewhere, laughing over coffee, thinking about something as simple as falling in love.

Love?

Would I ever really know what love was supposed to feel like? The thought tightened my throat.

A deep ache spread in my chest.

Stefano.

I briefly remembered the moment he entered my father's office.

At first, I couldn't help but stare. He was extremely good-looking, sure, but there was something about the way he looked at me, those cold hazel eyes and the dark snake tattoos curling up his hands and neck, that made my skin crawl.

Whatever curiosity I had died instantly, replaced by a knot of fear in my stomach. He looked exactly like a man who could smash a life just by getting bored.

The door opened again, interrupting my thoughts. My brother's voice cut through the silence.

"Elena?"

I turned to him, and my heart felt a little lighter. "Did he send you to check on me?"

Elario leaned against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. "Maybe."

I almost managed a smile. "Then tell him I'm fine."

He looked closely at me. "You're holding broken glass."

I looked down, surprised to see blood forming on my fingers. I hadn't felt a thing, but the blood was real on my skin.

Elario stepped in and gently took the glass from my hands. "Everything will be okay," he said, his voice warm and reassuring.

"Will it?"

He paused, searching for the right words. "Stefano's not a bad man."

"You sound like Papa."

"I'm just saying, he's... respected."

"In our world, that word doesn't mean safe. It means feared," I retorted.

He fell silent.

"Do you think she'd be proud of him? Of what he has done to keep us safe?" I whispered.

Elario's expression softened. "She would want you alive."

"That's not the same," I said, my voice thick with emotion.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face. "Try to rest. Tomorrow will be a long day for you."

It finally dawned on me that I had nowhere to escape, no options left, only this life I never wanted.

I dug through my dresser until my fingers closed around the thin gold chain my mother used to wear. I hadn't touched it in years, but just holding it made something warm flicker in my chest, as if she were still here for a second.

I fastened the necklace and stared at my reflection.

The girl in the mirror looked washed out, her hair too bright against skin that had faded, and her blue eyes, dull and exhausted.

I barely recognized myself.

There was a gentle knock at the door. It was my father again.

"Elena," he said softly from the doorway. "We need to talk."

"You've already said all there is to say."

He paused, his voice filled with concern. "Still, you deserve to know why."

Reluctantly, I turned to him. "Fine. Explain why you're selling me off to the Bernados."

"Watch your tone," he warned, the muscles in his jaw suddenly clenching.

"I'm not one of your men," I snapped, my voice sharpened by anger. I leaned forward slightly, driving the point home. "Stop barking orders; I won't obey."

He closed the distance between us, his gaze pleading for me to understand. "Do you really think I want this? Do you think I want my daughter to marry for protection rather than love?"

"Then stop it," I pleaded, desperate for him to hear me out.

With a slow shake of his head, he continued, "The Lorusso clan won't stop until we're destroyed. Three months ago, they ambushed our men in broad daylight, killing two and injuring others. They're relentless, and the threat grows each day. Stefano's family has men and resources. He's loyal. This alliance is meant to keep you safe. I don't want you to get hurt anymore."

"You think a ring can protect me better than your guns ever could?" I challenged, my voice trembling with emotion.

His silence spoke volumes.

"I need some air," I muttered, rubbing my temples hard. I wasn't even trying to hide how done I was with all of this.

As I approached the door, my heart raced, weighed down by my reality. "You can't keep me locked away forever."

"I never meant to," he said quietly behind me.

I spun around to face him, my voice sharp, strained by the effort of holding back tears. "I'll never forgive you. Not for this."

He met my gaze, and for the first time, I saw how tired he was, as if all his hidden worries were finally surfacing.

"You don't have to forgive me," he said, his voice low. "Just promise me you'll stay alive."

I couldn't find the words to respond.

I stepped into the hallway, my hands trembling so badly I had to shove them into my pockets just to keep it together.

Tomorrow, I'd have to sit across from Stefano Bernardo, the man my father believed could keep me safe.

I pressed my palm to my chest, feeling my heart slam against my ribs, wild and out of control.

As I descended the stairs, the house was quiet except for the gentle hum of the TV downstairs.

Then I heard our family name.

"The Castellano-Bernardo alliance is likely to deepen the connection between the two most influential families in Milan..."

For a moment, I was completely frozen, my hands gripping the handrail. The words on the TV felt disconnected, as if they belonged to someone else's life, not mine.

My bare feet hit the cold tile as I made my way down the stairs, one slow step at a time.

On the screen, a headline scrolled across the bottom:

CASTELLANO HEIRESS ENGAGED TO STEFANO BERNARDO.

I took a shaky breath, my mouth wide open, as I stared at the screen and the reality finally set in. This was really happening.