Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
The sleek Aston Martin purrs beneath me as we pull into the private driveway of my estate. The meeting with Easton leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Fucking marriage proposal. The audacity of that man never ceases to amaze me.
Alessio sits beside me, silent but alert, his eyes scanning our surroundings as the gates close behind us.
"That was a waste of time," I mutter, killing the engine.
Alessio's mouth twitches. "Not entirely. We confirmed what we already suspected—Easton's desperate to get his foot in our door."
"Through my fucking bedroom door, apparently." I grip the steering wheel tighter, then release it.
We exit the car and cross the foyer of my home. The scent of lemon polish and pine greets us as we step inside. Home. The only place I let my guard down, surrounded by the only people I trust.
Enzo meets us in the hallway, his expression eager and impatient. He's dressed casually in dark jeans and a gray henley, but his stance is anything but relaxed.
"How did it go with the old snake?" he asks, following us toward my office.
I loosen my tie, letting out a controlled breath. "Easton offered us Queens."
Enzo's eyebrows shoot up. "And what did he want in return? Your firstborn?"
Alessio snorts beside me. "Close enough."
"Tell Ginerva to prepare dinner. We need to talk, all of us." I cut him off from making other questions.
Enzo nods walking away from us, already pulling out his phone. "I'll let her know."
"You need to relax," Alessio says, his voice calm and measured. "Easton's playing games. Nothing we haven't dealt with before."
"A fucking marriage proposal," I mutter.
Alessio runs his thumb along his bottom lip, his eyes distant. "It's a move to get inside information. Nothing more."
"Let's go. I'm not discussing this on an empty stomach."
We head toward the dining room. The smell of Ettore's cooking—garlic, tomatoes, and fresh herbs—fills the air. My stomach growls in response.
When we enter the dining room, Enzo and Lucrezia are already seated at the large oak table.
My sister sits across from Enzo, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, paint smudges on her fingers and a charcoal streak across one cheek.
At twenty-two, Lucrezia is the spitting image of our mother—same large brown eyes, same delicate features that hide an iron will.
Tonight she's dressed in her usual all black, the top strategically ripped in places that would give our old-school Italian relatives heart attacks.
"Finally," Lucrezia says, dramatically throwing her hands in the air. "Please tell us whatever earth-shattering news you have quickly because I'm starving and Ettore made osso buco."
I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips.
Despite everything—the nightmares, Easton's proposal, the constant vigilance my position requires—Lucrezia's presence always lightens something in me.
She's the only pure thing in my life, the only one who's been protected from the worst of our family business.
"Patience was never your strong suit, piccola," I say, taking my seat at the head of the table.
She rolls her eyes at me. "I've been patient all day. I didn't even call you when the gallery rejected three of my pieces."
Ginerva enters with a steaming platter of osso buco, placing it in the center of the table. The rich aroma of slow-cooked veal and vegetables fills the room. She gives me a knowing look before stepping back.
"Thank you, Ginerva."
She nods and disappears back to the kitchen. The woman's been with our family since before my parents died. She knows when we need privacy.
I wait until everyone has served themselves before speaking. "Easton proposed a business arrangement for Queens."
"The catch," I continue, swirling the red wine in my glass, "is that he wants to solidify the arrangement with marriage."
Lucrezia freezes, fork halfway to her mouth. "What, like an actual arranged marriage?"
I take a long drink of my wine, letting the bold flavor coat my tongue. "He proposed I marry his daughter, Zoe. His ward, actually."
"You can't be serious," Enzo says, his expression darkening. "Tell me you laughed in his face."
"I declined." The wine glass makes a soft thud as I set it down. "Firmly."
Alessio stabs a piece of meat. "It's a transparent attempt to infiltrate our operation. Get someone on the inside."
Lucrezia's eyes widen. "Wait, you actually considered it?"
"No," I answer sharply. "I didn't consider it for a fucking second."
"Good," she says, relaxing back into her seat. "Because arranged marriages are barbaric."
Enzo sets his fork down, the metal clinking against fine china. "Maybe we should consider it."
I stop eating and stare at my brother. "Have you lost your fucking mind?"
"Hear me out," Enzo says, holding up his hands. "People are talking, Damiano. About you not being married."
"And I should care because?" The wine suddenly tastes bitter on my tongue.
Enzo leans forward, his face serious. "We know how these things work. The old families, they're whispering. Wondering if you're unstable after Bianca. Questioning if you can continue the Feretti line."
Her name hits me.
Bianca.
"Let them talk," I growl. "I don't answer to gossip."
"It's not just gossip," Enzo continues, ignoring the warning in my voice. "It's about perception. Power. A don without a wife, without heirs—it looks weak."
"I don't need a fucking wife to run this family."
Lucrezia shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "Enzo might have a point. Not about marrying Easton's daughter specifically, but about... moving on."
The temperature in the room seems to drop. I set my glass down with deliberate care, fighting to keep my voice level.
"Moving on?"
"It's been twelve years, fratello," she says softly, her eyes gentle. "Bianca would—"
"Don't." The word cuts through the air like a blade. "Don't tell me what she would want."
Alessio clears his throat. "Obviously Easton's proposal is bullshit. But Enzo's concern about appearances isn't entirely without merit."
I glare at him, feeling surrounded. "You too, Alessio?"
"I'm not suggesting you marry for appearance," he clarifies. "I'm suggesting we recognize that Easton touched on a vulnerability he thinks he can exploit. Our enemies see your lack of a wife as a weakness."
"My personal life is not up for fucking discussion," I say, my voice deadly quiet. "Not even at this table."
Silence stretches across the dinner table, thick and uncomfortable. The clink of silverware against china sounds thunderous in the quiet. I can feel their eyes on me, concerned and wary.
I take another sip of wine, letting the rich taste ground me. The nightmare from this morning feels closer somehow, more real. Bianca's face flashes behind my eyes—her smile, her laugh, the way she looked the last time I saw her alive.
Lucrezia breaks the silence first, setting down her fork with deliberate care.
"I'm not saying you should marry Easton's daughter," she says, her voice soft but determined. "I would never want you to marry someone you don't love."
I level a hard stare at her. "Love has nothing to do with this conversation."
"But it should." Lucrezia leans forward, those large brown eyes—so much like our mother's—fixed on me. "I believe in real love, Damiano. The kind that changes everything."
I scoff, but she continues.
"Maybe this girl is your karma, fratello."
"My what?" The word drops from my mouth, sharp with disbelief.
"Your karma." Lucrezia's voice gains strength. "Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something. Suddenly Easton offering his daughter? It's too strange to be coincidence. You've been alone for years."
"It's business, not fate," I counter, but something in her words unsettles me.
Lucrezia shakes her head, that stubborn set to her jaw I know too well. "You don't believe in anything you can't control. But some things—important things—can't be controlled. Love, fate, karma... they find us whether we want them to or not."
"I don't need a philosophical lecture at dinner," I say, but there's less bite in my words than intended.
"All I'm saying is, don't dismiss it completely." she says.
"Are you a fortune teller now?" I ask, but my irritation has faded somewhat.
She smiles, a flash of mischief breaking through her seriousness. "Just your sister who knows you better than you think."
I set my wineglass down with a sharp tap. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Enzo, but weren't you the one who said we shouldn't trust anything Easton offers? That whatever deal he proposed would be poison?"
Enzo doesn't flinch under my stare. He never has. While others in our organization pale when I direct my full attention on them, my brother meets my gaze without hesitation.
"I did say that," he admits, loosening his collar. "And I still believe Easton is a manipulative bastard with an agenda we don't fully understand."
"Then explain to me why the fuck you're now suggesting I should consider marrying his daughter." The temperature in my voice drops several degrees.
Enzo leans forward, resting his forearms on the table.
"Because whatever that bastard has in mind, the fact he's willing to give his daughter must work for us somehow.
" His eyes flash with something calculating.
"Think about it, Damiano. He wouldn't offer something this significant unless he's desperate. "
"Or unless it's a trap," Alessio interjects quietly.
"Exactly," Enzo continues, gesturing with his fork. "Either way, it tells us something important. Easton doesn't make moves without careful planning. The fact he's offering his daughter—his personal life—means there's an angle we should exploit."
I consider his words while cutting into my food. The meat yields easily under my knife. "You're suggesting we use his own strategy against him."
"I'm suggesting we don't dismiss potential advantages," Enzo says.
Lucrezia shifts uncomfortably. "We're talking about a person, not a bargaining chip."