Our house… isn’t.
It used to be.
Once upon a time, before our enemies came in like locusts and stripped us of everything we held dear.
Now the estate looks like a war zone—a half-fallen kingdom waiting for someone foolish enough to rebuild it.
My twin brother, Sandro, and his wife are foolish enough.
Honest enough.
Brave enough.
I just want revenge.
But our family estate is more than just a home.
It’s a symbol of our strength, so if we’re going to mend our image, it’s the right place to start.
I see my new wife take in the broken sight, eyes widening slightly.
She saw pieces of it during negotiations, the façade we’ve patched and painted over to mask our vulnerabilities, the war room, which was well enough intact to appear like a solid headquarters.
But no doubt, there’s something different about seeing it now that it belongs, in part, to her.
And the dark shadows of night only draw attention to the many fractured pieces of her new home.
“Jesus,” she murmurs, low but audible. “This place needs a lot of help.”
There’s a beat where I could choose to let it go. I don’t.
I snap, “Yeah. No thanks to your family.”
Her head turns. Slow. Precise. That glacier-cut stare I remember far too well from our last night together.
“Don’t pretend your family was innocent in all this,” she says, voice like a blade. “You made enemies. You treated the world like a throw rug. It’s no surprise the world fought back.”
I laugh. Sharp. Bitter. “Always loyal, aren’t you?”
“To my family?” She shrugs. “Religiously.”
Of course she is. I clench my fists until my knuckles pop. I’m not used to this—someone outside of my brothers challenging me without fear, without hesitation, without trying to impress or manipulate or seduce.
She doesn’t want anything from me except honesty.
Maybe blood.
“I thought we were supposed to be playing nice now,” I say, trying for dry humor.
She folds her arms. “That was before you blamed my family for your shitty house.”
I glance at her, and for the first time tonight, her face isn’t a mask.
It’s full of fire.
Defiance.
The same fire that hooked itself under my ribs the first time I ever laid eyes on her.
