Chapter three

Rafaello's POV

“Why would you do something this outrageous, Mother? Why?” I slammed my fist through the wall, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

I had never been this furious with her, but today she crossed every boundary. Marriage?

I still couldn’t believe I woke up tied to a chair and got married to a fucking stranger. The thought alone made my blood boil, while my mother just stood there, silent. For a moment, I wanted to forget she was my mother and treat her like I treat traitors.

"What do you think Grandpa is going to say about this reckless act you’ve committed?" I demanded, voice sharp like a blade.

"I’ll explain everything to him," she answered, brushing it off as if it meant nothing.

"Rafe, I did this for you, for your happiness," she said, tears forming in her eyes.

"Happiness?" I snarled. "You threatened me with my own men and had Santorini cuffed to a pillar. That’s not love, that’s betrayal."

"This is what’s best for you, son."

"Best? You mean control. You know what happened, you saw how it broke me, and yet you do this? Get out before I forget you’re my blood."

"Son, I..."

"Get the fuck out, Mother, before I do something I’ll never regret."

She walked away, her steps thundering heavier with each moment.

If she weren’t my mother, she’d already be bleeding at my feet.

The sound of muffled sobs snapped my attention back. The redhead. She had been crying, her hiccups sharp and broken. She looked small, fragile… but her earlier defiance still burned in her eyes. Pathetic little thing, shaking like a stray kitten but daring to snarl.

I moved closer, uncuffed her, and ripped the gag away.

Why the fuck was she looking at me like I was the villain? From the way I had pinned her to the pillar earlier, she should already know fear.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

She stayed silent.

"Talk, dammit!" I roared, slamming my fist into the chair beside her. She flinched.

"I’m Alora Smith," she whispered, trembling and avoiding my gaze.

I stepped forward, towering over her.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

Nineteen? Either I had forgotten what nineteen-year-olds looked like, or this girl was lying through her teeth.

"Stop lying to me. How old are you? Don’t test me."

Her eyes snapped to mine, fire in them. "What the fuck is your problem? Why would I lie about my age?"

No one yells at me and lives unscarred. And yet, this scrap of a girl dared.

I wrapped my hand around her neck, tightening my grip until her face reddened, her breaths coming in sharp gasps.

"I don’t hit women," I said, my voice calm, dangerous, "but the next time you yell at me, I’ll cut your tongue out and make you watch me burn it."

I released her, and she collapsed against the chair, breathing like a fish gasping on land. Fear suited her.

"Boss, we have to go!" Santorini’s voice cut through, shouting from the doorway.

"Is there a problem?"

"The media are ten minutes out. We have to leave."

Of course. Mother must have tipped them.

"Take her back to the mansion. I’m heading to the office."

Santorini dragged her away. She fought weakly, claws of a kitten that didn’t know she was in the lion’s den.

Now where the hell would my mother find such a wild little thing? Something wasn’t adding up.

Every step away from that room was heavy, as if the walls themselves wanted me to break them.

My hands were trembling,not from fear, but from the fire roaring inside me.

I could still hear her sobs echoing in my mind, twisting every nerve with fury.

Something didn’t add up. Too convenient, too neat. And I hated convenient.

I slid into my black sedan and ordered the chauffeur to drive.

My steps echoed like war drums when I entered my office. My mood was lethal. Anyone crossing me right now would end up buried.

I slammed the door shut and sent a box of files flying across the room.

Was I sloppy, or was my mother just too smart? My grandfather would be furious.

He believed marriages were about power and connections, never love. And this girl? Those big hazel eyes haunted me for a second, but she was plain. Worthless. If I ever wanted a wife, she wouldn’t be this scrap. She was nothing but leverage, bait for my enemies.

Or worse, a spy.

That’s when it hit me. That hair, that voice, yesterday she had bumped into me at my mother’s office. Carelessly. Too conveniently.

Did my mother set me up? Were they working together?

No. Something stank worse.

I called Alessio, my private investigator. If anyone could dig her grave with information, it was him.

"Alessio."

"Yes, boss. How may I be of help today?"

"Find me everything about a woman named Alora Smith. Everything. If she ever breathed wrong, I want to know about it."

"Yes, boss."

"You have ten minutes," I said, then hung up.

I forced myself into stillness. Fury is a weapon, not a weakness.

The door opened without a knock. Only one man dared, Santorini.

"Hey, Rafe," he said in that tone that meant he was about to lecture me.

"I thought you had to stay at the mansion with that woman!" I snapped.

"Your mother said to let her be, so I did."

"How could she? I can’t even look her in the eye."

"Still, she’s your mum, bro. Just chill, we’ll figure this out," he said.

"You don’t get it. I’m married. Drugged. Dragged to the altar like some fucking fool. Do you know what that feels like?" My knuckles cracked as I clenched my fist.

My phone chimed. Alessio’s file.

I opened it.

"No. This can’t be it. There has to be more," I muttered, venom in my voice.

"Let me see." Santino grabbed the phone.

The file was thin. Orphanage twelve years ago. Schooling. No record of where she lived after.

"I take it you didn’t read all of it. She worked at a casino. Guess whose."

"Who?" I asked.

"Don Vescari."

I froze.

"Say that again."

"Don Vescari’s casino."

So that was it. My instincts were right.

"We’re going to war. Vescari thinks he can send one of his whores into my family and walk away? He’s going to bleed for this."

I had waited for this day. Vescari and I had been rivals since I rose to power. I had evidence tying him to my father’s assassination, but he denied it. Rules held me back from war. My grandfather’s rules.

But now? He moved first. And I would make him kneel.

"That bitch will learn what happens when someone plays me," I smirked darkly.

"Rafe, you could be wrong. Maybe she just worked there. It could be coincidence," Santino said, giving me that look.

"Coincidence?" I snarled. "Being tied to a fucking chair and forced to marry her? Alessio doesn’t make mistakes. People die when they do."

"We just need to be sure before we go to war."

"Fine. Get your ass down there. Confirm it."

But deep down, I already knew.

And when I was done, I would carve her into the weapon that would destroy Vescari.

“Boss, we have a situation,” Santino's voice cut through, tense.

“Spill it,” I snapped, spinning toward him, eyes blazing.

“Our shipment… it just got seized.”

I froze for a split second. Then rage exploded.

“This better be a joke,” I growled, yanking open the cabinet and slamming my gun down on the desk. “Someone is going to pay for this. Today.”

My mind raced. Every move, every misstep, every enemy circling,now had consequences in blood. The rules my grandfather set weren’t meant to protect anyone from stupidity. They were meant to protect the family. And someone just trampled them.

“Call for a meeting,” I barked, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles cracked. “I want answers before I step foot there. Every person involved will explain themselves,or bleed for it.”

Santorini nodded, already pulling out his phone.

I paced the office, each step echoing like a war drum. Fury was a weapon. And right now, it was all I had.

“Vescari, shipment seizure… coincidences don’t exist in my world. Someone made a move against me. And I will make them regret it. All of them,” I muttered under my breath, a dark promise to the world.