Chapter 28 #2
The man who lives an ocean away somehow knows I’m getting married tomorrow. Knows the exact date. Knows enough to send a delivery that would arrive at precisely midnight, the symbolic start of my wedding day.
This isn’t a gift. It’s a statement. A reminder that nothing escapes his notice, not even across continents. That my business remains his business. That Alina…
My thoughts screech to a halt. Alina. If he knows about the wedding, what else does he know about her?
I grab my phone, dialing the security gate again.
“Weston,” the guard answers immediately.
“Did you get the license plate on the delivery vehicle?” I ask right away.
“Yes, sir. Standard procedure. We’ve got it on camera.”
“Run it. Now.” I don’t bother hiding the edge in my voice. “I want to know who it’s registered to, where it came from, everything.”
I don’t know why I’m bothering. The kid seemed like he was legitimately about to shit himself, and he didn’t give me the impression of being a criminal mastermind. No, he’s nothing more than a pawn.
“On it, sir.”
I pace the library while I wait, the cigar box a black hole on my desk, pulling all light and warmth from the room.
The phone rings less than three minutes later.
“Mr. Russo, we’ve run the plates. They’re… they’re not coming up in any database.”
“What do you mean, not coming up?”
“The plate number doesn’t exist in the system. It’s a fake.”
Of course it is. My dad would never be so careless as to leave an obvious trail. Not even to a pubescent driver who has no idea what he just delivered.
“Double the perimeter guards,” I order. “Full property sweep, now. I want every inch of the grounds checked.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
I end the call and stride from the library to my office, my mind already shifting into crisis mode. The wedding is less than twelve hours away. The church, the security arrangements… everything needs to be reassessed.
Inside my office, I open my laptop and start a secure group call with all my cousins, not caring that it’s after midnight.
Remus answers first, his voice alert despite the hour. “What’s happened?”
“We have a situation,” I say without preamble as Enzo and Matteo join the call. “Andrea knows about the wedding.”
A beat of silence follows, heavy with understanding.
“How?” Enzo asks, his voice tight.
“I don’t fucking know how,” I snarl. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I force myself to calm the fuck down. “Look, I just received a box of cigars with the wedding date on them. Oh, and a note of congratulations from him.”
“Shit,” Matteo mutters. “How did he find out?”
“That’s what I need to know,” I reply, struggling to keep my voice level. “And more importantly, what else he knows.”
“Is Alina safe?” Remus asks, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
“She’s upstairs sleeping. But if he knows about the wedding…” I trail off, the implications hanging in the air between us.
“You think it’s a threat?” Lorenzo’s tone is measured, calculating.
“It’s Andrea,” I respond. “Everything he does is calculated for maximum impact. Why send this now? Why the midnight delivery? He could have sent a normal gift, a normal note.”
“To rattle you,” Matteo suggests, and I can almost see his single eye narrowing. “To throw you off balance before your wedding day.”
“Or to warn me,” I counter. “To let me know he’s watching. That he knows who she is. What she means.”
I am such a fucking arrogant fool.
Right now, it seems like another lifetime when I taunted Andrea and told him I was getting married. Back then I didn’t care about Alina, sure. But I never considered that she could be in danger. Why?
It’s not because I thought my dad would be happy for me as long as I married. I’ve always known he’d want an elite wedding, which I’ve just denied him. He—and the family—gains nothing from Alina.
The fact that I… care for her means nothing. That’s irrelevant. He doesn’t get more power, prestige, or wealth. So I’m failing as much as if I remained unmarried. The thought of my dad taking any interest in Alina makes my stomach turn.
Andrea Russo doesn’t acknowledge attachments or feelings; he exploits them.
“I’m texting Colin and Ian now,” I say, typing one-handed as I speak. “We need more security for tomorrow. And I’m moving the ceremony to my estate.”
“What?” Enzo interjects. “The cathedral is already secured, Rafe. We’ve had men checking it for days.”
“Too public,” I snap. “Too many variables. I’m not risking her. I also have to cancel the—”
“Think about what you’re doing,” Remus says, his voice steady and authoritative in a way that still commands my attention, even now. “Think about Alina. About what this day means to her.”
His words hit their mark. I pause, the text to my men half-composed on my screen.
“She’s had very little say in everything,” Remus continues. “But you told us all she asked for was to pick the location for the ceremony, her dress, and bake the cake herself. You take that from her now, at the last minute, and you’re letting Andrea win without him even being here.”
I grip the phone tighter, torn between security and what I know Alina wants.
The memory of her face and the joy as she told me everything was ready, the softness in her eyes when she looked at me—rises unbidden in my mind.
“We can increase security,” Enzo offers. “Triple it if necessary. But don’t let your dad dictate your wedding day.”
“She deserves her moment, Rafe,” Matteo adds, uncharacteristically gentle. “And you deserve yours. Don’t let the old man take that from you.”
I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the decision. My first instinct is always to protect, to control, to eliminate threats. But Alina isn’t a business asset to be secured; she’s the woman who will be my wife tomorrow.
“Fine,” I concede finally. “The cathedral stays. But I want every man we have there. Complete sweep beforehand, lookouts on all adjacent buildings, two security teams inside.”
“It’s already being arranged,” Remus assures me. “Focus on your bride, Rafe. Let us handle this.”
I nod, though they can’t see me. “One more thing,” I add, my voice hardening. “We need to find out how he knew. Someone talked, and I want to know who, and I want them dealt with.”
“Allow me to make it your wedding present,” Matteo replies, a dangerous edge to his voice.
“Is this your way of telling us you haven’t shopped yet?” Enzo grins.
After ending the call, I return to the library, to the black box with its custom-labeled cigars. I pick up one of the cigars, studying it under the light. Expensive. Rare. Perfect in every way.
I snap it in half, watching the aged tobacco crumble, then throw both pieces into the fire, watching the flames devour them.
One by one, I feed each cigar into the fire, a silent rejection of my dad’s “gift.” When the last one burns to ash, I close the empty box and place it back on my desk.
Tomorrow, I will marry Alina. I will place the deed to her bakery in her hands. And no matter what game my dad is playing, I will make sure she remains untouched by it.