Tempting The Devil’s Son

Gianna Voss POV

"We are supposed to be married next week, Dario! What the hell is wrong with you?"

My voice echoed off the high ceiling, the sharp click of my heels cutting through the silence of the hallway as I hurried after him.

Dario didn't alter his stride. He kept moving, treating my presence like background noise.

"You aren't taking the wedding preparations seriously at all, are you?" I demanded, finally catching up and wrapping my fingers around his arm.

He halted, pulling his arm hard from my grip. When he turned to look down at me, his gaze was flat. "Go home, Gianna. You're giving me a headache."

A familiar ache tightened in my chest. 

This was the Bellini family estate. They weren't just wealthy, they held the entire city in a suffocating grip.

Everyone feared them. And for as long as I could remember, anchoring myself to the Bellini name had been my consuming obsession.

Our parents had been associates for decades, but Dario and I had never been close. In college, he was a bully.

He treated me like dirt, cutting me down with sharp words and pushing me away. But I had been stupidly, deeply in love anyway.

I used to trail behind him like a shadow. I sneaked into dangerous parties just to watch him from across the room.

I changed my hair, my makeup, and the way I dressed, desperate to match the aesthetic of the wild girls he cycled through his bed. But he never truly saw me. 

But now, the power dynamic has shifted.

My father’s empire was bleeding out, teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. If the press caught wind of it, the Voss name would be dragged through the mud.

Nobody knew the truth except me and my dad, not even my mother. 

My father was a proud man who swore he would rather die than beg for a handout. Instead, he begged me to keep his secret. The only lifeline left to save our family was this alliance with Dario.

It was a calculated arrangement to merge our families' interests so my dad could recover his shares.

But I wasn't just doing this to play the dutiful daughter. This was my golden opportunity. Dario’s father had forced him into the arrangement, and even though Dario loathed it, I didn't care. 

I would rather have him to myself by force and compel him to look at me than watch him belong to another woman.

"I won't go home," I said as my voice trembled. "We are getting married in seven days. You need to start acting like it."

Dario went perfectly still. He turned back around, his eyes flashing with sudden, sharp annoyance.

"Can you just leave me alone for five minutes, Gianna?" He rolled his eyes, spitting out my surname like it was a disease. "Voss."

But he wasn't finished. "You have everything you need to handle this wedding. I don’t have to lift a finger for you," he sneered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Or are you short on cash? Is that it? Can you not afford a decent wedding planner?"

I froze, the air leaving my lungs in a sharp gasp. “Did he know? Did he find out about the bankruptcy?” But I forced my expression to remain blank.

No, there was no way. He couldn't know. 

The secret was locked tightly between me and my father. Desperate to steer him away from the ledge, I quickly shifted the topic before he could read the terror in my eyes.

"I just wanted to know your preference, that’s all," I mumbled, looking down at my shoes.

"I want this to be right, Dario," I said, smoothing my tone into something sweeter.

"I want everything to go smoothly, but you didn't show up for the catering and cake selection. I’ve been handling every single detail by myself."

Dario let out a harsh, frustrated groan. "What damn cake selection are you even talking about? I don’t even like cakes."

"I just wanted to make sure it aligned with your preferences.” "And OfCourse I know you hate cakes, Dario."

"I know you only drink black coffee, that you race your sports cars down empty highways at midnight, and that you're deadly allergic to peanuts. I've spent years memorizing you."

Dario let out a short, dry laugh, but his eyes softened for a second, a flicker of something that wasn't hatred.

"You think you're the only one who has been watching, Gianna?" He took a step closer, his scent of expensive cologne clouding my senses. 

“You think I didn't see you at that warehouse party senior year? The one where those older guys cornered you in the back lot?"

I blinked, my breath hitching. I remembered that night vividly. I had been terrified, but then the guys had suddenly scattered, running away from a shadow I couldn't identify in the dark.

"That was you?" I whispered.

"I told them to run before I buried them," he said, his expression hardening as he masked his vulnerability. "I didn't do it because I liked you."

"I did it because you were too stupid to realize you were in a shark tank. I’ve spent half my life making sure you didn’t get yourself killed while you were busy playing detective."

“Now listen, if you fucking follow me again, I’ll punch you in the face," he snarled.

Before I could even process the revelation, he turned on his heel and strode out the front doors, slamming them so hard the glass panes rattled.

I stood alone in the quiet hallway, shivering. And instead of breaking into tears, a cold wave of determination settled over me.

Of course, a punch in the face would be way better than not marrying him at all. 

But he cared. Even if he wrapped it in cruelty, he had been watching over me. If this wedding fell through, my father’s ruin would be absolute. The Voss name would be obliterated. 

I couldn't allow that to happen. I would endure whatever he threw at me to ensure he stood at that altar, no matter how much it cut.

On my way out of the mansion, a sleek black sedan pulled up the driveway. Dario’s father stepped out.

I quickly offered a polite greeting. The aura of authority that radiated off that man was terrifying, it was easy to see why the streets whispered his name with trembling respect. They called him the Devil for a reason.

Later that night, I lay awake in bed, staring at the wedding checklist glowing on my phone. A notification interrupted my thoughts, an I*******m story update from Viva, one of Dario’s usual circle.

I only followed her to keep tabs on his whereabouts.

I tapped the screen, and my stomach turned.

The video was shot inside a crowded, exclusive VIP lounge. Dario was dead center, flanked by several women who were laughing and pressing their bodies against his. 

“Could he really not show a shred of respect for the fact that he was officially engaged?”

A sudden surge of anger replaced my hurt. If he refused to respect our arrangement in private, I would force his hand in public.

I slid out of bed and rifled through my closet until I found a backless red mini-dress. Skipping my usual makeup routine, I swiped a red lipstick across my lips and headed out into the night.

If he wasn’t going to introduce me to his world, I would introduce myself.

When I arrived at the club, two bouncers blocked the velvet rope, their expressions unreadable.

"I am Dario Bellini’s fiancée," I said, keeping my voice steady.

The moment the Bellini name cleared my lips, their posture changed instantly. They stepped aside, unhooking the rope and opening the doors for me. In this city, that name was a skeleton key.

I stepped into the dark, pulsing cavern of the club, the bass vibrating right through the soles of my shoes as I hunted for my fiancée.

The moment I breached the VIP section, the first thing I saw was Viva, grinding against Dario. He had his hands clamped around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

Anger flared inside me. I marched straight through the crowd and stopped right in front of them.

"What do you think you're doing?" I yelled over the deafening music. "Dario, for God's sake, you’re engaged! Have you no shame?"

Dario turned that same dark, furious gaze onto me. "Why do you always show up like a bad habit, Gianna?" he shouted, glaring at me.

"What is wrong with you? You look pathetic tracking me down like this. Maybe this whole wedding is a mistake. Maybe I should just call it off."

My world tilted. No. No, he couldn't. If he backed out, my family would be ruined by morning.

Before I could even swallow my panic, Dario turned to his table of friends, clearly heavily intoxicated. "Should I call off the wedding?" he shouted to the lounge.

"YES!" his friends roared back in unison, bursting into cruel laughter.

They looked at me like I was a clown and a wave of humiliation flooded my throat, making it hard to draw breath.

Then, Viva smirked. She tilted her glass, deliberately emptying her sticky cocktail right down the front of my dress. A few drops splashed straight into my eyes.

I stumbled backward, gasping as the alcohol stung my vision. I tried to wipe the liquid from my skin, but no one moved to help.

They just kept laughing, and the man I’m supposed to marry simply watched, a mocking smile returning to his lips as he masked whatever modern restraint he had left.

Unable to bear the weight of the room for another second, I turned and fled toward the restrooms.

I cleaned myself up as best as I could in front of the vanity, blinking away the sting of the alcohol and my own tears.

When I finally stepped back into the hallway, his friends were still at the table, but Dario was gone. 

Knowing they would never give me an honest answer, I approached one of the security guards stationed near the corridor. "Where did Dario go?" I asked.

The guard hesitated, his eyes darting away before he pointed down a dimly lit hallway. "He went toward the private executive restrooms in the back, ma'am."

I immediately followed the path. Despite the cruelty he had just allowed, he was drunk, and that lingering memory of him saving me years ago forced me to ensure he hadn't collapsed.

When I reached the back restroom, the outer lounge was silent but the final stall door at the very end of the row was slightly open.

I walked closer, my pulse hammering in my ears. I gently pushed the door open.

The sight inside made my knees go weak.

Dario was standing over the sink, his trousers undone, actively masturbating. On the marble counter beside him lay a small translucent bag of white powder and a rolled dollar bill. 

But it was the glowing screen of the phone in his hand that shattered what little was left of my heart. His eyes were glued to a playing video, and I recognized the girl instantly.

It was Franca Moretti. My best friend.

The only woman Dario Bellini had ever truly, desperately loved since college.