Sins of the Saverios

Candela's P.O.V.

With my cap clutched in one hand, I looked past the rowdy crowd of graduates and their families, my eyes scanning the sea of hugs, cheers, and flying caps. My heart skipped when I spotted the familiar black Mercedes parked just beyond the school gate.

A spark of hope fluttered in my chest as I pushed through the crowd, weaving between families wrapped in celebration. Maybe he came this time. Maybe today was different.

But as I reached the car and peered through the tinted glass, my shoulders sagged. It was just Mateo the driver. Always Mateo. He sat stiffly in the front seat, his grey hair standing out like wiry threads, aging him more than his years.

Behind me, laughter erupted parents cheering, taking photos, holding their children tight. I turned once more, searching for a familiar face, for him, but found none.

"We don't have all day, Miss Rodrigo," came Marco's voice, gruff and indifferent. I turned to see him leaning against the passenger side with that sincere smile plastered on his face. He could always read my mood. It was routine by now, me finishing some big milestone and looking disappointed because Brown Rodrigo, my guardian, wasn't there to witness it.

I forced the emotion down and opened the car door. I wasn't a little girl anymore, I was twenty-two. Vulnerability had no place in my life now. Straightening my shoulders, I slipped into the back seat, shutting the door behind me and immediately peeling off the graduation gown like it weighed a thousand pounds.

"Congratulations, Miss," Mateo said kindly, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. I gave him a small smile but said nothing.

"Mr. Rodrigo had some things to settle at work," he added.

Of course he did.

I smiled again, this time more sadly, no longer trying to hide the ache. This has become the norm. Mateo would pick me up, offer a polite excuse, and I'd tell myself I was fine.

And really, I should be. Where Brown lacked as a parent, he compensated tenfold in other ways. He gave me everything shelter, education, the best dance training money could buy. I spoke fluent Spanish, English and the tribe of the country I was currently in. I had a name that carried weight. All thanks to him.

He didn't have to take me in when no one else would. But he did. For that, I owed him everything.

One day, I'd repay his kindness.

I just didn't know how close that day truly was.

The engine growled to a stop as we pulled into the sprawling compound of the Rodrigo estate. The towering white duplex stood proudly, its high glass windows gleaming under the sun.

But something was different. My eyes caught a second car, a sleek, dark sedan parked beside Brown's usual spot.

My heart leapt.

He was home?

Without waiting for the driver to open the door, I jumped out, excitement rushing through me. The sting from earlier evaporated as I ran up the marble steps. I could finally tell him. I could finally say it.

I graduated. And I graduated top of my class.

I pushed the front door open and stepped into the hallway, already imagining the proud smile I hoped to see on his face.

"Brown?" I called, breathless. My heels clicked against the glossy tiles as I moved toward his office. "I did it!"

But the moment I pushed open the office door, I froze.

Four pairs of eyes turned toward me.

And just like that, the warmth drained from my chest.

Brown Rodrigo sat at his desk, unreadable as always. Beside him were three unfamiliar men, each with cold eyes and sharp suits that screamed danger.

Whatever this was, it wasn't a celebration.

It was something else entirely. The look on their face was gloomy and rather too alert.

"Here she is," Brown announced, his eyes still locked on mine, a smirk appearing slowly on his lips.

What does that mean?

One of the men rose to his feet, his sharp eyes sweeping over me like I was a prize on display. I resisted the urge to cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling naked in my backless, knee-length gown.

"I'm sure she'll do," he said, a crooked smirk playing on his lips. "She's hot."

Hot.

That word hit me like a slap.

I stood frozen at the doorway, my fingers tightening around the folds of my gown. I wasn't a piece of property. I wasn't some damn ornament to be appraised.

"What's going on?" I asked, my voice quivering, pushing past the lump in my throat. "What does he mean?" I turned to Brown...no, Brian Rodrigo,the man who raised me, clothed me, paid for everything I owned. His eyes had grown cold, unreadable again, that wall he always hid behind firmly in place.

"Leave us," he said to the men, and they obeyed instantly.

The room fell into silence, the door closing with a soft thud behind them.

"Brian... is everything okay?" My voice wavered this time. There was a different kind of tension in the air. Thick, dark, and suffocating.

He didn't speak right away.

Instead, he stood slowly, rounding the desk like a judge about to pass sentence. His gaze was stone, sharp and unrelenting. I shivered under its weight.

Then, finally, he spoke. "Congratulations, girl." His lips curved into a small, tight smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Relief flooded through me. My shoulders relaxed slightly and a smile of my own broke free.

"I graduated top of my class," I blurted. "And my thesis got the highest score in..."

"Good," he cut in, already turning away from me. "An intelligent wife would be an asset."

I blinked. The words made no sense.

Wife?

"What did you just say?"

He didn't answer. He made his way to the mini bar tucked in the corner of his office, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and drank straight from it with no glass, no pause.

Typical. Disgusting. But my mind wasn't on that.

"Brian..." I stepped forward, trying to catch his gaze. "What did you mean? An asset? Wife?"

He turned back to me, this time his expression was... steel. Cold certainty carved into the lines of his face. The man who'd taken me in at twelve, who had promised to protect me. Who had been my only family.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

And then he smiled.

That slow, poisonous smile that always preceded something awful.

"Piccolo," he said, the nickname wrapping around me like a wet towel, "it's time you represent me. Time to show your gratitude."

I blinked hard, as if that would shake off the chill crawling down my spine. I pinched the side of my arm hard. A small, sharp pain. I was awake. Very awake.

He didn't wait for my reaction. "They're coming over three days from now... to get a wife."

My stomach clenched. "And?" I asked, even though I already knew. Even though my gut twisted in dread.

"You will be their bride."

The air rushed out of my lungs.

I stared at him, trying to process the words. Trying to find logic where there was none.

I laughed, a weak, disbelieving sound. "Oh, Sofia wouldn't like that," I said, trying to divert the attention from me to his only daughter "She's your daughter, your first daughter. Arranged marriages like this they're meant for her."

That was the rules not mine.

Brian's eyes narrowed, the smile vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

"That's exactly why you will be the one getting married," he said, each word sharp as broken glass.

What does that mean?

I wanted to open my mouth to argue, to let him know I wasn't his daughter even though he had stood in as my parent for years but it felt like words had been knocked out of my throat.

The silence between us stretched, heavy and unforgiving.

This wasn't supposed to be a big deal, I tried to tell myself. Just another one of his sick games.

But then I saw it the look in his eyes. That final, chilling glint that told me the real bomb was yet to drop.

My heart pounded. "Which family?" I whispered.

He didn't answer right away.

He walked slowly back to his chair, sat down like a king in a courtroom, and finally spoke.

"The Saverios," he said after a long, deliberate pause.

My blood ran cold.

The Serverio family wasn't just powerful. They were dangerous. Whispers of their name sent shudders through political circles, criminal empires, and elite socialites alike. They were untouchable. Ruthless. And worst of all they were...

Even the thought of it made me want to throw up.

They were my parent's killers...