Chapter 1
Raffaele
5 years ago.
The private hangar echoes with my dad’s voice as he continues his lecture about family responsibility.
February in Cleveland means bitter cold, but inside I’m burning with irritation. I check my watch for the third time in five minutes, the platinum case gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Andrea Russo, my dad, doesn’t notice—or more likely, doesn’t care—that I stopped listening fifteen minutes ago. All I want isfor them to board the fucking plane back to Rome so I can return to the business that actually matters.
“Raffaele, you’re not listening.” Dad’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp as a blade.
“I’m listening.” I adjust my cufflinks. “You were saying the Moretti family has a daughter of marriageable age.”
His eyes narrow. “The Morettis have three daughters. I was talking about the Vitale family.”
“Of course.” I straighten my tie, the silk smooth beneath my fingers.
Twenty-nine years old and still being lectured like a soldier who’s forgotten his place. The muscle in my jaw ticks with the effort of keeping my expression neutral.
“Marriage isn’t just about continuing the bloodline, Raffaele. It’s about alliances.” He paces in front of the jet’s stairs, his leather shoes clicking against the concrete floor. “The Cleveland operation needs stronger ties to the families back home.”
I grind my teeth, the sound loud in my own skull. “The Cleveland operation is doing just fine under my management.”
“For now.” He waves his hand dismissively. “But think of the future. The Vitale girl comes with connections to the port authorities in Naples. The Bianchi family’s second daughter has ties to judges in Milan. Even the Rizzo girl—”
“I’ll consider it.” I won’t. Not a single one of them. The last thing I need is some pampered mafia princess trying to carve out territory in what I’ve already bled to control.
My mother approaches, her perfume a familiar cloud of jasmine and comfort. Unlike my dad, she reads my mood perfectly. “Our son knows his responsibilities.” She reaches up to straighten my collar, her touch gentle.
I soften slightly, but only for her—the only person in this world who’s ever earned it.
My father scoffs. “There’s always something to worry about in our business.” He checks his own watch. “The customs officials will be looking the other way for exactly seventeen more minutes. We need to board.”
My mother rises on her toes to kiss my cheek. “You need to eat more,” she scolds softly. “I’ve asked Susan to look after you better.”
I squeeze her hand before kissing both her cheeks. “Don’t worry,” I murmur. “Look after yourself, Mom. I’ve seen the bruises.”
She bristles, but continues to smile. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Think about what I said,” my dad adds, pulling his coat tighter against the chill that seeps through even the closed hangar doors. “The Vitale girl is beautiful and educated in Switzerland.”
I check my watch again, the muscle in my jaw working overtime now. “Have a safe flight.”
He stares at me, and I see the calculation in his eyes. He’s weighing whether to push further or let it go. Finally, he nods. “We’ll discuss it later.” Turning to my mom, he snaps, “Come on, Beatrice. Time to go.”
Mom gives my arm a last squeeze before following him up the stairs to the jet. I stand with my hands in my pockets, the perfect image of the dutiful son seeing his parents off, while internally counting the seconds until I’m free of the performance.
The jet door closes. Only when the engines start to whine, do I allow my shoulders to drop slightly.
Family obligation is one thing. The business, the code, the loyalty. These I respect and maintain with iron discipline. But my personal life is my own. I don’t need a wife to prove my commitment to the family.
I don’t need some arranged marriage to strengthen ties that I’ve already secured through more efficient means—namely fear and mutually beneficial financial arrangements.
I watch as the private jet taxis away, the sound drowning out everything else for a moment. When it disappears from view, I reach up and loosen my tie.
The cold hits me like a slap when I step outside. The sky hangs low and gray, threatening more snow to add to the dirty piles lining the roads.
