His Savage Ruin - Bonus Prologue - Faye Pierce

His Savage Ruin – Bonus Prologue

Alessia

Seven months earlier…

My father calls me into his study at ten in the morning, and I know something is wrong because he never wants to see me before noon.

He’s a man of habits—late breakfasts, later drinks, and a general disdain for anything that interrupts his own routine. So when Marta, the housekeeper, knocks on my door and tells me that “your father requests you, now,” I already know whatever’s coming isn’t good.

The hallway outside his study feels colder than usual. I can hear the low hum of his favorite jazz record playing behind the door, the one he puts on when he wants to seem calm. I hesitate for a heartbeat before I push it open.

He’s sitting behind his desk with a glass of whiskey in his hand, even though it’s barely past breakfast. The curtains are drawn, shutting out the daylight, and the air is thick with the smell of cigars and stale liquor. The ashtray beside him is already full.

“Sit down, Alessia.”

He doesn’t look at me when he says it, just stares at the amber liquid in his glass like it holds the answers he’s been searching for his entire life.

I sit in the chair across from him and fold my hands in my lap to stop them from shaking because I already know this conversation is not going to be good. My father doesn’t call me into his study for good news.

“I’ve made an arrangement.” He still won’t look at me and that tells me more than his words do. “With the Moretti family. You’re getting married to Lorenzo Moretti, Don Emilio’s son.”

The words hit me and for a second I can’t process what he just said because surely, he didn’t just tell me he’s arranged my marriage without asking me. My stomach drops and my hands go cold but I keep my face neutral because showing fear around my father only makes situations worse.

“When?” The word comes out steadier than I feel.

“One month.” He finally looks at me and his eyes are tired and empty in a way that makes him look like a stranger. “The wedding is in one month.”

One month to prepare for marriage to a man I’ve never met, never even heard of beyond the Moretti name that everyone in Chicago knows means danger. I can feel panic trying to claw its way up my throat but I swallow it down because breaking down in front of my father will only make him angry.

“I don’t know him.” My voice is still steady but my heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my wrists. “I’ve never even met him.”

“You’ll meet him before the wedding.” My father pours himself another drink and I watch the bottle shake slightly in his hand. “This is not a discussion, Alessia. This is already decided. Don Emilio has agreed to clear my debts and bring me deeper into the family business in exchange for the marriage.”

And there it is. The real reason he’s marrying me off to a stranger. Not because Lorenzo Moretti is a good match or because this will benefit me in any way. Because my father gambled away money he didn’t have and now he’s paying his debts with me instead of cash.

“I’m twenty,” I whisper. “I don’t want to get married to a stranger.”

“I know, my dear.” His words sound almost gentle, which makes them worse. “But there’s nothing else I can do.” He drains the glass and stares past me. “This is the world we live in, Alessia. You should be grateful I was able to arrange this instead of something worse.”

Something worse. Like there’s something worse than being sold to a man I’ve never met to pay off debts I didn’t create, debts from my father’s gambling problem that he’s never been able to control. I want to scream at him, but I know it won’t change anything. The deal is already made.

I leave his study and go to my room and sit on my bed staring at nothing. One month until I marry a stranger. One month until my life stops being mine and starts belonging to Lorenzo Moretti.

***

The wedding happens exactly one month later, in a church I’ve never seen before. The flowers smell expensive, like roses imported from a country I’ll never visit. The guests are all strangers—men in tailored suits, women dripping in diamonds. My father’s arm is locked around mine as he walks me down the aisle. His grip is so tight it feels like a warning. Don’t run.

At the altar stands Lorenzo Moretti.

He’s tall, broad-shouldered, perfectly put together. Handsome, in a way that’s almost cruel. His dark hair slicked back, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. The kind of man who could make a room go quiet by walking into it.

If I didn’t know better, I might think he looks kind. But I do know better. His eyes are cold, controlled, studying me like he’s already memorized what he’s bought. When our gazes meet, something in my chest twists.

The ceremony passes in a haze. The priest’s voice echoes in the vaulted ceiling, but I barely hear him. I repeat the words I’m told to repeat. I nod when I’m supposed to.

My hands don’t stop trembling until Lorenzo takes them. His palms are warm, his touch firm. Possessive. He slides the ring onto my finger—it’s heavy, gleaming, too tight—and it feels less like jewelry and more like a lock clicking shut.

When he leans in to kiss me, his hand curls around the back of my neck, forcing me to stay still. His lips are soft, but his grip is hard. I can’t move even though every part of me wants to pull away.

The reception is endless. People congratulate us and Lorenzo keeps me glued to his side with his arm tight around my waist. Every time I try to move away or speak to someone his grip gets tighter. He introduces me as if I am his property. The way he clasps me makes me feel like his plaything.

I look at my father across the room, laughing, surrounded by men whose loyalty he’s just bought with me.

And I know, in that moment, that whatever debt he thought he was paying…

I’ll be the one who keeps paying it.