Page 34 of His Bride

“Just fine?” Carmine presses, his blue eyes sharp. “You seem awfully protective of your young bride.”

The whiskey burns my throat. “What of it?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs, but his tone suggests otherwise. “Just wondering if there’s more than duty behind those watchful eyes of yours.”

My jaw clenches. “She’s attractive, I’ll admit. And… admirable in her own way. But love?” I scoff, the word tasting bitter. “My heart’s too jaded for that.”

Carmine leans forward, his voice low. “Don’t close yourself off, Dante. Our parents… they’d want you to find happiness.”

The mention of our parents sends a jolt through me. I say nothing, staring into my glass as memories threaten to surface.

“Enough about my love life,” I snarl, desperate to change the subject. “We have more pressing matters. The shipment leak.”

Carmine’s expression hardens, all trace of familial concern vanishing. “You’re right. We need to plug this hole before we drown.”

I nod, grateful for the shift. “I have a plan,” I begin, laying out the trap I’ve set for our famiglia’s rat.

As we strategize, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the pool. The coming darkness mirrors the cold determination settling in my chest. Whoever this traitor is, they’ll soon learn the price of betraying us.

* * *

I pace the dimly lit office, hidden behind the facade of my bureau de change. The air feels thick, heavy with anticipation. Marco should arrive any minute.

I pause at the antique desk and watch the security monitors lining the walls. There he appears on the screen, walking toward the office.

A soft knock shortly sounds after.

“Enter,” I command, my voice low and controlled.

Marco steps in, his eyes darting nervously around the room. Good. He should be uneasy.

“You wanted to see me, boss?” His voice wavers slightly.

I fix him with an icy stare. “Sit.”

He obeys, perching on the edge of the leather chair across from me. I remain standing, towering over him.

“Tell me, Marco,” I begin, circling the desk slowly. “How long have you been with our famiglia?”

“T-ten years, sir.”

I nod, considering. “A decade of loyalty. Or so I thought.”

His face pales. “I don’t understand-”

“Don’t insult me with lies,” I snarl, slamming my palms on the desk. Marco flinches. “We know about your little side business with the Genovese crew.”

“No, I swear-”

I cut him off, my voice dangerously soft. “I have proof, Marco. Recordings. Bank transfers. You’ve been a busy little rat, haven’t you?”

The fight drains from him, replaced by naked fear. Good. He should be terrified.

“Please,” he whimpers. “I can explain-”

“Save it!” I snap. “There’s only one way this ends for traitors.”

I lean in close, my words a deadly vow. “And by the time I’m done, you’ll wish I’d killed you quickly.”

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