Chapter 6 Evi
EVI
The night stretches on in a blur of light and laughter.
Gio and Stephanie’s little boy is a charmer.
Jackson is so sweet and full of life. I’m breathless from dancing with him by the time his parents step in to let him know it’s time to head home to bed.
I can’t help but smile when he gives a dejected moan.
“Just ten more minutes?” he suggests, turning his big green eyes on Stephanie with a power that would have made me crumble.
“I already gave you fifteen minutes,” she reminds him.
“Don’t worry. Evi won’t be going anywhere.
I’m sure you’ll see her again soon. Right, Evi?
” My new sister-in-law with her adorable black pixie cut and bright peek-a-boo highlights meets my eye with an open acceptance that makes my chest swell, and I beam.
“Absolutely,” I agree, looking down to meet Jackson’s eyes.
“Okay,” he says, then he wraps his arms around my waist, squeezing me with an affection that brings tears to my eyes.
I know I’m only just starting to get to know the Chiaroscuro family, but after all of Anika’s help with the wedding, Stephanie’s insistence on providing the flowers for the occasion, and now dancing with Jackson when Sandro refused to do more than the first dance, I’m starting to see the softer side to the notoriously brutal, heartless brothers.
They might all be towering giants of solid muscle with intimidating stares, but if they can earn the love of women like Anika, Stephanie, and Sora, they can’t be that bad. Right?
“I’d hoped to congratulate Sandro myself, but it would seem my brother’s skulked off to hide somewhere, so will you tell him for us?” Gio asks, his light hazel eyes soft in the dim lighting of the ballroom.
“Of course,” I agree, my stomach knotting as I realize it’s been some time since I’ve seen Sandro either. I should have been paying closer attention. I hope he’s not upset that I didn’t stay by his side, or worse, thinks I’ve been ignoring him.
“And congratulations to you too, Evi,” Stephanie adds. “Welcome to the family.”
She pulls me in for a hug, and I stiffen momentarily, surprised by the open display of affection. Then I soften into it, grateful for the unguarded acceptance.
“Thank you,” I murmur, blinking back the sudden sting of tears in my eye. It’s no reason to get emotional, but I’m distinctly aware of the warmth that radiates from this family—and I’m grateful for it, when today I will be leaving behind my family, my home, and everything I’ve ever known.
Gio, Stephanie, and Jackson depart, and I turn to survey the room of guests in my moment of quiet.
Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow across the ballroom, spilling onto polished floors where couples whirl in time with the music.
The air smells of champagne, roses, and too much perfume.
Everywhere I turn, there’s noise—clinking glasses, loud toasts, the occasional booming laugh.
But even as I study the dark corners of the room, I don’t see Sandro.
A man like him must get restless with all the pomp and frills, so it makes sense that he would want air.
But Gio’s right. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen him in nearly an hour, and my unease grows sharper when I look at the clock.
It’s nearly time for the grand send-off—basically a flashy excuse for the guests to witness that the bride and groom made it to their marriage bed on their wedding night.
And I absolutely cannot do it on my own.
The rumors would be endless if I go to bed alone on my wedding night.
Without evidence that we’ve consummated the marriage, the alliance my family has worked so hard to secure could crumble.
My position as Sandro’s wife could come under fire if I prove unable to have his children and he doesn’t even bother to make an appearance for our wedding night.
It could lead to gossip, or worse, people calling into question whether our marriage is even real.
And because of my infertility, my reputation and future rely more heavily on this grand send-off than perhaps it would for any other bride.
If Sandro doesn’t show, then everything could fall apart.
With that in mind, I circle the room carefully, trying not to look like a frantic bride who’s lost her husband on her wedding night.
I stop to greet guests, smile when they compliment my dress, my hair, the beautiful ceremony today.
I accept congratulations like nothing is wrong.
But all the while, my eyes skim the crowd, searching for that broad-shouldered figure, his dark hair, the sharp edge of a jaw I could already pick out in a sea of strangers.
Nothing.
The Chiaroscuro brothers are scattered through the party—Miko with Anika at his side, Raf laughing too loudly with a cluster of men near the bar, and Leo tucked in a quiet corner with his wife, Sora, looking like he’ll put a bullet in someone’s skull if they even try to approach. But Sandro is nowhere to be seen.
Tension coils in my stomach.
Where would he go?
I catch myself nibbling on my thumb nail and force my hands to smooth the silk of my gown instead. My mother’s words echo in my mind, about appearances, about duty. If I draw attention to my husband’s absence, whispers will start, and whispers travel too fast in this world.
Pasting a smile on my face, I keep moving.
By the time the announcement for the grand send-off comes, I’m close to breaking.
The crowd cheers, lifting their glasses as they accept sparklers and form a tunnel meant to guide me and Sandro straight to the hall of our suite.
The music swells as they share the spark down the line and form a glittering archway.
My pulse stutters, my palms growing clammy as I realize I’m out of time.
I’m all alone. And Sandro’s just… gone.
Everyone’s attention slides toward the moment they expect to see husband and wife join hands to make their way to the marital chamber. My pulse pounds so hard it makes my temples ache.
Then—suddenly, as though it was always meant to be—Raf appears at my side.
He’s dressed in a tux as sharp as Sandro’s, every inch of him commanding, though there’s something heavier about his presence, a sadness that drapes around him like a cloak. His arm extends smoothly, like there’s no question of me refusing it.
“As Don, I reserve the honor of escorting my new sister-in-law from the party tonight,” he says.
The explanation is just loud enough to remove suspicion for anyone close enough to notice that I’m on the wrong twin’s arm.
And maybe Raf’s confidence leaves no room for doubt, but as I peer anxiously up through my lashes, expecting to see pity or judgment from the crowd, no one seems to care—or perhaps they can’t tell the difference between Sandro and his brother in this lighting.
Relief floods me so suddenly, my knees weaken.
I loop my hand through his arm, grateful for the steady anchor he provides as we stride down the sparkling archway.
Smiles and cheers follow us, cameras flashing as Raf lifts his hand in a solute that will cover the unmarked cheek where Sandro’s tattoo would be.
And I know he’s covering for his twin in a way no one else could possibly.
I keep my chin lifted, pretending I’m not acutely aware of the fact that the man who should be here—my husband—has abandoned me.
We make it out of the ballroom, through hushed corridors that grow quieter the farther we go. My ears still buzz with the echoes of celebration. Raf doesn’t speak until we reach the more private wing, where the doors are shut and guards stand like statues.
Only then does his expression shift. The carefully maintained mask slips into something closer to irritation—though I don’t think it’s aimed at me.
“You’re probably wondering where my brother ran off to,” he says, his tone clipped.
I nod, words caught in my throat, and I swallow hard. “Did I do something wrong?” The words come out breathy with worry, and I hate the slight quiver that enters my voice.
Raf sighs, running a hand over his jaw, then gives me a look edged with apology. “No.”
That should bring me a sense of relief, but my heart only thuds harder.
He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t tell me what Sandro is doing or why he would leave me tonight of all nights. Instead, his voice softens, almost regretful. “He should’ve been the one to walk you from that room. That was his place, not mine. But I can guarantee he’ll join you shortly.”
The weight in his tone tells me he’s not thrilled about having to make the promise, but oddly, I trust that he can keep his word.
Exhaling slowly, I release the tension in my shoulders. “Thank you,” I murmur. “You saved me from an embarrassing situation.”
A faint smile touches his lips. “It’s what family does.”
We stop in front of a heavy wooden door, carved with the kind of detail only money and power can buy.
He turns toward me, his hand still resting over mine on his arm. “Congratulations on your marriage, Evi. Welcome to the family.”
The sincerity in his voice startles me, and again, I feel the prickle of tears behind my eyes.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but family wasn’t something I anticipated gaining from this marriage.
I’ve been so driven to do what’s right for my own family, I didn’t stop to think about the one I would be marrying into.
I swallow, managing a small smile. “Thank you.”
Raf starts to turn away, then pauses as though remembering something, his head cocking thoughtfully. “I hope you’ll be a good influence on my brother,” he says with a startlingly sad smile. “I think you might be. Though Sandro is… a unique personality.”
That pricks my curiosity, even as it makes my heart flutter nervously. “What do you mean?”
He studies me for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly, as if weighing how much truth to give me. Then he sighs again, softer this time. “You’ll never find anyone more loyal than my brother,” he says. “But he can be… challenging. Sometimes he’s difficult to understand.”
I wait, not daring to interrupt.
“He wouldn’t like me telling you too much about it, so all I’ll say is that our father was hard on him—harder than the rest of us,” Raf continues.
“Sandro was a… quiet kid. He was soft-spoken, thoughtful in ways my father couldn’t understand or value.
He wanted to toughen Sandro up, force him into something harder, sharper. ”
My chest aches at the thought, though I try not to show it.
“That’s why Sandro fights, why he has a reputation for violence,” Raf goes on.
“In the end, it was the only thing that gave him value in our father’s eyes.
” He shakes his head, his expression turning bitter.
“And after a while, Sandro came to believe it himself.” The tension snaps taut, then dissipates as Raf releases a humorless chuff.
“Anyway. You seem like a sweet girl, Evi. I’m sorry if he isn’t what you might have wished for in a husband…
but I hope, in time, you can find a way to love him. ”
I can’t find words.
My stomach twists, sinking deeper with each passing second.
What am I supposed to do with that? How do I reconcile the man who stared into my soul at the altar with the one who left me standing alone at my own wedding celebration?
And where does this loyal brother everyone keeps talking about fit in?
There’s no doubt I’m attracted to Sandro. Who wouldn’t be when every one of the Chiaroscuro brothers is the embodiment of a Roman god chiseled out of granite? But when it comes to his actions—let alone his words—I feel as though he’s more ghost than man.
I nod weakly, forcing a smile I don’t feel. “Good night, Raf.”
He inclines his head politely before turning down the hall, his footsteps fading into silence.
I’m left standing alone in front of the door. My door. My hand trembles as I reach for the handle.
Inside, the room is dim, lit only by the flickering glow of candles on the dresser. Rose petals scatter across the bed, champagne waiting in a silver bucket on the table—it’s beautiful, romantic, the kind of scene little girls dream about when they imagine their wedding night.
But my heart feels heavy, weighed down by the rejection, the loneliness that surrounds me like a cold shroud.
I close the door behind me, lean against it for a moment, and press a hand to my chest. The silk of my gown suddenly feels too tight, the jewels at my throat like shackles.
I should be preparing myself, anticipating the moment my husband walks through that door. Instead, I peel off my shoes with shaking hands, set them neatly by the wall, and sit at the edge of the bed.
The silence is deafening.
My thoughts race, tangled with Raf’s words, my mother’s warnings, my own fears. About children I’ll never have. About being unwanted, replaceable. About Sandro’s absence.
What if this is it? What if this marriage was only ever about politics, and I’m nothing more than a name and a body filling a role he doesn’t care about?
I bury my face in my hands, fighting against the sting in my eyes. I won’t cry—not tonight. Not when I’ve already played the perfect bride for everyone else.
Lifting my head, I force myself to breathe and glance at the door again.
He’ll come. He has to. Raf promised.
But as my self-doubt settles in, a hollow ache in my chest whispers otherwise.