Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Arabella: Why don’t you tell your fiancé that his brother is harassing you?
Me: I’m new to their family and I don’t want to be the reason that more distance is created between the two brothers. They already seem like they don’t get along or I get the feeling they don’t.
Arabella: Why do you say that?
Me: There’s a lot of… tension between them. It’s like they have a personal vendetta against each other.
Since the night at The Pit, I hadn’t seen Adrian once.
Matteo, on the other hand, I had seen plenty. After all, it was our courtship period and the goal was for us to get to know each other.
We had two dinners with my family.
And then we spent a day at the Salvatore’s art galleries in New York. Of course, chaperoned by Damon and Giulia. The whole thing had been structured, modest… almost like we were characters in a different time period. Two centuries ago.
Our courtship was meant for us to get to know each other. To assess each other.
And I had assessed Matteo plenty.
If there was one thing I understood of my future husband it was that he was competitive with his brother in a way that was more than just simple sibling rivalry.
Though it was never direct, every time Adrian’s name surfaced in a conversation, Matteo somehow always had to prove that his brother was too irresponsible… too impulsive… too depraved.
A monster, he had reminded me the night we watched Adrian’s fight at The Pit.
It couldn’t be more obvious that Matteo didn’t like Adrian.
And that he saw Adrian as a rival.
In pride. Ego. Wealth. Status.
Then it made me start to wonder if he was afraid of being overthrown. But that didn’t track according to Giulia’s tales of her brothers.
Adrian was the Salvatore’s Capo—he commanded a crew of soldiers and associates. He did the dirty work that didn’t get spoken about at dinner tables and had earned his rank in blood.
He was respected, feared, and politically important. Men were loyal to him.
But the throne was never his to inherit, and according to Giulia, he had no interest in it.
Matteo was the Underboss. The polished heir. The future of the Salvatore name, waiting on Enzo’s retirement or last breath. I understood the pressure he was under. As heir, every move Matteo made was measured against some invisible standard set by his father and by the Cosa Nostra.
On the other hand…
Adrian existed outside all of that—free to be reckless, free to disappear. He seemed to prefer it that way and he was perfectly satisfied with his status now.
So, why?
Why did Matteo look at Adrian like the only man born to steal what was always meant to be his?
Arabella: Sibling rivalries?
Me: Perhaps…
Arabella: Or insecurities?
What could Matteo possibly be insecure about?
And why did Adrian hate him?
I remembered our time at the stable, when I had seen pure rage and hatred in Adrian’s eyes at the mention of Matteo.
He said I knew nothing about his relationship with his brother and he wasn’t wrong.
I shouldn’t have cared. I had no reason to care… but for some absurd reason, I was curious.
I was marrying into this family and understanding their dynamics was simply part of that. My curiosity was a practical necessity, nothing more. After all, Matteo was going to be my husband. I needed to understand him better than anyone else.
That was solely the reason why I was curious.
A knock at my door interrupted my thoughts. I glanced up, my heart skipping a beat with that familiar anxiety that had become my constant companion.
“Just a minute,” I called out, quickly typing a final message.
Me: Gotta go. I’ll read your chapter tonight. Talk later?
Arabella: Stay strong, beautiful. Talk later!
I tucked my phone under my pillow and smoothed my dress before opening the door. To my relief, it was Giulia, her face flushed with excitement, eyes sparkling with an energy that seemed impossible given the circumstances of our lives.
I just couldn’t understand how she was always so… cheery.
“Serafina!” she exclaimed, grabbing my hands. “It’s here! Your dress has arrived! Thank God, my mom and I were starting to get worried. She called the store this morning and made it very clear they didn’t want to test her patience.” She paused, inhaling like she was out of breath.
“Woah, slow down,” I said. “I always had faith we’d get my dress on time.”
Because I had faith my wedding was going to be perfect.
It had to be perfect.
The dress. The bride. The groom. The guests. The food.
Everything was going to be… perfect.
I believed it.
“It’s good that you had faith because I was freaking out a little. But my mom spoke to the designer whom she’s very close to and she was promised it would be delivered tonight!”
She tugged at my arm, pulling me into the hallway. “Come on, it’s time for your final fitting. I’ve been dying to see how it looks on you.”