Page 21 of Crimson Fate

The surprise hits me like a fist. My eyes widen involuntarily, betraying a flash of the shock that jolts through me. Gia... Anthony’s little girl had eyes that could cut glass and a spirit that matched her father’s cunning.

“You want me to fucking marry your daughter.”

“Is that so crazy?” he questions.

“Yeah, that sounds pretty fucking crazy,” I snap before I clarify. “You’re saying you will support me in exchange for placing a wedding band on Gia’s finger?”

“Exactly. It solidifies our families and clarifies that you are loyal to the King organization and that your sister holds no sway over you now that she is an Ivanov.”

“She holds no sway because I say it’s that way,” I remind him firmly.

“I understand, but just think of it,” Anthony continues, mistaking my silence for hesitation. “The respect it commands... not to mention Gia’s sharp mind by your side. She would be your equal in every way, my boy.”

Sharp, indeed. Gia Casaletto isn’t just any Mafia princess; she’s as formidable as she is enigmatic. But this... this is playing with a different kind of danger. It’s a gamble that demands consideration, even if every instinct screams at me to remain free from such entanglements.

“Support in all things?” I probe, eyeing him carefully. Even now, I must navigate these treacherous waters with precision. “Or are there strings attached?”

“Unconditional,” he asserts.

Anthony’s proposal sinks its teeth into the marrow of my predicament. The decision isn’t just about me—it’s about the survival of a dynasty. Eva’s words echo in my mind about me deserving to be happy. Perhaps she was right. Maybe marrying Gia would not only strengthen my place in this family but also be the catalyst for my happiness.

A crystal chandelier casts a golden glow over the room, the light glinting off the polished silverware and the half-empty bottle of wine on the table. The air smells of garlic and aged wine—a scent as familiar as my own skin. It’s a comfort that feels out of place given the proposition dangling in the air, heavy and intoxicating.

“Family is everything,” Anthony says, his fingers drumming a silent, impatient rhythm on the table. “You know this better than anyone.”

“Family,” I echo, feeling the edge of the word sharp against my tongue. “Yes, it’s the core we’re built upon. How does Gia feel about this proposed union?”

Anthony’s eyes flicker with triumph and caution as if he has anticipated my question. “If you’re asking if Gia is aware of the proposition,” he admits, his voice laced with a hint of uncertainty, “she is. She understands the stakes at play here.”

“Alright,” I say, my voice a steady thrum that belies the turmoil beneath my calm exterior. “I will meet with your daughter, and, if after that meeting I believe as much as you seem to that the union will benefit all, I will extend her the offer of marriage.”

“Wonderful,” Anthony exclaims.

“I want to add that if I do decide to marry Gia, she has to freely agree to the arrangement.” The words taste like a blend of iron and resolve as they fall from my lips.

Anthony’s posture relaxes ever so slightly, the tension lines around his eyes softening. He leans back into the plush upholstery of his chair, and his face breaks into a smile. It’s subtle, but it spreads across his features like the slow dawn after a long night. Triumph glints in his gaze, tempered with a palpable sense of relief as if he’s just been granted a reprieve from an inevitable guillotine drop.

“Good,” he says, the satisfaction in his voice as rich as a vintage wine. “This is the right choice. For both our families.”

I nod. The action is automatic, as my mind is already racing ahead. Each scenario, each potential fallout from this decision, unfolds in my thoughts like a deck of cards fanned out on a gambler’s table. Gia’s image flashes before me, her fate intertwined with mine by a single word uttered in this dimly lit room.

“Of course,” I murmur, though my thoughts are a cacophony of strategy and consequence. I can’t afford the luxury of doubt now. I’ve cast my lot, and there’s no turning back.

His hand rises, palm open, fingers outstretched—a bridge between two worlds that were, moments ago, on the brink of war. I stare at it, seeing not just the hand of Anthony Casaletto but the lineage it represents, the history etched into its lines and scars.

“Let’s seal it, then,” he says, his voice a low hum in the cavernous quiet of the room. The air between us thickens, charged with the electric current of a new beginning—or perhaps the final chapter of an old tale.

My hand lifts of its own accord, drawn to his as if pulled by unseen strings. It’s more than flesh meeting flesh; it’s a convergence of past and future, of promises made and destinies entwined. Our hands clasp, and in that union, the weight of generations settles upon my shoulders.

“Per la famiglia,” I breathe, the words slipping from my lips like a sacred vow for the family.

“Per la famiglia,” he echoes.

Chapter Eight

My hands are unsteady as I fasten the silver cuff links, a gift from my late father, a reminder of legacy and expectation. The weight of the evening isn’t lost on me. I’m about to dine with Gia, the woman who will supposedly bring unity to our fractured organization.

I straighten my tie once more, a sleek black number that feels like armor against the vulnerability nipping at my resolve.

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