"Salvatore, your gift was generous. We'll have to discuss that shipment next week."
"Mrs. De Luca, you look radiant. Yes, the roses were my choice."
He was performing. Masterfully. Every word calculated, every gesture deliberate.
I watched him work and realized I had no idea who Cesare Monti actually was beneath the performance.
Then a man who looked like a younger version of my new husband approached.
Same dark hair, same build—tall and broad-shouldered, moving with that predatory grace that seemed genetic. But his eyes were brown instead of gray, and something warmer lived behind them.
"Big brother, congratulations." He smiled at Cesare but looked at me with open curiosity.
Cesare's posture shifted—slightly less rigid. "Paola, this is Piero. My brother and underboss."
I froze, catching the mistake–he’d used my real name, not my sister’s. But Piero didn’t flinch; his smile didn’t falter. He only said in a low, warm voice, "Welcome to the family,cognata." Sister-in-law.
His handshake was gentle. His eyes assessed but didn't judge.
Piero knew. He hadn’t been surprised when he heard my name, which meant Cesare had told him somehow, but that was impossible. I’d been at his side since the altar–when he realized who I was. Or wasn’t. He hadn’t had time to tell his brother, which meant Piero must have figured it out on his own.
How many others knew I wasn't Bianca? How long before everyone knew?
Part of me wanted the charade to collapse—wanted someone to expose the truth and free me from this nightmare.
But Father's words echoed:People die.
If the deception came out now, in front of three hundred witnesses, the alliance would shatter. Viktor would move. Blood would spill.
And it would be my fault.
The paranoia wrapped around my throat like hands.
Midway through the line—after countless strangers, countless lies—a man approached who made every instinct I had screamdanger.
He was tall and blonde, with ice-blue eyes that tracked movement like a snake watching prey. Eastern European accent, probably Russian.
"Cesare. Congratulations on your beautiful bride."
The way he said "beautiful" made my skin crawl.
Cesare's hand turned to iron against my back. A warning. "Viktor. I'm surprised you came."
"Wouldn't miss it. Peace between our families is so... important."
Viktor's smile belonged on a corpse.
He took my hand—I couldn't pull away without causing a scene—and brought it to his lips. The kiss lingered. His mouth was cold.
"You are lucky man, Cesare. She is... exquisite."
I felt examined. Evaluated. Like livestock at auction.
Viktor looked directly at me. "I hope this marriage brings you everything you deserve, Mrs. Monti."
Subtext I didn't understand crackled beneath the words. But Cesare understood—his entire body had gone rigid, coiled like a spring ready to snap.
After Viktor left, Cesare murmured: "Stay away from that man. If he approaches you again, find me immediately."
