Page 3 of Declan

The others are here because they want to be because their fathers dragged them into this world, a world they’ve been trained for since

they could walk. Viviana? She’s here because she was forced to be. And that’s dangerous. That makes her interesting.

When a server approaches with a tray of champagne, she waves him off with a flick of her wrist, her lips curving into something closer to a sneer. She doesn’t bother with the charade and doesn’t offer a single smile. Instead, she’s at the bar, tossing back drinks like she doesn’t give a shit whose attention she catches or whose wrath she provokes.

That’s the kind of attitude that pulls at me. It’s reckless. It’s untamed. The kind of woman who doesn’t need anyone, who could burn everything to the ground just to prove a point. And I’ll be damned if that doesn’t intrigue me.

Kian follows my gaze, his smirk widening like he’s figured something out before I have. “Well, well. The wild one herself. Never thought you had it in you, Declan.”

“I’m just looking, Kian,” I mutter, my voice flat, even as a small, almost imperceptible smile touches the corners of my lips.He knows me too well, knows how much I enjoy poking the bear, even when I’m pretending not to care. “Not like the other two are much of a challenge. I’d break ’em in half just by giving’ ’em a look.”

Connor raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Careful, Declan. That one’s got claws.”

I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I watch Viviana throw back another drink, her olive eyes scanning the room with a look that is equal parts boredom and contempt. She doesn’t belong in the crowd of sycophants, but she doesn’t seem to care either way. She’s a problem, a challenge, the kind of woman who’d rather set the world on fire than be told what to do.

Perfect.

“Maybe,” a slow grin spreads across my face as I size her up.

Kian shakes his head, chuckling. “Ah, always the bleeding’ masochist, aren’t ya? Sure, you know she won’t make it easy on you.”

“I’d be disappointed if she did.” I push off the wall, adjusting the cuffs of my suit shirt. “Besides, taming her isn’t the point. It’s about showing a Morelli that no matter how hard they fight, their fate belongs to me.”

Connor leans in, his voice low and teasing. “Just remember, big bro, if she bites, don’t be coming’ crawling’ to me for help.”

“I won’t be the one crawling’,” I say, making my way to the far side of the room. I drop into an empty chair, and my brothers stand beside me. The fact they just stand there drives me fuckin’ mental. On the outside, I’m the boss, but the truth is, we’re all equals. Still, they love playing the part for appearances, even if it’s just to get under my skin.

Kian nods, and Silvana comes. She sits perfectly straight, a sweet smile on her lips, her legs crossed, and her hands resting on top of them.

“How is your night going, Mr. Callaghan?” Her voice is soft and formal. I look up at Kian, his eyes locked on hers. Fuck, he’s even worse than I am, but she doesn’t meet his eyes; she doesn’t even acknowledge my brother’s.

“Calm,” I answered coldly, not taking my eyes off hers. Finally, she blushes and looks down. There it is; she’s uncomfortable. That was the reaction I was expecting.

“Silvana, how do you see your role in this marriage?” I ask. This is the first time I’m talking with any of them, and I try my best not to sound too aggressive, but by the look in her eyes, I’m not doing a good job.

She shifts on her seat, her gaze now locked on mine again, and with a confident smile, she answers, “My role is to be here for you; I know my place in this.” She pauses for a second, almost like she’s rehearsing the words. “Business arrangement: I will only speak when spoken to and will only be present when my presence is requested.” She finishes with a triumphant nod.

Fucking hell, it’s worse than that damn Miss Universe show our mother used to watch. It’s so mechanical, so rehearsed, it’s almost comical.

“Thank you, Silvana,” I nod, my eyes still locked on her, her face turning red and her breathing increasing. “You can go, Silvana.” She gets up slowly with a smile and leaves, walking slowly, making sure her hips swing sensually in her high heels like she’s on some kind of runway.

“She’s hot as fuck,” Connor bends to my ear, “Too bad she’s a fucking robot,” he adds with a chuckle, and he’s right. She talks like one, too. No spark, no edge.

Kian clears his throat as Bruna approaches. “Hello, Mr. Callaghan.” Her voice is shakier than her sister’s; she’s way too young for someone like me, still playing at being a woman, a little girl trapped in her father’s plans.

“How are you, Bruna?” I ask as she sits, straight as a board, hair on one side, her eyes only focusing on me.

“I’m good, thank you.” Her eyes travel to my hands, and the ink in them makes her eyes narrow slightly. I guess she didn’t know about them. I prevent my lips from curling up at how scared she’s starting to look.

She’s twenty-two years old, and she looks and acts like it, even with all the training Giovanni probably put her through. Her age shows in the way she holds herself and in the way her words come out. She’s playing at this life, but she doesn’t have what it takes. Not yet.

“Bruna, how do you see your role in this marriage?” The same question. If I’m right, her answer will be just like her sister’s. It’s a script they’ve both memorized, a role they’ve been trained for.

Her face blushes as I lean closer, my arm resting on my legs. Her breathing increases, and her eyes drop. She swallows, and finally, she speaks with a voice as sweet as Silvana’s.

“My role is to be an obedient wife and be present only when you request.” There it is, the same fucking answer. It takes all my strength not to roll my eyes like a schoolgirl.

“Good to know, Bruna,” I say, deadpan. “You can go.” There’s no use keeping her here; the girl looks like she might have a panic attack at any second. She gets up quickly, straightens her dress, and walks—almost running—to Silvana.

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