Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Alexei
The Rossi estate looked exactly how I expected it to, expansive and beautiful, and built to impress.
But it was more than that. It was a fucking fortress with security layered into every detail, cameras embedded into the structure, guards placed with deliberate precision, and nothing about it left to chance.
The wrought-iron gates stretched high and wide, intricate without being delicate. The long drive curved through perfectly maintained grounds that led to the massive home.
Power lived here, quiet on the surface, absolute underneath, and it didn’t take more than a glance to know that everything beyond those walls operated on the same principles as what we controlled.
The car slowed as we approached the front, and my focus shifted away from the exterior before we even stopped because none of that mattered once we stepped inside.
This wasn’t a courtesy visit, and it wasn’t diplomacy in any sense that relied on trust or good faith.
This was positioning, a calculated move made on both sides, and every second from this point forward would determine whether it held or collapsed into something far harder to contain.
My father sat in the back seat beside me. He’d been silent the entire trip, and I knew he was playing out what would happen once we were inside.
“You understand what this is,” he said, his voice low, measured, speaking of the arrangement between our families and what it was meant to control.
“I do.” We’d already covered everything. There was nothing left to say that would change this union—this deal.
The car came to a stop, and I stepped out the moment the door opened, my attention lifting toward the entrance just as the front doors shifted inward.
They were already waiting, Rossi men placed with intent just inside the doorway.
They were the kind of soldiers trained to look like nothing more than staff until you paid attention long enough to see the outline of weapons underneath their jackets and their straight-backed, disciplined stance, along with the way they watched everything and missed nothing.
“Mikhail. Alexei,” one of them greeted, his tone polite but stripped of anything that could be mistaken for warmth.
My father acknowledged him with the same restraint, and we moved inside without slowing. The shift was immediate as the doors closed behind us and the outside world was cut off completely.
The interior matched the exterior in all the ways that mattered. Marble floors stretching beneath high ceilings and old-world detail layered into something that spoke of legacy rather than display.
We were led into a sitting room, though nothing about it felt relaxed, not with the number of men already present. Their attention flicked toward us in quiet assessment before settling again like they’d already decided what we were worth.
Then he entered. Francesco Rossi, head of the Rossi Italian Family. His expression was unreadable as he watched us.
There was nothing soft that came from that man, but then again, I knew the same would be said about me and my family. It’s how it had to be.
“Mikhail,” he said, extending his hand.
My father took it, the exchange brief before he stepped back. “We won’t drag this out,” he said, his voice low and even.
Rossi gave a short nod. “No point in it.”
That was all that needed to be said. This had already been decided before we walked in, and neither of them were here to circle it or pretend it was anything else.
“The wedding will happen soon,” my father continued, like it was just another part of the plan. “We will lock in an agreement and move forward.”
Rossi didn’t hesitate. “Agreed. The sooner it’s done, the better.”
There was no pushback, no pause, no negotiation, nothing that suggested this was up for debate. It was already in motion. This meeting was just to make my marriage official.
Rossi’s attention shifted then, settling on me in a way that wasn’t casual or passing, and I held it without reacting, letting him take whatever measure he thought he needed while giving him nothing back.
“You brought your son,” he said.
“Why wouldn’t I? He’s my heir and the one going into this marriage.”
The silence that followed sat between everyone for half a second before he nodded. “Very well. Let’s move forward.” Francesco lifted his hand and crooked his finger, gesturing to someone to come in.
Movement at the edge of the room pulled my attention before she fully stepped into view, and my reaction was immediate, instinctive in a way I didn’t question. Lucia Rossi.
She entered with her shoulders back and her chin tipped up, her movements controlled in a way that didn’t feel practiced so much as ingrained. And when her gaze lifted, it settled on me like she’d already decided she wouldn’t be the first to look away.
“Lucia,” Francesco said, his tone shifting just enough to make it known that, although she was his daughter, she was also his pawn.
She moved to his side right away, her attention flicking briefly to my father before returning to me.
“This is my daughter, Lucia.”
My father nodded and gestured toward me. “My son, Alexei.” That was the only introduction either of us got before it was back to business.
Her gaze stayed on me, steady in a way that would have had a lesser man, a weaker one, cowering. Hell, if I was a true bastard, one of the many men that ran in our circles who thought of women as nothing but vessels for our cock and cum, I’d have been enraged.
Instead, I felt this heat move through me because she was strong and didn’t back down when I knew she was scared as hell.
She was exactly what you’d expect from a family like this.
Composed. Controlled. Raised to stand in a room like this and not show weakness.
My attention dragged over her slowly, taking in details without rushing them—the line of her shoulders, the feminine curves under her dress, and, most of all, the way she held herself.
“This arrangement benefits both families,” Rossi said, his voice cutting back through the space. “It keeps things from going where neither of us wants them to go.”
My father stepped forward just enough to shift the room again. “We’re not here to debate that,” he said. “We’re here to settle the details.”
Rossi inclined his head slightly, like he expected nothing less. “Then we’re aligned. The marriage moves forward, and we don’t waste time.”
“We don’t,” my father agreed. “Two weeks. We set the date, make it public, and lock everything in before anyone starts testing boundaries.”
Francesco nodded once. “Agreed.”
“The ceremony stays private,” my father continued. “Family and inner circle only.”
“Agreed,” Rossi said. “No unnecessary attention, and security stays tight on both sides. No movement without clearance. No surprises.”
“There won’t be,” my father replied, his tone even, not offering reassurance so much as stating a fact.
Rossi’s gaze flicked briefly toward Lucia before returning to him. “And after the wedding?”
“They’ll live where it benefits both families,” my father said.
Rossi took that in then gave a slow nod. “Of course.”
There was a brief pause, both carefully measuring the other.
“And children?” Rossi asked finally, like it was just another term being set.
“They’ll come,” my father answered without pause.
“They need to. They strengthen the alliance,” Francesco added, the weight of his words settling in, quiet but final.
“Then we’re clear,” my father said.
“We are,” I added. It was my fucking arranged marriage, and I will be involved in this.
It was done, not negotiated in the way most people would understand but set into place the way things like this always were. Clean, direct, and impossible to walk back once agreed.
I didn’t look away from Lucia as the reality of it settled in, heavy and unavoidable, something darker than anything that had been said out loud. This wasn’t going to be simple, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be easy for either of us.
Because whatever this turned into, I knew my life would never be the same again.