Page 233 of Celestial Combat

Francesca’s eyes blazed. “Mark my words, when I find the motherfucker, I’m going to put his head on a stick–”

“You think I wanted this?” A deep voice cut through the club like steel across silk.

Matteo emerged from another velvet-draped section of VIP, unhurried and devastatingly calm in that way only he could pull off. Shadows clung to him like armor, dark suit sharp against the moody lights.

I think I heard Maria and Natalia gasp in sync behind me.

“We wouldn’t be here,” Matteo said, voice low and edged with warning, “If it hadn’t been for your family fucking up everyone’s business.”

Francesca let out a sharp, breathless laugh that didn’t even try to mask the rage and hate beneath it. “Oh, I bet you just couldn’t wipe that stupid fucking smirk off your face when you found out.”

Matteo’s lips curled into a cruel, shark-like grin. “Think you’re talking about yourself.”

Her fists clenched, shoulders braced like she wanted to slap him right there between the champagne glasses and birthday balloons.

“If you think this will be anything but a business partnership, you’re delusional.”

He leaned in – not enough to touch, but enough to force her to look up into that maddeningly composed expression. “Relax, princesa,” he said, voice smug and darkly amused. “I’m in my prime.”

As if fate had a sick sense of humor, a feminine voice called from the edge of the curtains behind him.

“Matteo?”

Everyone except Matteo himself, turned.

A young woman peeked in, one hand delicately pushing aside the velvet divider. She was our age, Latina. She looked like she belonged on a runway, not lurking in the middle of our emotionally violent soap opera.

“They’re about to bring out the bottles,” she said with a small smile.

Matteo exhaled, like the entire situation bored him more than it should. Then he leaned forward, closing the distance between him and Francesca by an inch that saideverything.

“We’ll talk,” he murmured, before walking off without waiting for a response.

Francesca didn’t speak. Didn’t move. She just stood there, barely blinking, fists at her sides, like a storm trying not to crack.

“I thought your father didn’t care about marriage?” Zach frowned, still confused despite the soon-to-be-groom being his older brother.

Trevor raised a brow. “You not going for the Underboss title anymore?”

Francesca sighed. “Gìovanni was right. The other families won’t accept it. No matter how much profit I bring in.”

“So, naturally, you have to marry Matteo.” Maria threw her hands up –alsonot the biggest fan of Zach’s brother.

“As much as I hate admitting it, he’s right. If the Family’s money goes down, so does the Cartel’s.” I watched Francesca swallow her pride. “Matteo and I… We’ll marry. For a year. Then… We’ll divorce.”

“What about the Cosa Nostra then? Won’t you have the same problem? Also, don’t they want an Italian husband for you?”

Francesca fixed her outfit, regaining her normal confidence. “No one will question me once I’m Underboss. My family and I will be too powerful. And as for Matteo not being Italian, they actually agreed on that. They think it’ll get them more leverage over the Cartel and drugs coming in.”

“Not a chance,” Zach spoke definitely.

“Iknow that.”

“So… I guess congratulations are in order?” Natalia raised a brow.

My brother was already laughing. “More like condolences.”

Slowly, the group’s atmosphere shifted subtly. Back into the birthday celebrations and banter.

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