Chapter 8 #2
Don Caruso approached again. "Your wife is lovely, Monti. You seem very well-matched."
"Thank you."
"Though I notice Viktor Kozlov spent some time speaking with you both. I hope he wasn't... troublesome."
A probe. Caruso had noticed. Others probably had too.
"Just politics," I said smoothly. "Viktor likes to test boundaries."
"Indeed. Be careful with that one. He's patient. Strategic. Dangerous."
"I'm aware."
Paola returned, and I could see the cracks in her composure. Her smile was too tight, her eyes too bright. She was holding on by a thread.
I made an executive decision. "Come with me."
I led her to a small private room—quiet, secure, away from prying eyes. The moment the door closed, Paola's facade crumbled.
She sank into a chair, head in her hands. "This is my fault. If I'd just—"
"Stop." I knelt in front of her, hands on her knees. "This isn't your fault. This is Bianca's fault. And Viktor's. Not yours. He’s using her bad decision to make me pay."
"But if I'd refused at the altar—"
"Then a war would have started anyway. People would have died. You'd probably be dead."
She looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. "Maybe that would be better than dragging you down with me."
The words hit harder than they should. "Don't say that."
"Why not? Viktor's right—I'm not Bianca. You–we–lied. And now it's going to cost you everything."
“We don’t even know if he actually has any proof. He could just be bluffing.”
She shook her head slowly, her grip tightening on mine. “I don’t know… he doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who makes an empty threat.”
She was right. That’s what had me worried. Viktor wasn’t stupid enough to play games without having something that could cover his ass.
I stood, pulled her to her feet, framed her face with my hands.
"Listen to me. You are my wife. Not Bianca. You. That's the reality. And I'm not giving you up."
"Even if it costs you your territory?"
"Even then."
The admission surprised us both.
"Cesare—"
"No. Let me finish." My thumbs brushed away her tears. "Viktor thinks he has leverage. He thinks I'll choose power over you. He's wrong."
"You'd give up a quarter of your empire for me?"
"You're mine, Paola. And I protect what's mine. Always."
She stared at me. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying we're not paying Viktor's blackmail."
"Then he'll expose us. Your reputation—"
"Will survive. But only if we control the narrative. Only if we move first."
Understanding dawned. "You want to tell them. Before Viktor can."
"Yes. We need to get ahead of this." I paced. "Viktor's leverage only works if the truth comes as a shock, comes from someone else. If people discover they've been lied to, deceived."
"So what do we do?"
"We reframe the story. Make it our narrative, not Viktor's."
Paola moved to the window. "How?"
"We admit there was a substitution—but claim it was planned. That Giovanni and I agreed you were the better choice. That Bianca was unsuitable."
Paola bit her lip, and I knew what she must be thinking: she didn’t want to paint her sister in a dark light. But her sister had also had a part in her betrayal…"Will anyone believe that?"
"Some will. Some won't. But it's better than letting Viktor control the story." I joined her. "We make it about strategy, not deception. About me choosing you because you were stronger, smarter, more suited to be my wife."
"That's a huge risk."
"Everything in this world is a risk. But I'd rather risk everything on the truth than let Viktor own us."
She was quiet. Then: "When?"
"Tonight. Before we leave. I'll make an announcement. Brief. Controlled."
"And if it doesn't work?"
I took her hand, brought it to my lips. "Then we face it together."
We composed ourselves, returned to the celebration. I found Piero. "Gather the family. I'm making an announcement in twenty minutes."
Piero's eyes widened. "What kind?"
"The kind that changes everything. Just do it."
I took Paola's hand, led her toward the raised platform. My heart was pounding. I was about to gamble everything on one move.
The orchestra finished. The room quieted.
This was it.
Giovanni was a smart man, staying away from potential conflicts. Which meant he couldn't contradict my story. Not immediately, anyway.
I was gambling he'd go along with it to save face. Admitting he'd forced the wrong daughter down the aisle would make him look weak, incompetent. Better to claim it was planned all along.
But if he didn't play along—if he publicly denied our "arrangement"—this would collapse spectacularly.
One move. Everything on the table.
I stepped up to the microphone, Paola at my side.
"Thank you all for being here tonight," I began. "Six years ago, I took on the responsibility of leading this family. Tonight, I want to share something important about the future."
I could see Viktor across the room—eyes narrowed, realizing something was happening.
"Many of you know I recently married Miss Lombardo, ending the long conflict between our families. What you may not know is that this marriage represents something more than alliance."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Paola's hand tightened on mine. I squeezed back. Together.
"The original arrangement was for me to marry Bianca Lombardo. But after careful consideration, both Giovanni and I agreed that Paola was the better choice. The stronger choice. The right choice for this family's future."
The murmurs grew louder. Shock. Speculation.
Viktor's expression shifted—surprise, then fury.
"Some of you may question this decision. Some may call it unconventional. But I stand here tonight with my wife—my choice—and I ask you to respect that choice as you respect me."
Dead silence.
Then Viktor started to clap. Slow. Mocking. Dangerous.
"Bravo, Cesare," he called out. "Very bold. Very... strategic. But I wonder—does Giovanni Lombardo know about this 'agreement' you claim to have made with him?"
My blood ran cold.
I gambled that Viktor wouldn't have contacted Giovanni yet.
I gambled wrong.
Viktor pulled out his phone, held it up. "Because I have him on the line right now. And he seems very confused about this supposed agreement. Would you like to speak with him?"
The room erupted—voices raised, people moving, chaos beginning.
Paola looked at me, horror in her eyes. "What do we do?"
I stared at Viktor—at my enemy holding the phone like a weapon, at the crowd turning skeptical, at six years of power crumbling in real-time.
And made the only choice left: "Giovanni. Yes. Put him on speaker."