Chapter Eighteen #3
He stands tall, his broad shoulders squared, his features sharp. His dark eyes burn with authority as he stares each and every one of us down.
Alessandro stalks forward with deliberate steps, each one echoing in the heavy silence.
The air thickens as he approaches us, his gaze moving from Chiara to Nikolai, then finally to me.
Though his expression is unreadable, there’s a controlled fury in the way that he carries himself. As the Don, he’s a man who’s used to being obeyed, and I would be lying if I didn’t say that the room practically shifts to accommodate him.
Glancing back at Chiara, I see her father’s arms still around her, and her brother pressed closely to her side.
She looks between us men with nervous, wide eyes.
When I see that she’s okay—breathing, watching—the tension in my chest eases.
I turn back around to look at Alessandro.
His voice slices through the silence once more.
“What the hell is wrong with all of you?”
Nobody speaks.
Not Nikolai, nor myself.
Not Otets, or Francesco.
And surprisingly, not Dario, the idiot who’s had so much to say up until this very moment.
As Alessandro’s dark eyes rake over every man that’s present in this room, the silence only seems to grow thicker.
His jaw is tight, clenched so hard it looks as though it might crack under the pressure.
He takes his time to stare at each of us—one by one—as if he’s daring somebody to challenge him.
Nobody does.
“Just three days ago,” he begins as he points a finger in Francesco’s direction.
“You were ready to kiss and make up with the Russians. What the fuck has happened now, Francesco? Why have you changed your mind? Don’t you care about your daughter?
” He turns slightly to look at my father, pointing a finger in his direction.
“And what about you, Isaak? You’ve accepted that she’ll be my wife, and now you’ve stopped giving a fuck? ”
Rage.
It flashes across both fathers’ faces, but Alessandro doesn’t stop there.
He continues taunting them, each word slicing deeper than the previous one.
“No, maybe you don’t. Maybe that's why you both don’t care about what people will say.
” He smiles, but it’s not appropriate for this setting.
It only makes his features sharper, dangerous even.
“Do you have any idea what people will say? What will they think of the Don marrying a bastard, a woman whose father’s identity remains hidden?
” He turns to look at Francesco now. “What do you think they’ll say when they hear an Italian princess has been held here?
And not just by anybody, but by two Russian men—men who are in line to become Pakhans? ”
As Francesco’s face drops, I realise something; as much as these words are a curse for the Italians, they’re a blessing for us.
A quick glance over at my twin, and I know that we’re both thinking the same thing.
Alessandro is on our side.
“Alessandro!”
Francesco growls, a sharp warning that vibrates through the room.
His tone is fierce, protective, but Alessandro doesn’t so much as flinch.
He doesn’t even bother to continue looking in Francesco’s direction.
Instead, he focuses straight ahead, his jaw twitching as his words grow sharper, more pointed.
“Even if you try to hide what’s happened, people will talk.
They’ll always talk. About your daughter.
About the twins. About what has happened here.
You might not care, Francesco, but I do.
Why do you think the other two girls are kept on a tight leash?
Why do you think Alexis lives a humble, modest life?
” Alessandro doesn’t even give him the chance to respond.
“It’s because everything she does reflects back on our Italian women—on my people.
In that very same way, Francesco, everything that has happened here between these two Bratva men and your daughter will reflect back on my people.
I won’t allow others to make assumptions on all my women based on this incident. ”
From the corner of my eye, I catch my father’s reaction.
He stands a little straighter, his hands clasped behind his back, his face calm and composed. But there’s something beneath the surface, something almost amused. A faint smile that tugs at the corners of his lips, subtle, but impossible to miss.
He knows.
He knows exactly where Alessandro’s words are heading, and he looks as if he’s already decided to let it unfold.
Like Nikolai and I, Otets is ready to watch the pieces fall into place, one by one, exactly as Alessandro expects them to.
When he takes another step forward, his frame casting a shadow that seems to stretch across the room, he continues speaking. His voice is firm and resolute, like the final blow in an argument that can’t be contested.
“In order to protect Chiara,” Alessandro says with his gaze sweeping over all of us. “In order to protect her dignity and her honour, there is only one solution.”
The room stills, the weight of his words sinking into everybody.
My pulse spikes, tension coiling in my chest, and I feel the same happening to Nikolai too.
Alessandro chooses that time to turn his attention to my brother and myself, his eyes sharp as a blade as he watches us.
“The three of you—Nikolai, Chiara, and Mikhail—must be together. You must show others that you are a united front.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
My eyes widen, my heart now hammering in my chest.
His words settle inside me, stirring something deep and unfamiliar.
It’s something I’ve tried to push aside for some time now, but I know that I can no longer ignore.
I glance over at Nikolai, noticing the shift in his eyes.
Still in bed, Chiara gasps, the sound soft and breathless. It draws every gaze to her.
One trembling hand is pressed to her mouth as her eyes dart between Alessandro, her father, and Nikolai and myself.
Disbelief is etched into her every feature, but she's not angry with his words. It seems like she’s almost…pleased, unable to understand how this has happened.
The air grows heavier, each second stretching unbearably long.
My heart races in my chest as Chiara’s gaze locks with mine.
I don’t know what to say, or what to do, but I can’t look away from her.
“That is—”
Alessandro doesn’t allow Francesco to continue.
“It’s the only way.” He reassures him. “Don’t you want to protect your daughter, and her future? Don’t act like you weren’t happy with this very same thing only three days ago when your daughter lost consciousness, Francesco.”
Francesco slowly rises from the bed, his voice furious.
“You cannot be serious!” He shouts, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “She is my daughter, my only daughter! Chiara has suffered enough, and now you want to force her into this madness?!”
Alessandro simply raises an eyebrow, a quiet show of authority that stops the older man in his tracks.
Nikolai swallows hard beside me, though I pretend not to notice.
I won’t admit it either, but Alessandro has a way of unsettling me, of making the room feel colder and heavier too.
It’s the way that he carries himself, like he already knows the ending to everything before it’s even had a chance to happen.
I guess it’s something he’s learnt with his many years of experience as the Don.
When he finally speaks again, his voice is much calmer this time, but there’s no mistaking the authority in his tone.
“I am the Don of the famiglia, and my word—it is law. Do we have an understanding, Francesco? Or has it been a mistake to allow you to keep breathing?”
For the longest time, nobody speaks.
It almost feels like we’re all holding onto our own breaths, eager to see how this will play out.
Finally, Francesco’s head drops down as he accepts defeat.
“Sì, Don Alessandro. If my daughter agrees, I am happy.”
The room falls silent again.
The weight of her father’s acceptance seems to smother every sound, every protest that’s waiting to be voiced.
The tension snaps when Dario, now pacing beside his sister’s bed, growls impatiently.
He spits the words out like venom, like he can’t bear to hold back on his tongue any longer.
“You can’t force my sister to be with these madmen!”
Somehow, Alessandro is able to remain composed.
“I’m not forcing her to be with anybody.” Dario doesn’t so much as blink. “Your father forced me to send the sister of these madmen away. Perhaps this is a way to make it even for everybody, considering the complex history both families share.”
Dario’s face twists with rage, his movements quick and sharp as he takes a step towards Alessandro, looking like he’s about to lunge at him. The room practically vibrates with the force of his rage. But before he can take another step forward, Francesco shouts.
“Dario!”
Dario freezes, his jaw tight, his fists shaking at his sides as he glares at Alessandro.
Francesco’s tone leaves no room for argument, and slowly, reluctantly, Dario steps back slowly, his breathing ragged with barely restrained anger.
The room feels like it’s on the verge of imploding, every glaze flickering between Alessandro, Francesco, and Dario.
I glance over to Chiara, spotting her sitting quietly on the bed, her hands clutching her lap. Her eyes are wide as they dart from one face to another, uncertainty washed all over her.
When our gazes meet, there’s something in hers that makes my heart twist in my chest.
For once, I have no words. None of us do.
Then suddenly, a voice, quiet but firm, breaks the tension in the room.
“Please.”
Chiara says softly.
Her voice trembles, but there’s enough strength there to make us all pause.
Every eye in the room turns to her, and Dario marches straight over to her, his arms tightening around her as though he doesn’t want her to speak.
Alessandro tilts his head slightly, the faintest glimmer of curiosity crossing his face.
Chiara straightens, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
She looks at each man in this room before she finally allows her gaze to settle on Otets.
“I would like to speak to Nikolai and Mikhail.” She says softly. Then, as her eyes move in the direction of ours, she adds, “Alone.”