Page 134 of Hate Mates

I study her for a moment, noting the windswept hair and flushed cheeks from her late arrival at dinner. "Where were you this evening?"

She shrugs. A gesture that immediately sets my teeth on edge. "Out. I lost track of time."

"That's not an answer," I growl, taking a step toward her. "You will show respect to your new stepmother, Valentina. I won't tolerate any more of your rebellious behavior."

Anger flashes in her eyes, along with defiance. "Of course, Father," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll be sure to respect the teenager you're forcing into our family."

Before I can respond, she turns on her heel and storms off, her footsteps echoing through the cavernous hallway. I resist the urge to call her back, to punish her for her insolence. There will be time for that later.

For now, I have more pressing matters to attend to—wedding preparations, the consolidation of our power with the Costas, and the whispers of discontent from rival families. Of course, there's the matter of Vittoria herself.

I pour myself a glass of scotch, savoring the burn as I swallow. Vittoria may have performed well tonight, but I saw the fire in her eyes, the barely concealed intelligence behind her carefully chosen words. She will need to be molded, shaped into the perfect wife and mother for my children. Vittoria is young, yes, but she's also beautiful, intelligent, and clearly more than she appears on the surface. In another life, under different circumstances, she might have been a formidable ally. But in this world—our world—she must learn her place.

As I stare out at the gardens where the wedding will take place in just three short weeks, I can't help but feel a twinge of unease. The past year has been filled with doubt and uncertainty. After what happened with the Harringtons, one wrong move and our entire organization could blow up in our faces.

The Boston Elite Syndicate was formed decades ago when I was younger than Lorenzo. Back then, it was made up of four groups: the Italian Mafia, the Irish Mafia, the Russian Bratva, and the American Mob. Our fathers joined forces to prevent the rising death toll in Boston and to keep any single family from gaining too much power. They established a set of rules we were all meant to follow.

Then the East Street Kings started rising to power, and we had a choice: bring them into the fold or prepare for one of the biggest wars Boston had ever seen. The Syndicate grew from four families to five, and for years, everything ran seamlessly. That was until the Harringtons got greedy and demanded more than they were allotted. They were sneaky with their targets, striking outside Boston so we wouldn’t catch on. By the time we became aware of it, it was too late. Too many had died, including Beatrice.

Now the Boston Elite Syndicate is back down to four families, and we’re rebuilding its fragile foundation.

I drain my glass, setting it down with a sharp click. Whatever doubts my children may have, whatever misgivings Vittoria herself might harbor, none of it matters. This marriage will happen, and our family will emerge stronger for it.

The morning sunstreams through the windows of my study as I wait for Vittoria to arrive. We're meant to discuss wedding details today, but I have other intentions as well. I need to gauge her true nature, to see beyond the carefully constructed facade she presented at dinner.

A soft knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. "Enter," I call out, my voice firm.

Vittoria steps in, her posture straight and her expression carefully neutral. She's wearing a simple but elegant dark blue dress, her black hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Even in this casual state, her beauty is striking.

"Good morning, Mr. Mariano," she says, her voice steady.

"Cesare," I correct her. "We're to be married soon. You should use my first name."

A flicker of unease passes across her face before she nods. "Of course, Cesare."

I gesture for her to sit in the chair across from my desk. As she does, I notice the grace in her movements, the subtle confidence that defies her youth. This girl is more than she appears, I'm certain of it now.

"I trust you slept well?" I ask, more out of formality than genuine concern.

"Yes, thank you," she replies, her tone polite but distant.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "Let's discuss the wedding, shall we? I've taken the liberty of hiring a planner. She'll be here this afternoon to go over the details with you."

Vittoria nods, her expression unchanged. "That's very kind of you."

"I expect you to cooperate fully with her," I continue, watching her closely. "This wedding needs to be perfect. It's not just about us; it's about solidifying the alliance between our families."

At this, I see a flash of anger in her eyes. But it's gone as quickly as it appeared.

"Of course," she says smoothly. "I understand the importance of this union."

I lean back in my chair, studying her. "Do you?" I challenge. "Because I get the feeling there's more going on in that pretty head of yours than you let on."

Vittoria stiffens slightly, her eyes meeting mine with unexpected intensity. "What exactly are you implying, Cesare?"

I smirk, pleased to have cracked her composure, even if just a little. "I'm not implying anything, Vittoria. I'm stating a fact. You're intelligent, far more so than you pretend to be. I saw it at dinner last night, in the way you handled my children's provocations."

For a moment, Vittoria says nothing, her gaze locked with mine. Then, slowly, a small smile curves her lips. It's not the demure smile she's worn before, but something sharper, more genuine.

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