Page 19 of The Kingpin’s Bride

I drove toward the only place that mattered. After Dark would open in a few hours. I planned to be there when it did.The club was quiet in the late afternoon, the main floor empty except for staff resetting tables and checking the private rooms. The air carried the faint scent of leather and last night’s whiskey. I took the private stairs to the upstairs office without being announced.

Santino Moretti was behind the desk, sleeves rolled up, a ledger open in front of him. He looked up when I entered and closed the book with deliberate care.

“I heard,” he said.

I dropped into the chair across from him and rested my forearm on the armrest. “News travels fast.”

“In this world it does.” He studied me for a long moment. The silence had weight. “Congratulations.”

The word was correct. The tone underneath it was not. There was no warmth in it. Only the strained acceptance of a man who had spent years trying to keep someone out of the deep end and had just watched him dive in anyway.

“You don’t approve,” I said.

“I wanted better for you than this.” Santino’s voice stayed level, but the tension in his jaw gave him away. He looked older in the afternoon light than he had a year ago. The same man who had handed me his twin’s, Angelo’s watch, now sat across from me trying not to say the thing we both knew: that every seat eventually demanded a piece of the person who took it, and Santino had already paid that price once for Aurora.

“A seat comes with a target on your back and blood on your hands that never really washes off,” he said. “I brought you into the edges so you would have protection and options. Not so you could become another name the families use until they decide you’re inconvenient.”

“I asked for this.”

He exhaled through his nose and leaned back in the chair. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it. You’re family. Aurora would never forgive me if something happened to you because I didn’t push harder to keep you clear.”

“I’m not a child.”

“No. You’re a man who just accepted a seat that requires a wife and a line of heirs to hold it.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Have you thought about what that actually means?”

“I’ve thought about it.”

Santino watched me for another beat, then shook his head once, slow. The argument was over. He had said what he needed to say. The rest would sit between us like it always did.

He reached for a folder on the side of the desk and slid it toward me. “There’s something else. We’re hosting a private bride auction here in three weeks. High-end. Invitation only. The kind of men who buy permanent arrangements, not nights. The club takes a commission and provides the secure venue. I want extra security on the floor and the private rooms that night.”

I opened the folder and scanned the first page without really seeing the words.

A bride auction. In this club. In three weeks.

The image of Morena on the secondary stage rose behind my eyes. The empty expression. The way she had looked last night like something vital had been scraped out of her. Dario’s hand on her cheek. The phone held just long enough to keep her obedient.

This was the opening. Clean. Public. Final.

I could take her in front of every relevant player in the city, put my claim on her in a way no one could dispute, and satisfy the syndicate’s demand for a wife in a single move. No quiet negotiation. No risk of Dario selling her elsewhere first. No more nights of watching her disappear a little further under someone else’s control.

I closed the folder and looked up.

“I’ll handle the security details,” I said. “Personally.”

Santino’s gaze sharpened. “You’re volunteering for auction night?”

“Yes.”

He was quiet for a moment. Something unreadable moved behind his eyes, but he didn’t press. Not yet.

“All right,” he said finally. “Three weeks. Don’t make me regret letting you anywhere near this life, Matteo.”

I stood, adjusted my cuffs. “I won’t.”

I left the office and took the stairs back down to the main floor. The club was empty, but in my mind it was packed with men holding paddles.

Three weeks. I had three weeks to make sure that when the auction began, Morena Caruso walked onto that stage belonging to me in every way that counted.