Chapter Seventeen
Massimo
Smiling with a rare ease, I strode into the dining room. The sunlight glinted off the polished floors as I took in the familiar sight of my brothers gathered at the table. The scent of coffee and sizzling bacon mingled in the air, grounding me in a moment that felt charged with possibility.
“You look happy this morning,” Aurelio teased, wiping his mouth theatrically with his napkin before tossing it onto his lap, as if trying to draw out the secret behind my mood.
“Today is a good day,” I replied simply, my voice carrying a quiet anticipation. As I moved to the buffet, loading my plate with eggs, crispy bacon, and fresh fruit, I caught Emanuelle’s sideways glance. His brow furrowed—concern or curiosity, maybe both.
“Should we be worried?” Emanuelle muttered, not fully directing his question at anyone. “I mean, that is Massimo, right?”
Luca chimed in, half-joking but with a hint of genuine wonder, “When was the last time he was happy?”
Guilio, always the cynic, grumbled as he reached for his coffee.
“His sixteenth birthday. Remember? Massimo sweet-talked Alessandra—Don Redolpho’s daughter.
She was from that old rival family up the coast. He convinced her to sneak off for a midnight swim.
Father made Cesar and me chase them down the cliffs. ”
A memory flickered behind Guilio’s words: Alessandra, her laughter echoing over dark waves. Don Redolpho’s influence had always cast a shadow over our own—his daughter off-limits, his family a constant thorn in our side.
I smirked at the recollection, the sense of reckless freedom from those years briefly warming me as I grabbed a napkin and silverware.
“What ever happened to her?” Luca asked, his curiosity genuine.
“She married into the Lugano family,” Cesar supplied, glancing at me as if to measure my reaction. He cleared his throat, nervous energy rippling through him. “So, are you going to explain this sunshine or keep us guessing?”
Sliding into my seat, I felt the weight of their attention. The anticipation in the room was almost tangible, each brother waiting for the punchline. I let the moment stretch, savoring the slow, deliberate sip of dark coffee, feeling its warmth steady me as I prepared to speak.
“Let’s just say I have a feeling today is going to be... interesting.” My voice was low, a thread of excitement woven through the words. My brothers exchanged glances—some skeptical, others intrigued—when suddenly, a sharp sound shattered the mood.
A door slammed upstairs, echoing through the marble corridors—a jarring interruption.
Conversation died mid-sentence. The unfamiliar cadence of high heels striking stone rang out, each step growing louder, more resolute, slicing through the easy banter.
Tension crackled across the room as my brothers sat up straighter, their playful skepticism dissolving into uncertainty.
Footsteps thundered down the grand staircase, and all eyes shifted to the entryway.
I caught the moment my brothers’ bravado faltered as they immediately stood, shock and confusion written starkly across their faces when Miranda Williams appeared, her presence commanding the room.
Her posture was rigid but dignified, her gaze steady despite the nerves she tried to mask.
Refusing to give her the satisfaction or my respect, I remained at the table, watching my brothers flounder—mouths opening and closing, words lost, stunned into silence by her sudden entrance.
“My apologies for the interruption,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper but somehow cutting through the tension. “But could one of you please call me a cab? I need to get back home.”
At that, I couldn’t resist stepping in, my authority unmistakable. “You are not going anywhere, wife.”
“Wife?” Cesar blurted, his eyes snapping to me, wide with disbelief as if I’d just upended their reality.
Leaning back, I wiped my mouth and gestured toward Miranda with a flourish, letting the moment play out. “Brothers, I’d like you to meet my wife. Mrs. Miranda Vitale.”
Aurelio’s shock broke into words—“Oh shit”—as he dropped heavily into his seat, the room swirling with disbelief, awe, and a thousand questions left unspoken.
Miranda’s knuckles tightened around her purse, her eyes darting between my brothers and me, searching for any sign of understanding in her new and bewildering reality.
In that heartbeat, the breakfast table erupted into a battleground of emotions, curses, and threats as the brief familiar comfort from just moments ago shattered.
Cesar’s fist struck the desk, his voice a thunderclap of accusation.
“I told you I wanted her here—under this roof, in your damn bed, Massimo! Not this—whatever stunt you just pulled. Marriage? That wasn’t part of the plan!
” He prowled the length of his office, sharp movements betraying a volatile impatience.
I kept my face deliberately blank, watching Cesar’s agitation with measured detachment, though my pulse quickened. I chose my words carefully, letting a slow, practiced sigh slip out. “We’re not married, not truly.” My words tasted both like a shield and a confession.
Cesar wheeled on me, eyes hard, tone laced with disbelief. “Don’t play coy. You called her your wife—right in front of everyone. Don’t insult me by pretending this is nothing.”
My lips twitched into a faint, inscrutable smile. “I needed her to believe it. She trusts nothing—least of all me. And you said you wanted results, not explanations—her here, in this house, in my bed. You wanted her desperate for what terrifies her most.”
Cesar’s hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white, his voice an iron command.
“So, your grand plan is to make her think she belongs to you? To weaponize her fear until she craves you?” He leaned forward, eyes searching my face for any sign of remorse.
“You better start talking. Now. I want every detail—don’t spare me anything, Massimo. Not this time.”
For a split second, I wanted to flinch, to let my uncertainty show.
But I steeled myself, masking vulnerability with strategy.
Cesar’s anger burned, but my resolve ran cold—the perfect balance of necessity and regret.
The stakes weren’t just about Miranda anymore; they were about loyalty, power, and a twisted sense of duty neither of us dared name aloud.
An hour later, Cesar sat staring at me. I couldn’t read his expression, which was a little unnerving. Sitting there like a statue across from me, I waited, wondering what he was thinking when he finally spoke up.
“It’s a dangerous, wicked game you’re playing, Massimo. If anything goes wrong—anything at all—it means war. If she learns the truth before you’ve sealed her to you, it means war. If her brother, or Reaper for that matter, learns you are the one responsible for her current problems, it means war.”
Leaning back in my chair, I smiled. “Sounds like fun.” My laughter was brittle, echoing off the wood-paneled walls, but Cesar didn’t so much as blink. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the ceiling fan overhead, slicing the tense air.
“Don’t mistake my patience for forgiveness,” Cesar finally warned, his voice low and cold as winter steel. “One misstep, and even I won’t be able to save you from the consequences. Now get the hell out of my office and go inform your wife what it means to be a Vitale.”
I nodded before quietly leaving.