Chapter 5 Choose the bride

IAN

The heavy oak door of Vittorio Moretti’s private study swung open, releasing the thick, suffocating stench of expensive Cuban cigars and aged whiskey into the hallway.

My uncle sat behind his massive mahogany desk like a king overseeing his domain. He gestured with a flick of his cigar toward the leather armchair across from him. "Sit, Ian. We have work to do."

I took the seat without a word, crossing my legs as we spent the first hour dissecting the shipping logistics at the docks and the ongoing territorial dispute with the Bellamonte De Lucas.

We spoke in the quiet, precise rhythm of cold business and absolute power, Vittorio barking orders, and me giving the short, sharp nods that meant his orders would be executed without mercy.

Once the last ledger was closed and the last strategy agreed upon, Vittorio didn't immediately dismiss me.

Instead, he reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket, pulled out two glossed photographs, and tossed them casually onto the mahogany table between us.

I didn't reach for them right away. I simply leaned back, holding his gaze with an unblinking, impassive stare.

Vittorio let out a quiet chuckling sigh, resting his elbows on the desk as he leaned forward. "I have a dilemma, Ian. A personal one. It’s regarding this marriage alliance with the Bellamonte De Lucas."

I raised one dark eyebrow in a silent, unspoken question.

"I am seriously reconsidering my original choice of bride," Vittorio admitted, running a heavy hand over his jaw as he stared down at the desk. "I’ve been observing the youngest girl, Bianca. She’s quiet, yes, but she’s far too soft. Far too fragile. She won't handle the expectations of this household, and frankly, she’s boring me to death before we’ve even made it to the altar."

As he spoke, my eyes slowly lowered to the two photos resting near my arm. The contrast between the women was so sharp it hit like a physical blow.

The first photo showed Bianca, a picture of classic mafia perfection with pin-straight black hair, a pristine high-neck blouse, and an utterly blank, business-minded expression that promised total obedience.

But it was the second photograph that sent a sudden, jarring shockwave straight through my chest, forcing every muscle in my body to lock dead still.

Framed in glossy paper was the same girl I had pulled out of that rain-soaked van three days ago, Kimora.

I kept my face locked in a mask of absolute ice, refusing to let even a flicker of my internal chaos show, though my pulse roared deafeningly in my ears. In the photo, Kimora looked like a walking explosion of vivid, unbothered chaos.

Her wild, fiery red curls tumbled haphazardly around her shoulders, completely unstyled and scattered every which way.

She was wearing an oversized black hoodie with purposeful rips torn all around the collar, holding a bright pink lollipop lazily between her lips while staring straight into the camera lens with a wide, mocking smirk.

I couldn't stop myself. I extended two large fingers, slowly sliding her photograph toward my side of the desk, my dark gaze pinned to those familiar, defiant eyes.

I remembered the way her bruised jaw had throbbed, the way she had babbled sarcastic nonsense through her terror in the backseat of my SUV. Seeing her listed here as a potential commodity for my uncle made something dark, hot, and dangerously volatile twist deep inside my gut.

Vittorio caught the way my eyes lingered on her image for a second too long.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across his weathered face as he reached forward, dragging both photographs back toward his side of the desk.

"Ah, looking at her makes me realize I’m being ridiculous," Vittorio muttered, shaking his head as he slid Bianca's picture back to the top. "I must have been delusional to think a wild, unhinged loose cannon like the redheaded brat could ever properly serve this family. She’s a loose streak. Untamable."

Hearing him refer to Kimora in that cold, degrading manner made my jaw clench so hard the muscles in my neck strained against my collar.

A sudden wave of fierce protectiveness washed over me, catching me completely off guard. I hadn't felt bothered over a woman in years, yet the mere thought of my ruthless uncle claiming Kimora, touching her, or locking her into a golden cage made my hands instinctively curl into tight fists beneath the table.

Before I could master the sudden anger threatening to break through my control, Vittorio flipped Kimora’s photograph back around, pointing a sharp finger directly at her face.

He leaned over the desk, his dark eyes searching mine with sudden, sharp curiosity.

"You focused more on her," Vittorio said, his voice dropping into a low, probing purr. "Do you want her?"

I didn't break my silence. I simply let out a low, gravelly grunt from the back of my throat, keeping my posture rigid and unreadable.

The heavy sound made my uncle break into a booming, hearty laugh. He threw his head back and waved his hand dismissively in the air. "Relax, son! I’m kidding with you. Everyone in the city knows you don’t do women. You’d probably snap a girl in half before the night was over."

I remained still as stone, letting his laughter fill the room. Letting him think what he wanted.

But as his chuckle died down, Vittorio lowered his gaze back to Kimora’s photograph. His smirk completely faded, replaced by something far more calculating and dangerous.

He looked up, locking his eyes onto mine, and said quietly, "Thank you for the answer, son."

A cold spike of confusion hit me, but I didn't allow my brow to furrow or my expression to shift by even a fraction of a millimeter.

Vittorio didn't elaborate on his cryptic statement. He simply tapped the desk twice, cleared his throat, and said, "Now, back to the docks. We need to double the guards on the eastern perimeter by midnight."

I gave him a single, firm nod. He already knew the orders had been carried out before he'd even thought to ask.

As the conversation droned on with Vittorio speaking and me offering only sharp, silent gestures, I found it almost impossible to concentrate on his words.

My mind kept pulling back to the fiery redhead in the ripped hoodie. I was seeing her again after five full years, and considering my uncle was planning on marrying her sister, that meant she was going to be pulled directly into our inner circle. She would be forced to be around our estate far more often than I ever anticipated.

My jaw flexed again as I stared blankly at the wall behind Vittorio's head. I didn't need this distraction. Not now. Not when I was this close to getting what I wanted.