Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
ALESSANDRO
I know lunch will be a disaster if I’m not prepared. The Gallos and Carusos in the same space is already a problem.
Add Luca, his brother Pietro, and two Gallo elders who don’t think I deserve my position, and you’ve basically built a bomb and called it a meeting.
The elders I can tolerate. Barely. But they have experience and decorum. They understand silence. They understand timing.
Luca and Pietro don’t understand either.
Luca hates my guts, and he’s made it known. He thinks my brother Matteo’s death left a gap he can walk straight into. He’s wrong. He can only get my position when I die and I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.
Pietro, on the other hand, is noise in human form. Too much confidence. Too little discipline. He laughs too loudly at things that aren’t funny, drinks too much, and mistakes disrespect for courage. He’s a waste of space.
I don’t trust him. I don’t need to. He’s already chosen Luca anyway, but just hasn’t had the balls to say it out loud yet. He believes Luca will rise to the position of Don, and will hand him power when that happens. I don’t know whether to laugh at that or pity him.
We are heading toward the back of the mansion as we’re led by a Caruso maid.
“This way, please,” the woman says, leading us through a set of glass doors.
We step outside and the space opens up.
A long terrace stretches out over manicured gardens, overlooking perfectly trimmed hedges. White marble floors reflect the morning light, clean enough to feel untouched.
The long, rectangular table is set at the center like an altar, covered in a crisp white cloth that almost disappears under what’s on top of it.
Food everywhere.
Platters of roasted meats still steaming, glazed and carved. Bowls of fresh fruit arranged with obsessive precision. Crystal dishes filled with olives, cheeses, honey, sauces I can’t name and don’t care to.
Wine bottles already uncorked. Glasses lined up.
Everything looks perfect.
Too perfect.
Massimo Caruso is already seated at the head of the table.
Of course, he is.
His cane rests beside him, gold catching the light. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes track everything at once—like nothing in this space is outside his control.
Around him sit men from his organization.
Old blood. Hard faces. Quiet power.
And then his daughters.
Camilla sits rigidly, hands folded in her lap like she’s trying to disappear. Daniela looks uncomfortable in her own skin, eyes flicking between people. I recognize Rosalia, the first Caruso daughter, the one married to the fossil.
I don’t ever want to become a father, but if by some unlucky twist of fate I end up as one, I’m never letting my daughter near a man that looks ten times her age. But kudos to Massimo, I guess.
My gaze finally lands on Sienna. She’s not looking at me, and I can tell it’s deliberate.
Straight posture. Controlled face.
But there’s something in the set of her jaw that doesn’t match the softness people expect from her kind of beauty.
She looks like trouble, and my body reacts to her like Pavlov’s fucking dog.
Her silky, brown hair is up in a bun again, with tendrils falling around her face. Her hazel brown eyes are on us, but not quite. It’s like she notices our approach, but she’s not really seeing.
Look at me, I want to shout. I don’t.
Because that would be stupid.
And I’ve already crossed a line with her father yesterday.
Punching Massimo wasn’t part of the plan. It was a reaction. One I still haven’t fully justified to myself.
It could’ve started a war.
It still might.
And yet, the image of his hands on her still makes my blood boil. My jaw tightens. I don’t like that I reacted at all. Valerio asked me about it on the way home. I shut him down immediately. I don’t need questions I can’t answer yet.
Massimo and the other men rise as we arrive. We exchange handshakes. Greetings. The usual performance. Everyone is polite. Nobody is relaxed. We know this could blow up in our faces any moment now.
I sit without hesitation. Camilla is to my left. A safe and deliberate choice. I want to be fully present during this meeting, and Camilla poses no threat to my focus. I like looking at Sienna, I can’t help it, and if I’m sitting right next to her, I’ll be distracted.
My gaze drifts across the table, to Sienna. When I see Pietro take the seat closest to her, my chest tightens before I even register the thought properly.
No.
I don’t want him or anyone there.
The thought irritates me more than it should.
Fuck.
Massimo rises at the head of the table. His gaze moves across the gathering slowly, lingering on faces from both families.
“I appreciate everyone making the time to be here today,” he says. “As you all know, the Carusos and Gallos are entering a new chapter together. Alliances are not built on contracts alone. They are built on trust, respect, and the understanding that the success of one family strengthens the other.”
A few heads nod around the table. Massimo rests both hands on the head of his cane.
“For many years, our families operated in the same city while walking separate paths. Soon, that changes.”
His eyes flick briefly toward me.
“The marriage between my daughter and Alessandro will unite two powerful bloodlines, strengthen old relationships, and create new opportunities for both organizations.”
The old man says it like a business merger instead of a wedding. Then again, that’s exactly what it is.
“I expect everyone here to remember that moving forward. Whatever disagreements may exist, we sit at this table today as future family.”
His gaze sweeps across the men one final time before settling back into its usual coldness.
“Now.” He lowers himself into his chair. “Let’s eat.”
Forks move. Conversation starts in pieces—small talk, business edges, nothing important yet.
I should be listening properly but my attention keeps slipping back to Sienna. Even though I chose the chair far enough from her for this fucking reason. Thankfully, Pietro isn’t speaking to her, and I’m able to keep my cool.
She still isn’t looking at me and that should be fine.
But it isn’t.
My grip tightens on my cutlery, the metal biting into my palm. One more second of this and I’m going to fucking explode.
Despite the blinding annoyance roaring through me, my cock is rock-hard in my pants.
There are a thousand things I want to do to her right now, none of which are appropriate, but I’ve never deluded myself into thinking I was a gentleman.
Sienna stoked a fire in me the night she crossed my path in that mask, and the only way to put it out is to have her. I want her in every single way a man can possess a woman.
I want her on her fucking knees. I want those pretty, pink lips wrapped around my cock like she’s starving for me. I want to see her eyes turn glossy as I fuck her throat, my fist tangled deep in her silky hair as I guide her down my hard shaft.
She looks up then, and our gazes collide for the first time since lunch started.
There’s fire in her eyes—like a sleeping volcano, hot and unpredictable. I know she will burn me to ashes if I get too close.
Fuck. I want her so badly it hurts.
Just as quickly, she lowers her gaze again, breaking the connection. The rejection hits like a physical blow, and I have to fight the violent urge to vault across the table, grab her jaw in my hand, and force her to look at me.
I’m one second away from actually doing it when Pietro’s next words cause me to freeze.
“This is a lovely lunch,” he says suddenly.
My attention snaps sideways. His voice is too loose. Too loud. He’s already had too much to drink.
“It reminds me of the last time we met with the Kuznetsovs,” he adds, laughing slightly. “Wonderful people.”
Silence drops. Forks stop mid-air. Glasses pause halfway to lips. Even the servants freeze. The temperature at the table changes.
Pietro is still smiling.
Still talking.
Still drunk enough to think he didn’t just set fire to this gathering.
Across the table, Massimo’s posture shifts.
“Kuznetsovs,” he repeats quietly.
Pietro nods like he’s proud of himself. “Yeah. Good business people. They’re very powerful. They could be a useful alliance for you, Massimo. I think it’s time you bury the hatchet and actually think like a businessman.”
Massimo narrows his eyes at me.
I know he’ll call off this wedding if he thinks I’m working with the Kuznetsovs, and I swear to God I’ll kill Pietro myself if Sienna doesn’t end up my wife in two weeks.
For a second, the thought throws me.
That shouldn’t be my first concern.
This marriage is bigger than wanting Sienna in my bed.
It’s about power.
Control.
Keeping my seat as Don while Luca circles like a fucking vulture waiting for weakness.
I slowly turn toward Pietro. Across from me, he’s grinning like an idiot with a half-empty wine glass dangling from his fingers.
In my peripheral, I can feel Sienna watching me now.
It takes every ounce of restraint not to look back at her.
“Pietro,” I say calmly. “Enough.”
He snorts.
“What crawled up your ass, brother?”
The word brother is said with a sneer. A deliberate disrespect. My grip tightens around the fork in my hand.
One second. That’s all it would take to drive the fork through his eye.
I can already imagine the sound he’d make. But this is a formal lunch, and there are rules to these things. We smile here. We threaten later.
Beside me, Camilla has gone stiff.
Across the table, one of the older Caruso men shifts uncomfortably.
Pietro either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
Sienna reaches for her water glass but her hand slips and the glass tips over, spilling water across the white tablecloth.
Pietro barks out a laugh loud enough to make her flinch.
“Massimo,” he says, still chuckling, “your daughters are beautiful, but it seems there’s no brain up there.”
Sienna slowly lifts her head to Pietro.
Fuck.
There’s murder in those hazel eyes. I feel it like heat against my skin.
But I barely register it because my body is already moving before my brain catches up.
The gun is in my hand.