His Brother's Bride To Be

uci

daughter of a mafia don. For example, being the daugh

onths ea

Crafted from Sicilian silk, as black as midnight, it fits so snugly it feels more like a protective shell than an outfit

isper that appear

h sentiments

ing bloodshed in the dark. My role? To sit, smile, and memorize names that wo

cia

ing like a storm in a suit that's far too formal for his car

funeral in huma

ook lifeless enough, they'll leave me alon

teo interjects, leaning into the narrow space by

grips with the complexities of the Mafia world. Until he turned 18, Father kept him ou

s trusted legal and strategic advisor long before I was born. Matteo and I

ch places with you in a

e an e

hours of tactics and

as Father's prized possessio

. In our world, being seen isn't a compliment-it's a danger. The m

smooth. My reflection stares back, just as it sh

Father?

The Russians aren't fond o

like anyone," I mutt

t as terrible as they say. Some folks c

il has charm." I said,

pping away fro

rian Orlov doesn't just play the game

ar at some of the several galas I've attended as the Sicilian princess. He boasts a solid

coat, its weight familiar across my sh

older ghosts. Outside, the evening sky looks br

n unreadable, eyes fixed ahead. Power makes people stil

told you?" he says w

necessary. Don't challe

d gi

ined to negotiate and kill if needed, yet somehow still a "good girl." I r

ortress carved out of winter. Marble walls gleam under torchlight, tall and

Russia," Fa

the underworld,

esn't

s through my coat as

t doors, heading towards the meeting ro

he oppressive silence of this place, which consumed warmth and left only hollow echoes. I had grown up by the sea, wh

ur eyes open, figlia mia. These men speak with s

gh the heavy oak doors, I lingered in the foyer, inexplicably dra

courtyard, where half-buried statues resembled the phantoms of fallen warriors. I cr

as when I

e resonated from so

ttle dove,

ped ar

road-shouldered, possessing a kind of dark handsomeness that seemed to embody sin rather than sunlight. He exuded a casual s

might

," he remarked, casually flic

ther, if you value ma

pped closer, the smoke trailing be

house. But I suppose most guests

y suit you, signore. Giv

just keen observ

gaze was intense and scrutinizing, as if he wer

," he remarked lazily. "You strid

torms in their wake, and Russians

full of delight. He moved closer, allowing me to notic

find Russian bites more formi

'll bit

ck with an unnamed tension-part danger, part charm. Suddenly, a doo

icking the last spark

re someone views you as a p

my chin d

oblem here, it's

laugh echoed

no idea

ink it matters..." My shoulder grazed him as I walked away-my

ngerous glimmer flickering

ter, princess. I

ng table sat Lorenzo Orlov, the imposing Russian patriarch, the boss of the Russian Mafia-a mountain of

ate were playing a crue

tion, the cigarette was gone, but the trademark smi

Orlov and his younger son, Roman. They are our hosts. I was in

arked, his tone steady, courteous, and

his