Chapter 2 Prologue 2 - The Weight Of Legacy

Dante Gray:

"You expect me to agree to this madness?" my words came out burning with rage, and my hand slammed on the table with a dry thud.

That subject touched me in a deep and dark place. My maternal grandfather was a bastard like the one in front of me. He'd never been a loving grandfather to me and Júlia, but I truly started to hate him when I learned how he'd treated my mother—and how he'd negotiated her with my grandfather Máximus, as if she were merchandise. Men like "Grandpa" Aleksander disgusted me. When I learned the whole story, the most I could do for him was not kill him. But from that day on, he'd ceased to be my grandfather. The only grandfather who had my love and respect was Máximus Gray.

"Dante, sit down!" my father's voice cut through the air, with the calm and authority of a boss.

And I had no choice but to obey.

I sat down, but my look at him carried a hint of disappointment. No one there would notice—but he certainly would. However, I knew he would have an explanation for that. I'd always respected and obeyed my father without question, because I knew he would always do what was best for my mother, for Júlia, and for me. Giovanni Gray had always protected and loved our family above all else. On the street, he didn't expose our intimacy, but at home, he and my mother were a reference couple. I, in fact, couldn't deny that I'd set high standards regarding the type of marriage I wanted—because I had the best example at home.

My father had always been impeccable. But if he told me he agreed with that absurdity, I would probably rebel against him for the first time in my life.

I didn't want things to happen that way. He was my father, someone I loved and respected. And Giovanni Gray was my Leader. As his successor, I shouldn't disrespect him like that, especially in front of strangers. In other circumstances, alone, we had disagreed on some points—and we always put the matter on the table, even if most of the time I realized he was right. But at that moment, there was no argument that could convince me to accept that arrangement.

I took a deep breath. I looked at my father. And, calmly and respectfully, I expressed my discontent:

"You expect me to get engaged to someone so young? Times are different, no one arranges marriages like this anymore."

"It's not what you're thinking, Dante. For now, this will just be an agreement between families. You won't have any contact. You'll be engaged, but you'll only get married when she comes of age."

I still thought it was all absurd. I wanted to get married at, I don't know, thirty. My father was still young, he'd command the Brotherhood for a long time—I wouldn't need to take the chair so soon. That girl in the photo was still practically a kid, and she'd have the same life my mother had: kept in private captivity until marriage. It was bullshit.

"I want to speak with my son alone. Leave us, please," my father said, noticing my resistance. "When I'm done, I'll call you back."

He waited for everyone to leave the office. But before leaving, Caius left a bit more of his venom:

"In the old days, children were more obedient and didn't question their parents' orders—especially when their father was the Leader."

"Don't interfere with my way of commanding, much less with my relationship with my son," my father's voice dropped, becoming even more threatening. "I've never needed to impose my opinion to have his total respect. I don't want fear from my son—that I want from my enemies. From my son, I want only respect. Just as I demand that you respect my decisions. Now, get out of here."

Caius didn't argue. He left, although his expression made it clear he hadn't liked being reprimanded.

Moments later, when we were completely alone, my father spoke, looking at me attentively:

"First of all, keep your emotions in check while in public. When we're alone, you know you can be completely frank with me. But with other people present, keep everything to yourself and remain impassive."

He spoke calmly, but the dissatisfaction was there, clear—as he always did when he reprimanded me. He'd never raised his voice at me or my sister. It was enough for him to show his dissatisfaction for us to know our place.

"I'm sorry, Father. I didn't mean to disrespect you—neither as a father nor as a Leader," I said honestly.

He softened his expression a little.

"Son, it's not as bad as it seems—at least not for you. I lived a similar story with your mother, and you know how crazy I am about her. Your mother was the best thing that ever happened to me. That bastard of your grandfather also wanted to seal the marriage when she was still very young and..."

"He's not my grandfather!" I interrupted.

My father gave me an ugly look. He hated being interrupted. But I wouldn't have done it if we weren't alone.

"As I was saying," he resumed, with calculated patience, "Aleksander acted the same way as that idiot out there. And in the end, everything worked out. My father didn't accept the agreement right away, but I married your mother anyway. Sometimes it's foolish to delay the inevitable—unless..." he paused, reflecting. "If you tell me there's someone on your mind, we won't accept this agreement. But if there's no one, I don't see any reason to refuse."

I thought about that consideration. In the face of my silence, my father watched me with doubled attention.

"Is there someone, Dante?"

Nothing came out of my mouth. I wasn't sure. My head was confused. Suddenly, I remembered a conversation from almost a year ago.

"You can't have a girlfriend."

"Why not?" I'd asked, loving to see her shy.

"Because you're going to marry me!"