I clenched my fists, pulse thrumming with indignation and confusion. “I may be from the backwoods of Tennessee, but I’m not stupid, Massimo. Your brother called me Pisano and a traitor. He wanted to kill me. Why?” There was accusation in my tone—a desperate need for answers. My mind raced, searching for meaning in Massimo’s evasive manner, wondering what secrets he was protecting.
His reply was soft but resolute, almost pleading. “Tomasso is gentle. He would never have hurt you.”
But I remembered the look in Tomasso’s eyes—cold, calculating—nothing like the brother Massimo described. The memory sent a shiver through me, feeding the mistrust that lingered. I kept my questions short, my words sharp, determinedto force the truth out, even as his answers danced around the truth.
When he just stood there, refusing to utter another word, I shook my head and said, “Fine. Have it your way.” Without another glance, I stormed out of the bedroom, my footsteps echoing down the hall as he quickly followed, yelling at me to stop. Ignoring him, I didn’t bother knocking as I barged into Cesar’s office. The room smelled faintly of leather and cigar smoke, the heavy oak desk littered with papers and a crystal decanter half empty. Cesar and the rest of the Vitale brothers were all leering at me from behind the desk, their expressions unreadable but their presence intimidating.
Cesar immediately stood, his eyes narrowing, jaw tightening as he processed my intrusion and the accusation he saw brewing in my glare. “Ms. Williams?”
I smirked. “Funny, I was Signora Vitale less than an hour ago.”
Massimo’s face was flushed with anger as he burst into the room right as I added, “Or am I Pisano?” His fists were clenched at his sides, eyes darting between me and his brothers, unable to hide his agitation.
Every man in the room, including Massimo, stiffened as they all stared directly at me. The Vitale brothers lined the wall, some with arms crossed, others shifting uneasily, the tension thick enough to choke on. Refusing to give them time to think, I stepped forward and smiled. “Like I told Massimo moments ago, I’m not stupid. I thought it odd at the Children’s Ball that you and your family would take an interest in me. I mean, I’m a nobody, just the adoptive daughter of a biker and his old lady. I didn’t come from money, had no breeding to speak of; hell, I went to public school and got into Loyola on a scholarship. So, wanting to meet me at the Children’s Ball was unusual, to say the least. So tell me, Cesar Vitale,” I snarled, leaning my handson his desk, leering at him, daring him to lie to me. “Why is the Vitale family so interested in an orphaned country girl with no background?”
For a beat, no one moved—Cesar’s eyes never left mine, the other brothers sizing me up like I was a threat. My heart raced in my chest, but I refused to let them see my fear, squaring my shoulders and holding my ground. I needed to know the truth, no matter how dangerous it was.
Cesar didn’t so much as blink, but his jaw tightened and a faint muscle ticked at the corner of his eye—a subtle sign that my question had hit home. His fingers, splayed across the oak desktop, curled slightly, knuckles whitening as if bracing himself behind a wall of composure.
For a heartbeat, nothing but the distant hum of the air vent filled the room. Then, with a measured inhale, Cesar spoke, his voice gravelly, each syllable carefully weighted. “You’re sharper than most give you credit for, Miranda. You are not just anyone—never were.” He cut a glance toward his brothers, his lips pressed thin as if fighting words he’d sworn never to utter. “There are threads in your past, tangled deep with ours. You were never invisible. We watched over you because we were asked to.”
As he spoke, his gaze flicked, betraying a glint of something like regret—quickly masked. The brothers shifted, boots scuffing the rug, eyes darting anywhere but my face.
My chest tightened, a chill feathering down my spine as anticipation warred with dread. I forced my breathing steady, but my hands gripped my knees, knuckles aching. My mind raced with a thousand half-formed questions, heart pounding so loudly I wondered if they could hear it too.
I swallowed, my voice a rasp, curiosity and suspicion threading through it. “Who asked you to watch me?”
Cesar’s lips twitched with something almost like a smile—wry, fleeting. He gestured to the expensive leather chair beside me with an open palm, but the movement was deliberate, slow.
“Sit, Miranda. Let’s not do this standing over a battlefield.”
I hesitated, legs unsteady beneath me, then sank into the seat, fingers digging into the armrest. Massimo crossed the space in two quick strides, his steps uneven, and slid into the seat at my side.
I could feel the tension radiating off him, but I kept my focus locked on Cesar, refusing to acknowledge the way Massimo’s knee jostled against mine. Cesar folded his hands, elbows braced on the desk, and leaned forward so the shadows under his eyes deepened. “You want the truth?” His tone was rough, more seasoned than before, every word calculated and laced with the weight of old scars. “It was Reaper. He called me—what was it, maybe three, four months ago? He asked me to keep eyes on you. Not to meddle, but to keep you breathing.” He paused, scanning my face for cracks in my composure. “As I’m sure you are aware, the whole biker world is heating up—lines are being drawn, and war is on the horizon. Reaper and your brother made a simple request: keep you out of the crossfire.”
“Why?”
Cesar’s lips curled into a measured, knowing half-smile. “That, you’ll have to ask them. As for the request—yes, I agreed. I put Massimo on you, told him to step in only if absolutely necessary.” His eyes flickered toward his brother, voice lowering a notch. “What none of us expected was that my brother would end up falling for you.”
The words snapped through the air like a live wire. I gasped, whirling to look at Massimo. My heart hammered against my ribs—a wild, dizzying surge of hope and panic—heat blooming up my neck. Uncertainty fluttered in my chest, but beneath it, athrilling, reckless exhilaration. For a split second, the room felt too small, every breath tighter than the last.
Massimo stiffened as his jaw twitched, lips pressed into a tense line. He glared at Cesar but wouldn’t meet my eyes. His fists clenched on his knees, knuckles pale, then relaxed—only for him to shift his weight restlessly, boot tapping a silent, uneven rhythm against the rug. A muscle feathered along his cheek. He radiated frustration, but beneath it, something raw and vulnerable sparked in the dark flash of his glance.
Cesar only smirked, ignoring his brother’s glare. He leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Aurelio told me weeks ago about your first crossing—what, a month back at Fratelli’s Deli? He said the meeting was... less than smooth.” His gaze darted between us, reading the tension. “Then the Children’s Ball happened, and when our brother spotted you with your friend Oliver Thorpe, well, we were all curious about the woman who’d managed to get under our brother’s skin.”
Cesar paused, his words laced with sly amusement. “Not long after the Ball, imagine our surprise when our brother announced that he had married you. I’ll admit, Miranda, meeting you was... memorable. And it seems you’ve left a lasting impression none of us will forget.”
Silence hovered, thick with possibilities and warnings, the brothers’ eyes flickering between Massimo and me, unreadable but unmistakably charged.
I turned to Massimo, my voice trembling as I asked, “Is it true? You married me because you fell in love with me?” A storm of questions and disbelief swirled inside me, my pulse thundering in my ears as I waited for his answer.
Massimo ground his teeth and shot a glare at his older brother before snarling, “Yes.”
My heart pounded in my chest, torn between disbelief and a fragile hope I barely dared to acknowledge. Relief and confusionwarred within me, and I struggled to process the weight of his confession.
“Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you make me believe I was being held captive against my will?” My words came out sharper than I intended, laced with hurt and longing for answers.
Guilio stepped forward with a genuine, almost apologetic smile, clearly trying to ease the tension as Massimo stiffened beside me. “You must forgive my brother, Miranda. Massimo has never been good with words. He’s more of a take what I want, ask for forgiveness later kind of man. I blame his upbringing for his callousness.” Guilio’s eyes crinkled with gentle amusement as a few of the brothers snickered, the tension in the room easing just enough for me to breathe—but uncertainty lingered between us, sharp as ever.
