A door slammed upstairs, echoing through the marble corridors—a jarring interruption. Conversation died mid-sentence. The unfamiliar cadence of high heels striking stone rang out, each step growing louder, more resolute, slicing through the easy banter. Tension crackled across the room as my brothers sat up straighter, their playful skepticism dissolving into uncertainty.
Footsteps thundered down the grand staircase, and all eyes shifted to the entryway. I caught the moment my brothers’ bravado faltered as they immediately stood, shockand confusion written starkly across their faces when Miranda Williams appeared, her presence commanding the room. Her posture was rigid but dignified, her gaze steady despite the nerves she tried to mask.
Refusing to give her the satisfaction or my respect, I remained at the table, watching my brothers flounder—mouths opening and closing, words lost, stunned into silence by her sudden entrance.
“My apologies for the interruption,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper but somehow cutting through the tension. “But could one of you please call me a cab? I need to get back home.”
At that, I couldn’t resist stepping in, my authority unmistakable. “You are not going anywhere,wife.”
“Wife?” Cesar blurted, his eyes snapping to me, wide with disbelief as if I’d just upended their reality.
Leaning back, I wiped my mouth and gestured toward Miranda with a flourish, letting the moment play out. “Brothers, I’d like you to meet my wife. Mrs. Miranda Vitale.”
Aurelio’s shock broke into words—“Oh shit”—as he dropped heavily into his seat, the room swirling with disbelief, awe, and a thousand questions left unspoken.
Miranda’s knuckles tightened around her purse, her eyes darting between my brothers and me, searching for any sign of understanding in her new and bewildering reality. In that heartbeat, the breakfast table erupted into a battleground of emotions, curses, and threats as the brief familiar comfort from just moments ago shattered.
Cesar’s fist struck the desk, his voice a thunderclap of accusation. “I told you I wanted her here—under this roof, in your damn bed, Massimo! Not this—whatever stunt you just pulled. Marriage? That wasn’t part of the plan!” He prowled the length of his office, sharp movements betraying a volatile impatience.
I kept my face deliberately blank, watching Cesar’s agitation with measured detachment, though my pulse quickened. I chose my words carefully, letting a slow, practiced sigh slip out. “We’re not married, not truly.” My words tasted both like a shield and a confession.
Cesar wheeled on me, eyes hard, tone laced with disbelief. “Don’t play coy. You called her your wife—right in front of everyone. Don’t insult me by pretending this is nothing.”
My lips twitched into a faint, inscrutable smile. “I needed her to believe it. She trusts nothing—least of all me. And you said you wanted results, not explanations—her here, in this house, in my bed. You wanted her desperate for what terrifies her most.”
Cesar’s hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white, his voice an iron command. “So, your grand plan is to make her think she belongs to you? To weaponize her fear until she craves you?” He leaned forward, eyes searching my face for any sign of remorse. “You better start talking. Now. I want every detail—don’t spare me anything, Massimo. Not this time.”
For a split second, I wanted to flinch, to let my uncertainty show. But I steeled myself, masking vulnerability with strategy. Cesar’s anger burned, but my resolve ran cold—the perfect balance of necessity and regret. The stakes weren’t just about Miranda anymore; they were about loyalty, power, and a twisted sense of duty neither of us dared name aloud.
An hour later, Cesar sat staring at me. I couldn’t read his expression, which was a little unnerving. Sitting there likea statue across from me, I waited, wondering what he was thinking when he finally spoke up.
“It’s a dangerous, wicked game you’re playing, Massimo. If anything goes wrong—anything at all—it means war. If she learns the truth before you’ve sealed her to you, it means war. If her brother, or Reaper for that matter, learns you are the one responsible for her current problems, it means war.”
Leaning back in my chair, I smiled. “Sounds like fun.” My laughter was brittle, echoing off the wood-paneled walls, but Cesar didn’t so much as blink. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the ceiling fan overhead, slicing the tense air.
“Don’t mistake my patience for forgiveness,” Cesar finally warned, his voice low and cold as winter steel. “One misstep, and even I won’t be able to save you from the consequences. Now get the hell out of my office and go inform yourwifewhat it means to be a Vitale.”
I nodded before quietly leaving.
Chapter Eighteen
Miranda
I felt like a contagious spore in a petri dish as I sat in the formal sitting room with four of the seven Vitale brothers—Guilio, Luca, Aurelio, and Emanuelle—staring at me. The air was thick with their silent judgment, making my skin prickle beneath their collective gaze. Cesar had ordered Massimo to his office more than an hour ago, leaving me alone with men I knew almost nothing about.
I was aware there were seven brothers, though I had yet to meet the missing one, Tomasso, if I remembered correctly. Still, their reputation preceded them—each was dangerous in his own right. You’d have to be living under a rock not to know of the Vitale brothers, the infamous crime family that took over Chicago after Giovanni Valentinetti retired.
I always knew Gio was a smart man. His intelligence became even clearer when, upon learning that his wife Layla was pregnant with their first child, he made the tough decision to move his wife and kids to his family’s private island. It wasn’t just a matter of comfort or luxury—Gio’s actions were driven by a desire to protect those he loved most.
My memories of Layla went back to when we were young girls, playing together in the mountains of Tennessee. Life was simpler then; those days were filled with laughter and innocence, untouched by the dangers that would later shadow our families.
Everything changed when Layla’s older brother, Dylan, joined the Marine Corps. His departure, though honorable, left Layla and their mother, Aunt Donna, vulnerable. Without Dylan’s presence, they became defenseless against the growing threat posed by the Black Vultures. That period marked some of the darkest times for my family, as fear and uncertainty clouded our days.
The consequences were devastating. Aunt Donna was killed—a loss that sent shockwaves through our lives. Layla, too, was taken—kidnapped by those who preyed on our vulnerability. The pain and trauma of those events shaped us all, serving as a grim reminder of the fragility of safety and the lengths one must go to in order to protect family.
After that, everything changed. When I graduated high school, my brother Jackson wasted no time getting me out of the clubhouse and away from the Biker Federation. He insisted that I apply to colleges out of state, urging me to put as much distance as possible between myself and the looming war that threatened to engulf our lives. Jackson’s determination was unwavering; he wanted to ensure my safety above all else.
When I was accepted into the Loyola University Medical Program, Jackson was elated. Loyola met the two most important criteria on his list: it was far enough from the clubs to keep me safe, but still close enough for him to reach me quickly if things went wrong. In the end, I agreed to his plan and accepted my invitation to Loyola.
