Page 15 of Marriage of Revenge

He checks a few things on his watch. "She's okay. Luka is not."

Fuck. The first casualty. My fingers trace the scar on my face—a habit I never quite broke. Dead men are currency in our world, and today's exchange rate is steep. We move forward.

The lavish venue for our noon gathering looms ahead, impressive for some, but not for me. And definitely not intimidating. Once upon a fucking time, when my mother still read fairytales to me, it would have been.

But I know much better, now.

I’m older and definitely wiser.

They don’t call me the Beast just because of my scars and my prowess in the ring—but because I’m always a step ahead. Because I destroy anyone who’s a danger to the people close to me, to our business, our empire.

Isabella’s father is trying to show his power, but the reason he’s doing this auction is that he needs to consolidate his place. Rumors whispered how Isabella's father was double-crossed last winter. And he should know history might repeat itself.

“Talk to me,” I demand.

“The hotel is a fortress today,” Franco starts, handing me a discreet earpiece. “Security is tight. Surprising, considering we’re in the heart of Naples. Most thought this event would take place somewhere more remote, more... secluded. Isabella's father has pull, but to manage this, in such a location…” he trails off, both of us acknowledging the sheer power and influence of the man.

“And the bidders?” I ask.

“They're gathering in the ballroom. Lunch is being served. It's a... preliminary mingle,” Franco says, emphasizing the last words to indicate it’s more than a meal. It's a power play, a prelude to the night's events.

The grand doors open to reveal the ballroom in its full glory. Sunlight pours in, catching the crystal of the chandeliers, turning the room into a dazzling spectacle. As the light dances around, conversations blend into a low, continuous hum, creating an ambiance of anticipation.

But my senses are honed on one person.

She's not here.

Not yet.

But she will be.

A few minutes later than the rest of us, Radomir Sizov, Moscow's syndicate shadow, steps in. He's accompanied by two hulking men and an enigmatic woman—his ever-present sentinels.

"Antonio," Radomir acknowledges, the hint of a challenge in his tone. His boots echo softly on the marble floor, a contrast to the muted conversations around us.

"Sizov," I greet back, voice casual, eyes alert.

He smirks, motioning to his entourage. "Brought some friends along. The auction seemed...special."

I glance at his crew, then back to him. "Always special in Naples. Unlike Moscow, we enjoy our sunshine."

His cold eyes momentarily wander the room. "Naples, Moscow, wherever the game is played, I make sure I’m heard."

I give a slight, mocking bow, "Of course, everyone hears the bear roar. But this isn't your forest. "

A subtle tension settles around us, as if the room is holding its breath. We're both kings in our own right, but this ballroom, today, is my court.

Before the tension becomes palpable, a well-dressed host steps forward, clinking a glass to get everyone’s attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, kindly take your places. The introductory event will begin shortly."

Radomir's woman, poised and silent until now, leans closer, her voice a whisper meant only for him, but I catch her words: "Be careful. He's not like the others."

He nods minutely, acknowledging her warning. "Enjoy the event." Radomir offers, the finality in his voice suggesting that our conversation, for now, has ended.

I smile thinly, "You too, Sizov. Let's see who gets what they desire."

As the room readies itself for the so-called introductory event, I find my seat, my mind buzzing with anticipation, strategy, and the burning need to protect what's mine.

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