Chapter Twenty-Seven
Massimo
“Smile, brother.” Guilio chuckled, clapping me—hard—on the back as I gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady the nausea rising in my gut. I forced myself to stand still as the guests filed in, all eyes on me, their whispers swirling like smoke. “Today is your wedding day.”
“Fuck off, Guilio,” I spat, my jaw clenched so tight it ached.
My knuckles whitened around the empty wineglass as I drained the last drops, the burn hardly dulling the resentment in my chest. Heat flushed my skin as I stormed toward the kitchen, the weight of every stare pressing down on me as my mind flashed back to Cesar’s office, not more than six days ago.
The moment Miranda shut Cesar’s office door behind her, a surge of heat flushed up my neck.
I slammed my palm against his desk, rattling the pens and papers.
“What game are you actually playing, Cesar? You know as well as I do that I don’t love her.
And all that talk—what was the purpose?” My voice trembled between anger and disbelief, desperate for answers.
Cesar leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled and eyes narrowed in thoughtful calculation. “Someone needed to mend things, and I assumed you’d handle it. Apparently, I misjudged.” His tone was steady, but a flicker of disappointment crossed his face.
I clenched my fists, knuckles pale as I struggled for self-control.
“You call me reckless, then shove me into a marriage I never asked for. What happens when she figures out the truth? Did you even think about that? She now believes I’m in love with her!
” My words came out hoarse, edged with panic that cut deeper than rage.
Cesar’s lips curled in a small, knowing smile. “That’s exactly what she needs to believe.” For a split second, I caught the glimmer of something sharper in his gaze—a hint of strategy, not mere damage control.
I pressed a hand to my forehead, pulse hammering. Guilio stood nearby, his posture loose and shoulders relaxed, but the grin stretched across his face reminded me of the Joker from Batman—it was creepy. I shot him a glare, finger stabbing the air between us.
“Stay out of this, Guilio. I don’t need your interference or your amusement.” My words came out sharper than I intended, but they made him lift his hands in mock surrender, smirk undiminished.
Cesar exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples as if the weight of responsibility pressed down.
“Calm down, Massimo. This isn’t a catastrophe.
” His gaze drifted toward the window, voice lowering.
“Her believing you love her creates stability—it lets us all move forward. She’ll be more inclined to adapt, maybe even let her guard down.
The goal isn’t just smoothing things over; it’s making sure our family stays intact. ”
Aurelio, perched near the bookshelves, tried to mask his amusement, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “He’s right, brother. With your wife in her love bubble, she won’t question living here, or your relationship. Think of it as a clean slate—a second chance, whether you want it or not.”
Guilio, now with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, couldn’t resist a jab. “That’s if you don’t fuck it up again, Massimo.” His words lingered in the air, heavy with challenge and a faint trace of sibling rivalry.
Guilio’s laughter echoed in my head as I rinsed my wineglass, the chill of the water grounding me back in the present.
The kitchen felt too bright, too sterile compared to the tangled emotions that clung to me.
For a moment, I gripped the counter, counting my breaths, hoping the anger would subside before I had to face anyone else when I heard Luca say, “Massimo, Cesar wants you to meet the priest.”
I wiped the last drops from the glass and turned, the weight of everyone’s expectations settling onto my shoulders.
The thought of meeting the priest felt surreal, as if I were about to step onto a stage and deliver lines I hadn’t rehearsed.
My heart thudded in my chest—this was no longer just a family arrangement; it was a performance, and everyone was watching to see if I would play my part.
Standing straight, I laid the dish towel on the counter and strode past Luca, who, like the rest of my brothers, had given me a wide berth the last few days. The only one I tolerated near me was the one brother who would not be present for this charade Cesar had constructed.
Entering the formal sitting room—now nearly swallowed by the scent of lilies and roses—I hesitated for a heartbeat, my chest tightening at the sight.
Cesar stood beside a priest, their conversation low and conspiratorial.
My brother’s eagerness to escape these introductions was typical—he always left me to handle the formalities, content to play host and then slip away.
Cesar’s face brightened as I approached. “And here is the groom now, Father. Massimo, I’d like you to meet Father Jacob from Queen of All Saints Basilica. He was just telling me the history of the church.” He gestured between us with a flourish, as if orchestrating a performance for unseen guests.
Narrowing my eyes, I glared at my brother. “Oh, really?” My annoyance simmered beneath my voice, but Cesar, ever the diplomat, only smiled wider.
“Yes, and now that you are here, I can go retrieve your bride,” Cesar said, his words rushed as he made his exit, footsteps quick on the polished floor.
“Like I was saying,” the priest began, shifting his weight as he turned his polite smile toward me. “Queen of All Saints Basilica was established in 1922. Originally a parish, the church was elevated to a basilica in 2003...” His voice was steady, practiced, as if he recited these dates every day.
“You don’t say,” I groaned, forcing a tight smile and letting my focus drift to a wilting hydrangea on the mantel.
My nerves buzzed beneath my calm exterior as I ignored the priest’s facts, vowing to get Cesar back when the time came, wishing I could be anywhere but here—anywhere but the centerpiece in someone else’s well-rehearsed script.
It was done.
I was now, in every legal sense—and, more importantly, before God—married to Miranda Williams. Standing in the receiving line, flanked by my brothers and my new bride, I forced a polite smile as I shook hands with a parade of guests whose names I barely recognized.
Most were more important to Cesar than to me, and judging by the endless line, my brother had made sure no connection was left uninvited.
Each perfunctory greeting blurred together, my mind wandering even as I nodded and murmured thanks.
As I shook hands with strangers, the weight of the ceremony pressed in on me, coupled with uncertainty and the faint ache of betrayal with each congratulatory handshake.
“Savy!” A shout rang out above the crowd, unmistakably Oliver Thorpe’s. Ignoring custom and courtesy, he cut straight through the line, determined to reach Miranda. The moment he reached her, he swept her into a tight hug.
Miranda laughed, her relief plain as she returned his embrace. “Oliver,” she sighed, a genuine smile brightening her features as she let him go. “I can’t believe you’re here.” She turned to me and asked, “Did you invite him for me?” Her eyes searched mine, gratitude and curiosity shining through.
Before I could answer, Cesar—my older brother and, by default, the orchestrator of this farce—leaned in with his trademark warmth.
“Happy wedding day, sister,” he said, then pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to her temple before she smiled up at him, clearly at ease with his familiar gesture when someone cleared their throat.
“If you don’t mind, we’d like to congratulate the happy couple—unless that’s too much to ask,” Leviticus Barbari declared, his voice cutting through the din and turning heads with his sneering undertone.
He strode forward with his daughter Katherine at his side, every step calculated.
Leviticus’s eyes glinted with mischief as he fixed his gaze on me.
“Massimo, I have to admit, I thought this whole thing was a farce. Yet here you are, standing next to your bride.” His lips curled into a smirk—the satisfaction of someone who’d been waiting to stir the pot.
Tension crackled instantly. Cesar stepped in, jaw clenched, eyes narrowing in warning.
He positioned himself in front of Miranda, shoulders squared in a protective stance.
My heart raced—I could feel the heat rising in my chest, fists instinctively curling at my sides as Katherine’s gaze flickered between our faces, searching for what, I didn’t care.
“Barbari,” Cesar snapped, voice raised, almost talking over Leviticus in his urgency. “You weren’t invited. Leave. Now.”
The command hung in the air, daring Leviticus to push further.
But Leviticus didn’t flinch. He met Cesar’s challenge with a slow, deliberate grin—his eyes flicking to the crowd for effect.
“And what reason would I have to go, Vitale?” he said, almost relishing the mounting tension.
Leaning in, he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper only just loud enough for the inner circle to hear.
“I think the bride deserves to know her husband is about to become a father.” Beneath his words, his satisfaction radiated—this was more than gossip; it was revenge, a calculated move to disrupt the fragile peace.
Miranda’s gasp shattered the hush, her hand flying to her mouth as color drained from her cheeks.
Cesar’s glare sharpened, every muscle rigid.
I felt my stomach drop, a cold sweat prickling beneath my collar.
Katherine shifted, eyes wide—caught between embarrassment and horror.
Around us, guests murmured, their faces a mix of disbelief and eager curiosity, waiting to see how this scandal would unfold as security pushed their way through the crowd.
“Get him out of my house!” Cesar roared furiously as Barbari threw his head back laughing, defiant even as security dragged him from the premises.
His daughter, silent and composed, followed him with measured steps, leaving the tension behind.
But the damage was done. The instant they were gone, I looked around, searching for Miranda—only to realize she had slipped away, and Oliver Thorpe was no longer in sight either.