Chapter 2 Chapter 1: Three Funerals And A Wedding

~Chiara~

ONE MONTH LATER.

Six months. Three dead sons. One dinner table.

It was the Fierros’ turn to marry into my family, and apparently, three dead sons hadn't been enough to make them reconsider.

They just kept sending their boys to me like they were trying to lose them.

Tonight they'd brought a fourth, and I hadn't decided yet if I should be insulted or impressed by their persistence.

"Signurina," Don Leone called.

Slowly, I offered my hand–a gesture I'd made quite a number of times with him.

He took it carefully, brushing his lips against my knuckles in a way that felt as though he'd rather kiss a viper's fang than my flesh.

Not that I cared. I didn't ask him to sacrifice his sons for more power.

"You look well."

And you look like you still haven't learned your lesson after burying three sons. I kept the thought tucked neatly behind my smile.

"Don Leone." I bowed my head. "You honor us with your presence."

Yet again, I almost added.

The silence that settled between us was thick enough to choke on.

He was waiting for something–a hint of a smirk, a smile, a crack in the mask.

But I gave him nothing.

Without wasting any more time, I got into character. I let my shoulders drop, lips trembling slightly.

I'd practised this in the mirror more times than I could count. So at that moment? It was child's play.

"Signuri," I started, my voice like glass about to shatter. "Accept my condolences. For all three of them."

He stiffened. He wasn't expecting that.

"When I heard about Luciano..." My voice broke and I pressed my hand to my mouth. "I just couldn't–"

A tear finally slipped, then another, each drop perfectly timed. And I made sure he watched them fall.

"Forgive me," I whispered and lowered my gaze. "I'm still weak."

He shifted on his feet. A Don didn't do tears.

But he was a man, and I was just a grieving woman. What could he do but play the part of a consoling patriarch?

"Don't think about it anymore, Signurina," he said, voice gentler now as he patted my hand. It was a calculated gentleness, but gentleness nonetheless. "The one responsible will be found. But for now, the past is past."

The past is past. Three sons in the ground and that's all he had to say? Talk about father of the year.

With one final pat on the hand, he excused himself to go meet my father.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The clicking of his cane cut through the air like a countdown. Each strike against the polished marble was deliberate and unhurried as he stepped forward.

The fourth son of his father and Head Capo of his family's district. Raffaele Fierro.

He didn't even wait for me to offer my hand. He just took it, dark eyes locked on mine the entire time, and held it for a few seconds.

He brushed his thumb over my knuckles, just once, but it was enough to spark something in my chest.

"Signurina," he purred. His voice was smooth and it sent an unwelcome jolt through me before I could stop it.

Slowly, he lifted my hand to his lips and planted a soft kiss to my skin.

My breath hitched at the contact, and I hated that it did.

I hated that I couldn't tear my gaze away.

And I hated that when he released my hand and stepped away, my fingers still tingled where his lips had been.

But it didn't matter what strange sensation I felt, I was not going to let this marriage take place.

I wasn't going to let father hand me over like a bargaining chip after handing me over to his needles when I was 12.

No matter how many men the Fierros had to betroth me to, I'd kill every last one of them if I had to.

Especially Raffaele.

He'd seen me that night and had probably seen more than enough to know why I was there.

And yet here he was, asking for my hand in marriage despite my attempt to kill his brother.

I watched him take his seat at the dinner table, trying to figure out what game he was playing.

Whatever his reason for helping me that night, it had to die with him.

----

"We're eating with the family that killed three of our blood!"

Rafe's cousin, some loud-mouthed idiot whose name I'd forgotten, started yapping before the first course was even served.

"This isn't a dinner." He slammed his fist on the table and jumped to his feet. "It's a massacre waiting to happen."

"Tell your son to shut up before I silence him for good," Leone snapped at his brother, who immediately tried and failed to get his son in line.

I glanced at Rafe. He was sitting across from me, looking completely uninterested in the entire thing.

Then I noticed where his eyes were settled–the empty chair near the head of the table.

Isa's chair.

My chest tightened.

She should have been sitting there but she hadn't been home in days.

I kept trying to convince myself that she was too busy with whatever new thing she's got going on, but deep down, something told me otherwise.

My gaze returned to Rafe. Why was he looking at her chair?

An ugly feeling rose in my chest as I pondered on the thought. Could he be interested in my sister?

"She killed them," his cousin snarled.

The second I returned my gaze to his stupid face, a gun appeared in his hand, pointed straight at me.

My breath caught.

For a second, I actually wondered if he was serious. Surely he wasn't foolish enough to pull a gun on a Verdone in their own home.

But apparently, he was.

I didn't even get the chance to reach for my own weapon before a gunshot cracked through the room.

Rafe had fired. The bullet struck his cousin's palm, knocking his aim off course, but not before his own finger pulled the trigger.

Another shot rang out almost immediately and something hot grazed the tip of my ear.

I flinched, my hand flying to the side of my face as Rafe fired again. This time, the bullet caught his cousin in the shoulder, sending him stumbling backward.

My attention snapped toward the other side of the table, where Rafe was now standing.

His cane was still in one hand, while the other held a still-smoking gun pointed straight at his cousin.

There was no panic on his face. No hesitation. Not even the slightest sign that he'd just fired two shots at his family member.

If anything, he looked almost... bored.

"Apologize."

"Fottuta idiota," Don Leone cursed, his face twisting. "Have you lost your mind? You pulled a gun in their home?!"

My father was already standing, hand on his own gun. "Leone, control your family."

For a second, I thought the alliance would end right there, over a stupid cousin who couldn't keep his mouth shut.

Rafe's cousin stared at him, face reddening as he spat curses at no one in particular. But Rafe's expression didn't change.

"I said, apologize."

The room had gone so quiet that I could hear the faint clinking of someone's glass against the table.

He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking between Rafe and the gun in his hand.

"I'm sorry."

Rafe didn't lower his weapon.

"To her."

His jaw tightened, but whatever argument had been forming in his head died before it reached his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Signurina. Forgive my foolishness."

Only then did Rafe lower the gun, slipped it back beneath his jacket and returned to his seat like nothing happened.

He picked up his glass and took a slow sip, completely unfazed by the roomful of eyes still fixed on him.

"Luigi," Leone called, a hint of panic in his tone. "Forgive my – my nephew. He's young, drinks too much, speaks without thinking. And Raffaele, you know how he's been—"

I stopped listening and forced myself to look away.

Leone's voice kept going, that slick apology voice men use when they're trying to keep a business deal from bleeding out.

Sorry for the outburst, sorry for the gun, sorry for my family acting like the animals you already think we are in your house.

Blah, blah, blah.

My mind finally tuned them out but all I could think was: he didn't even flinch.

I'd known he wasn't like his brothers. I'd heard enough of him already to know that much. But watching him tonight, one thing was made painfully clear.

If I was going to get rid of him, I had to be a hell of a lot more careful than I'd planned.

The moment dinner ended, the conversation shifted to wedding arrangements, and I knew exactly where it was going. Guests. Security. Money.

The usual dance between two families pretending it was about marriage and not power.

I couldn't bear to listen to it, so I promptly excused myself to the balcony outside my sister's room.

I gripped the railing and let out a slow breath.

Three down. One to go.

Except, for the first time, I wasn't entirely sure this one would be easy.

The soft sound of footsteps behind me pulled a grin onto my face. Something fluttered low in my chest at the realization of who it was.

Alessandro.

I raised my gun as I spun around, grinning like a lovesick fool.

"Really, Sandrino? Following me to the–"

The gun left my hand before I even realized he'd moved. His other hand caught my wrist and twisted it behind my back.

I slipped, my back hitting the railing before I could regain my balance, and suddenly half my body was hanging over the edge.

He stepped in close enough to keep me from falling and a faint click echoed through the night as he pressed cold steel beneath my jaw.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Not because of the four-story drop beneath me. But because I finally caught a good look at the man holding me.

So this was Raffaele Fierro up close.

I'd seen handsome men before. I'd even killed a few.

Rafe, unfortunately, was the kind of handsome that made it difficult to remember I was supposed to be thinking about killing him.

Those dark eyes held mine in a way I didn't appreciate, especially with his face this close to mine.

Even when I managed to look away, my attention kept betraying me, catching on little things I really had no business noticing.

His curls. The sharp line of his jaw. The irritating calm on his face.

I mentally kicked myself. Get a grip, Chiara!

"Expecting someone else?" His voice was exactly what it was at dinner. Low. Unbothered. Like he was commenting on the freaking weather and not currently holding me over a balcony.

A smile tugged at my lips.

"I wouldn't worry about that if I were you." I glanced down.

Something flashed in his eyes for a second before he finally dropped it.

My second gun, the one he didn't know about, was pressed against his stomach.

I never went to family dinners unarmed. I had two guns tonight. One on my thigh and the other strapped to the side of my waist.

The realization slowly registered on his face.

He looked back up. Then he smirked. That damn smirk.

"Cute." The gun beneath my jaw shifted, tracing a deliberate line along my jugular.

His voice dropped lower. "But I'm fairly certain I'd survive that."

His eyes held mine without flinching.

"You, on the other hand..." He trailed off, dragging his gaze down my face like he was memorizing every reaction playing on it. "One small nick here and it's over before you hit the ground."

I opened my mouth to say something, but Rafe beat me to it, shutting me the hell up with just three words.

"Your sister's missing.”