“It’s transactional,” I say. “She was already in my possession. The debt gives me leverage. She knows my world, or at least enough of it. And she’s…” I hesitate, searching for the right word.
“She’s what?” Remus asks quietly, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Suitable,” I finish, ignoring the hollow feeling the word leaves in my chest.
Matteo leans back in his chair, balancing his glass on his knee. “You’ve been off since Beatrice died,” he says, using my mom’s name deliberately. I don’t know if it’s as a reminder of the lossthat still feels raw six months later, or because I lost it the last time he said it. “More violent. Darker. Unpredictable.”
I set my glass down with careful precision, fighting the urge to smash it against the wall. “Watch yourself,” I growl.
“He’s right,” Enzo chimes in. “Back in January, you put three men in the hospital for a simple missed payment. Four months ago, you disappeared for five days after that shit in Detroit with no word to any of us.”
“Since when do I answer to you?” I challenge, feeling my control fraying at the edges.
“Since we’re family,” Remus answers for them both. He leans forward, elbows on the desk, assessing me the way he might evaluate a potential business partner. “Is this what you want, Raffaele? A marriage based on debt collection? A woman who has no choice but to accept you?”
Something dark and ugly rises in my chest at his words. “Everyone has choices,” I snap. “Shechoseto accept my proposal rather than remain simply a captive.”
“Limited choices are hardly choices at all,” Enzo mutters.
“Come on, Remus,” Matteo says, rolling his glass between his palms. “I expected you to talk him out of it.”
Enzo nods, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Yeah, sorry. I’m with Matteo. This doesn’t make sense.”
I lean forward with deliberate slowness, a predatory smile spreading across my face. “That’s rich coming from you two fuckers,” I say, my voice deceptively casual.
His eyes narrow at my tone. He knows me well enough to sense the danger beneath the surface calm.
“Enzo,” I continue, “didn’t you stalk Piper for months before making your move? Tracking her every step, manipulating her career options until the only path left led straight to you?”
My cousin’s icy blue eyes sharpen dangerously. Other men would back down when faced with that look. I’m not other men. “That’s different,” he scoffs.
“Is it?” I challenge, holding his gaze. “You knew you wanted her the moment you saw her, and you did whatever it took to make her yours. At least I’m being upfront about my intentions.”
Before Enzo can respond, I turn my attention to Matteo, who suddenly finds his whiskey fascinating. “And you. You want to lecture me about obsession? Should we discuss what happened when Raven stole from you?”
Matteo’s single eye flashes with warning. “Fuck off. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
I raise an eyebrow at his protest. “Don’t I? Enzo collects toys, and his best one is now his wife.” I gesture toward Matteo. “You collect favors. And the best one you ever called in is now carrying your babies.”
The room falls silent. Neither man argues because they can’t. We all know the truth of how they claimed their women.
“I’ve already collected Alina in place of the Brewer debt,” I continue more calmly, watching their expressions shift. “So she’s bound to me whether we marry or not. As my captive, she has a nice room upstairs. But as my wife, she’ll be able to do the things she wants.”
I take another pull from my cigar.
“And I’ve never expected to marry for love. If I ever married, I’ve always known it would be one rooted in debt and convenience.”
Something softens in Matteo’s expression, anger giving way to contemplation. Enzo’s eyes have shifted from suspicious to considering.
“At least your women chose you,” I add, feeling an uncharacteristic vulnerability creep into my voice. “And loveyou. Circumstances have limited Alina’s choices. I can’t change that. But I can give her this one.”
I spread my hands in a rare gesture of openness. “She wants the bakery. She wants to bake her own wedding cake. She wants a small ceremony, nothing flashy.” The corner of my mouth lifts in what might be a genuine smile. “She wants to hyphenate her name.”
“And you’re going to let her?” Enzo asks, genuine surprise evident in his tone.
I shrug. “Brewer-Russo isn’t the worst compromise.”
Remus studies me over the rim of his glass. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
