★★Mariella's POV★★



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I'm screaming at the top of my lungs in my small office at one of Papa's corporations. The walls feel like they're closing in. " Voglio ogni dettaglio su di lui, (I want every detail about him,)" I growl into the phone, my voice dripping with venom. I've been at this for the past hour, and Eliseo—poor, patient Eliseo—is still on the other end of the line.

"I want to know where he sleeps, who he associates with, what he drives—everything, Eliseo," I snap, each word cutting through the silence like a knife. "I don't care if it's the shit he had for breakfast this morning. I. Want. Everything."

I want him to be on his knees.

I slam my fist down on my desk, the sound of it rattling through the room. My breath is ragged, my chest tight with fury. I've held it in. I've controlled it for so long, especially during family dinners. I couldn't afford to let it slip then—not when Papa's watching. But here, in the quiet of my office, it's another story.

The pain of losing Mama, her... it lingers in my bones, like a knife twist that never quite heals. Someone unexpected took her from me.

And I can't let that go.

"I'll gather everything, Capo, (Boss)" Eliseo responds, calm but unwavering.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the fire in my chest only burns hotter. "Vendicheremo la sua morte." (We will avenge her death). The words spill out before I can stop them, soft yet resolute. The reassurance he offers doesn't comfort me.

It fuels me.

I pace the room, the phone still clutched in my hand. My mind spins. It's not enough to know who killed her. I need to know everything about this man. Every secret, every lie, every weakness. I won't rest until I have him in my sights.

I lean against the desk, my knuckles white as I grip the edge. "Non sai quanto ti sono grata, Eliseo. (You don't know how much I'm grateful for you, Eliseo)." The words come out thick, heavy with unshed tears I won't let fall.

Not now. Not for him.

The line clicks. He's gone, and I'm alone with my thoughts again. I sit down in the chair, its leather creaking under my weight, and tilt my head back. Staring at the ceiling.

God, Mama. Don't worry. I'll make him pay.

The buzzing of my phone pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance at the screen. It's from Papa. My stomach sinks.

I open the message, and my heart stops.

"Get ready for the family dinner with the Laurents tonight."

My hand trembles as I toss the phone across the desk. I lean back in my chair, a groan escaping my lips. No. I can't see him. Not him. Not Leon. Not after everything. He knows too much. Knows what I'm capable of. Knows what we're both hiding.

But what can I do? Family is family, and Papa will make sure we show up.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

This dinner... it's going to be more than just another business meeting.

*****

As I stand before the mirror, the cool, flickering light casts a soft glow over my reflection. I look at myself in the baby blue silk dress—smooth and soft against my skin. The fabric hugs my curves, the deep V cut dipping very low, but still just enough to cover my breasts. The dress falls to my ankles, the waist cinched perfectly, and the delicate strings around my neck hold everything together in a way that's elegant, yet teasing.

But as I stare at myself, I feel this gnawing ache in my chest. Not because I don't look good—I know I do. It's because I'm tired of pretending. Pretending that everything is fine when it's not. I don't want to go to this damn dinner. And I certainly don't want to see him.

Leon.

The very thought of his name sends a cold shiver down my spine. It's hard to breathe without remembering everything I'm trying to bury.

"Shit girl," Luna says from the vanity, eyeing me as she applies her eyeliner with precision.

I let out a soft chuckle, trying my best to mask the storm brewing inside. "Thanks," I say, but the smile feels forced. She narrows her eyes at me, sensing something's off.

"Hey, you okay?" Her voice softens, genuine concern lacing each word.

For a moment, something inside me wants to break. I want to tell her everything—the anger, the hurt, the suffocating fear that eats at me from the inside out. But I can't. Not now. I plaster the smile back on, the one that's become second nature.

"Yeah. All good!" I say, too cheerfully, maybe even too loud.

Luna watches me for a beat longer, but then nods, turning back to the mirror. "Alrighty."

I let out a shaky breath, steadying myself. My gaze shifts toward Mellow, my cat, who's contently batting at her new knitted toy. I walk over to her, the click of my heels punctuating the silence. I crouch down and gently pet her. "Hi, baby," I murmur, and she looks up at me, meowing softly. Her purring fills the space, soothing the tension in my shoulders, even if just for a moment.

A knock on the door interrupts the brief peace.

"Guys, the Laurents are almost here. Papa wants us to go and greet them," Santino's voice calls from the other side.

I exchange a look with Luna, our eyes rolling in perfect sync. This is it. The moment I've been dreading.

"Coming!" I call back, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. The sound of Santino's footsteps fades as he moves away.

I stand, my fingers smoothing over the fabric of my dress. The knot in my chest tightens, but I fight it down. "Ready? You're looking beautiful," I say to Luna, her reflection now a little more put-together than mine.

She gives me a mockingly dramatic look as she finishes her makeup. "Yes, mama," she says with a smirk.

We both chuckle, the sound more bitter than lighthearted, but it's something we both need. We need to mask the unease, the fear, the things we're both pretending aren't there.

But tonight, everything's needs to go smoothly.

We make our way down the hallway, the sound of our heels echoing through the quiet mansion, the weight of the night pressing down on me. Luna, nervously adjusting the fit of her red dress, glances over at me. "Do I look good?" she asks, uncertainty creeping into her voice.

I smirk, squeezing her hand to reassure her, as we step onto the spiral staircase. "You look better than good. You're ethereal," I say, my voice soft yet firm, the weight of sincerity behind the words. Luna chuckles, a little relieved, squeezing my hand back in return. It's a brief, fleeting moment of normalcy—something we both crave before everything shifts.

The double doors of the house are wide open when we reach the bottom, and I spot Papa standing near the entrance with Enzo, Santino, and a few of our men. Gio's standing just slightly apart from the group, his expression unreadable as usual. I notice his eyes flicker toward me, just for a second, before he turns his attention back to the driveway. It's all too perfect, like a sickeningly well-rehearsed scene.

We walk toward them, the servants in place along the long hallway, their faces a blur as we pass. The garden's been set up for dinner, the tables lined with intricate arrangements, the atmosphere almost serene if you didn't know the tension that hangs over the whole event. The night sky's dotted with a few stars, the air cool against my skin, and torches line the gravel driveway, flickering shadows dancing across the stone.

Our heels strike the gravel, sharp clicks echoing, and I see all eyes turn toward us as we approach. Papa's gaze softens when he sees us, a warm smile stretching across his face. "Wow, bellezze," he says, his voice rich with affection. His compliment lands, and it almost feels... real.

Me and Luna share a quiet laugh, but I can feel the weight of the moment hanging over us, heavy. Luna's voice breaks the silence, sweet and graceful, "You're very sweet, Mr. De Angelis. Thank you." Papa chuckles softly in return.

"Of course, Luna," he replies, his attention already shifting.

I glance down the driveway, still expecting to see the Laurents' cars pulling in. I feel the annoyance in my chest bubbling up. "They aren't here yet?" My tone is sharp, clipped, the impatience impossible to mask.

Papa looks back at me, unbothered by my tone. "In a couple of seconds," he says, his eyes scanning the horizon.

He turns to address everyone, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Please, guys. Be on your best behavior. I want this dinner to be beautiful." His gaze lands on each of us in turn—his command weighty, unspoken expectations hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

I roll my eyes, irritation creeping in. Santino, ever the instigator, smirks. "Don't worry, Papa. I'll make sure Mari doesn't try to down a whole tequila bottle tonight," he says, mocking me.

I glance at him, barely keeping my composure. "Please, Santi. You'll be joining me downing the bottle," I say, voice thick with annoyance, but underneath it, the familiar edge of defiance.

Enzo and Luna chuckle, but Papa just rolls his eyes, exasperated. Then, as if on cue, the head guard steps forward, his voice breaking the tension. "Capo, sono arrivati, (Boss, they have arrived.)" he says, his words sharp, alert.

Papa nods, a cold gleam in his eye. We all turn in unison, the tension in the air growing thick as the sound of engines hum in the distance, like a storm rolling in. My breath catches, my chest tightening, and I instinctively reach for Luna's arm. We exchange a glance, both of us holding our ground, but it's clear—tonight will change everything.

The black SUVs roll into view, sleek and imposing. The men of the Laurent family—our rivals, our equals, some our enemies—are here.

Gio steps closer to my side, his jaw clenched tight, a muscle twitching in his cheek. His presence only adds to the tension, the air thick with unspoken threats. The SUVs stop in front of us, and the doors open with quiet precision. The Laurents' men emerge first—hard faces, cold eyes, their very presence a challenge.

Well, here we fucking go.

Marcel walks with his wife, but something's different tonight. The last time I saw her, she was the picture of elegance—beautiful, serene, untouchable. Now, she's radiating power, her every step confident, like she knows exactly what's at stake. Her eyes never leave Marcel's, and the way she stands next to him, unwavering, speaks volumes.

Then there's Damien. He steps out of the car first, his body wrapped in an expensive black suit that clings to his muscles, each step deliberate and calculated. His face is carved from stone, fierce and cold. When his gaze locks with mine, his jaw tightens imperceptibly, the only sign of the storm brewing underneath. My eyes narrow in response, meeting his challenge without hesitation.

But then, another figure steps out—a man I've never been fond of. Antonino. He's dressed in a sleek black suit, but somehow it only makes him look colder, more distant. When he catches my eye, he nods, just barely. The smallest acknowledgment, but it's enough. We exchange a look—nothing more, nothing less. In a room full of sharks, I guess he's not the worst of them.

And then, she walks out. A woman I can't help but notice. She's dressed in a light purple dress, so perfectly tailored that it might as well have been sewn into her skin. She's beautiful—no question about it—her features strikingly similar to her mother's. But there's something in her eyes, something darker, more cynical. She looks at us like we're the last people she wants to see, her annoyance palpable in the air.

And then, he steps out.

Time seems to freeze for a moment.

And Oh. My. Jesus.

My body tightens as my eyes lock at him. He moves like he's been forged from darkness, the lines of his black suit fitting his broad shoulders like they were made for him. The black tie he wears somehow adds to the danger, making him look even more... dangerous. His presence is magnetic—no one else even seems to matter when he's near.

And when he looks at me—really looks at me—something stirs deep within me. It's as if the world around us falls away, and for one split second, it's just us. The air between us crackles, and it hits me like a physical blow. Chills run down my spine and settle between my legs, as if his gaze alone is enough to unravel me.

I refuse to let him see the effect he has on me. I quickly turn my gaze away, my heartbeat thundering in my chest, every inch of me screaming for him. I force myself to look at the others, my mind screaming to focus, but his presence lingers—like an open flame, threatening to burn everything around us.

I can't let him see how much he affects me. Not here. Not now. But damn, it's hard to breathe.

Marcel strides toward my father, his smile wide and full of warmth. "Luciano!" he says, his voice booming with familiarity as they exchange hearty laughter and firm handshakes. There's a moment of camaraderie between them, a bond built on years of business and blood.

Papa smiles back, his expression genuine but controlled. "Welcome! I trust your journey here wasn't too much of a hassle?" His words are kind, but there's an edge there. An unspoken challenge between two powerful men who understand the weight of these formalities.

Marcel's wife steps forward, her presence commanding yet graceful. "We really appreciate you opening your home to us," she says, her smile as flawless as her poise. "The trip was stress-free. Thank you for your hospitality." There's an undercurrent of appreciation in her tone, but it's layered with something more—something not quite visible but undeniably felt.

Papa nods, his smile returning in full force. "I'm glad to hear it. Well, please, follow us." He gestures to the servants, signaling them to lead the way into the garden. We all begin to walk, the night air thick with the tension of expectations.

As we move, Marcel and Papa continue their easy conversation, but the air feels heavy with the weight of what's about to unfold. I keep Luna's hand tightly in mine, trying to focus on the present, but my thoughts are already racing.

Then, I feel the shift behind us. I hear the familiar voice before I see him. "Hello, ladies," Antonino says, his voice dripping with enthusiasm. His charm is effortless, but it's never been enough to mask the smugness underneath.

I turn slightly, not breaking stride. "Hey, blondie," I say with a teasing smirk, but my words carry an underlying sharpness that matches the icy edge I feel beneath his polite demeanor.

Antonino's grin widens, a knowing glint in his eyes. "I see we're still using that name, Sleeping Beauty," he retorts, his tone a mixture of mockery and amusement.

I can't help the scoff that escapes my lips. "I like it," I reply coolly, leaning into the teasing. But there's something else in my voice, a flicker of warning that I know he picks up on.

He chuckles, turning his attention to Luna. His gaze lingers for a beat too long before he offers a smirk that feels predatory. "Wow, you're stunning," he says, his voice smooth as silk. "May I ask your name?"

Luna giggles, the sound light but laced with playful sarcasm. "I'm Luna, and thank you for the compliment, blondie," she shoots back, her eyes dancing with mischief. She's not intimidated, and neither am I, but Antonino's gaze hardens slightly, his smirk faltering for just a moment.

The tension between us hums in the air, crackling with an undercurrent of something more dangerous.

As we reach the table, the beauty of the setup takes me by surprise. The garden is breathtaking—a fantasy come to life. Floral arrangements and delicate tableware adorn the long table, each piece carefully placed. Champagne bubbles on trays, and the servants stand at attention, waiting for their cue. The ambiance is almost surreal, as if we've stepped into another world entirely.

We all take our seats, but the weight of the moment isn't lost on me. Papa settles at the head of the table, flanked by Enzo and Santino, his position commanding yet undeniably distant. Luna and I sit across from each other, the space between us a brief moment of respite before the storm.

Marcel takes the opposite end of the table, his wife by his side, both of them radiating a dangerous elegance. Damien sits beside them, his posture rigid, his eyes sharp and calculating. Antonino follows suit, taking his seat beside Damien, the two of them radiating tension.

And then, at the far end of the table, there's Leon. He walks in, his gaze immediately sweeping the room, cold and calculating. He takes his seat beside Damien, his presence alone enough to make the temperature drop.

Our eyes lock for a moment, and in that brief instant, everything shifts. The air thickens with unspoken words, with the heavy weight of the past. He sits tall and composed, but I can feel the storm brewing beneath his still surface. His gaze lingers, unflinching, challenging me in a way that makes my heart race and my breath catch in my throat.

I quickly turn my attention away, feigning indifference, but the heat of his stare lingers, a constant, unsettling pressure.

I force myself to look at Luna, but my mind races.

The tension in the air is thick, like a storm brewing just above the table. The servants silently move around, refilling glasses and adjusting plates. I try to ignore the glances and low murmurs between the men as my father clears his throat, silencing the table with a sharpness that cuts through the chatter.

"Can I have everyone's attention, please?" Papa's voice is steady, commanding. Every head at the table turns toward him. He stands tall, his glass of champagne held firmly in his hand.

He sweeps his gaze across the room, his eyes settling on each of us, then on Marcel. "I would just like to express how much this means to our family," he begins, his words measured, but his voice carrying the weight of history. "And to you, the Laurents." His gaze lingers on Marcel, a silent acknowledgment of the deal they've forged. "This is the beginning of a new story. A new chapter of alliances. Today, we mark history. Italians and French, joining forces, making history together."

Papa raises his glass high, his eyes gleaming with the promise of what's to come. "Cheers to changing history," he declares, and we all mirror his motion, lifting our glasses and clinking them together in unison.

"To changing history," we all say, the words carrying the heavy weight of what's at stake, a shared pledge to the future.

Everyone drinks, the sharp burn of the champagne biting at my throat, but it does little to settle the agitation brewing inside me. Conversations quickly pick up around the table, the hum of voices rising in pitch as alliances shift and power plays unfold beneath the surface.

I glance over at Luna, who's locked in animated conversation with Antonino. Of course. Great. My one source of communication—my anchor in this chaos—is already claimed by him. I lean back, my gaze wandering over the table. Papa and Marcel are deep in their own discussion, the sound of their voices blending into the background.

I turn to Leon, seated beside Damien, the two of them deep in conversation. Leon is speaking quietly, his posture leaning slightly toward Damien as they exchange words. I catch a glimpse of him in the dim light, his sharp features focused, the way his jaw tightens slightly with every serious word he utters. His lips move with precision, his tone commanding, his whole demeanor exuding a quiet intensity that draws me in despite myself.

He looks... good. Damn good.

For a moment, I can't help but watch him, my gaze lingering on his every movement. He doesn't notice, too immersed in the discussion with his brother. The tension in his body is palpable, and it somehow makes him even more magnetic. But before I realize it, my chest tightens, and I snap myself out of it.

I quickly shift my attention away, unwilling to let myself get caught in whatever spell he's casting from across the table. I scan the rest of the room, anything to distract myself from the pull of his presence. Anything to keep my mind from wandering back to him.

The girl next to me seems utterly disinterested in everything going on around her, her eyes drifting around the room as if the whole situation is beneath her. I sigh, a small hint of irritation gnawing at me. Well, I guess she's the lesser evil for now.

I shift my body slightly to the side, tapping her lightly on the elbow to get her attention. She looks up at me, confusion flickering across her face for a split second before it fades into curiosity.

"I don't think we've met," I say, my voice smooth but carrying just enough authority to make my presence known. "I'm Mariella." I extend my hand toward her, a gesture of politeness that feels oddly out of place amid the tension surrounding us.

She studies my hand for a moment, then looks up into my eyes with a small, knowing smile. "I know," she replies with a firm handshake.

My eyebrows lift in surprise. "You do?"

She leans in just enough for me to catch her words, her voice quiet but laced with a mischievous edge. "The three stooges won't stop talking about you," she murmurs, her lips curling into a smirk as she tilts her head toward Leo, who still is talking to Damien.

I let out a soft laugh at her bluntness, the tension in the air evaporating for a moment. "The three stooges?" I ask, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

"I'd prefer the three blind mice, but the three stooges work," I say with a smirk, my tone laced with dry humor.

She nods, her grin widening. "I think I like you already."

I chuckle, feeling a rare moment of warmth. "Iyana Laurent, huh?" I say, noticing the surname. "The youngest, I assume?"

She nods, a playful glint in her eyes. "The very one," she replies with a tilt of her chin, her tone light but undeniably proud.

"Iyana," I repeat, rolling the name off my tongue. "Pretty name."

"Your's too," she says, her smile brightening just a touch.

I smile back, feeling a sense of ease I haven't had in the chaos of this dinner. Without thinking, I elbow her playfully. "We're definitely going to get along well," I say with a grin.

We both chuckle, a brief but genuine exchange that almost makes me forget the high-stakes atmosphere swirling around us. For a moment, it feels like we're two people who could be anywhere but here.

But then, the subtle weight of Leon's gaze on me draws my attention back to him.

He's watching me.

Eyes narrowed, challenging. I meet his stare for a beat, my heart pounding in my chest. I refuse to back down, my own eyes hardening.

Then, in a moment of pure defiance, I bring my middle finger to my eyebrow, pretending to scratch it casually. The challenge in my eyes is clear: I don't care.

Leon's smirk falters for a moment, and I swear I can see the edge of a smile trying to break through. He shakes his head, clearly both amused and frustrated.

God, that smirk.

It makes my insides twist in a way I can't quite explain. I look away quickly, my cheeks flushed.

Great. Now I need a drink.

I glance around the table, but no one seems to notice. The servants are busy, and I'm getting desperate. I catch Gio's eye from across the room. He's standing by the wall, looking like a picture of calm in his perfectly tailored suit, his hands clasped behind his back.

I whistle sharply, a sound that cuts through the chatter. Gio raises an eyebrow, his expression one of pure disbelief.

"Did you just whistle at me?" he asks, his voice laced with annoyance, though I can see the hint of a smirk on his lips.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, and what about it?" I reply with a shrug, trying to mask the tension I'm feeling.

He looks at me like I'm crazy, his annoyance palpable.

What a baby.

I yank him closer by his tie, my grip firm as I flash a saccharine-sweet smile. "Now, be a good boy and fetch me a very strong drink—preferably something that could knock out a horse. Pretty please." My voice is honeyed, but the warning in my eyes is anything but.

Gio looks at me for a beat, as if weighing the possibility of calling me out on my behavior. Then he straightens, his jaw tightening as he shifts his weight.

"Your papa said—"

I cut him off before he can finish. My eyes narrow into a glare, warning him with just enough force. "And I don't care," I snap. "Get me the damn drink, Gio. Or I'll make sure you never hear the end of it."

Gio straightens up, giving me a curt nod. "Fine," he mutters, his tone resigned. He leaves to fetch my drink, and I lean back in my chair, finally allowing myself a moment of peace.

God, I really need this.

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How are we doing??

I smelling something spicy next chapter...hehehe

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡

*This is her dress fyi*