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His eyes narrow, suspicion flickering across his features. “You speak as if you’re not the one benefiting from this. As if you’re doing me a favor.”

I meet his gaze, forcing my expression to remain unreadable. “Iamdoing you a favor.”

The silence stretches between us, his eyes searching mine for something he won’t find.

Marcello stares at me for a moment longer, and I brace myself for his next words. But then he sighs, leaning back in his chair, the fight draining from him.

“Let’s hope this marriage brings us what we need,” he mutters. “But if your son hurts her, I promise I will unleash hellfire on him.”

“And I would expect nothing less from you, old friend.”

Marcello rises abruptly, draining the last of his bourbon in one swift motion.

“We’ll finalize the details tomorrow,” he says, his voice clipped. “Make sure Daniele understands what’s expected of him.”

I nod, standing as well, though the stiffness in my limbs betrays the calm I’m trying to project.

“He does. And he’ll do what’s required.”

Marcello looks at me for a moment longer, as if trying to read between the lines, to pick apart the words I won’t say.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and find my wife. You and your son are my guests until the wedding is over. My home is yours,” he says before turning and leaving me in the tea room, standing alone.

I let out a heavy sigh. The weight of all that is happening presses down on me.

I have killed many men. They used to call me the Warlord. But those were people who deserved to die.

Not Antonio.

I feel their pain, and every time I look into the eyes of the Faravelli family, I cannot help but remember the lifeless ones of Antonio.

Marta is the one who devastates me the most. Hearing her bloodcurdling scream sent shockwaves through my entire system. I have never heard so much agony in one voice.

I hear laughter outside the window, and suddenly, I’m moving toward it.

I step to the large, arched glass—its frame as old as the house itself. The view outside is serene, a stark contrast to the storm inside me.

And there they are.

Daniele and Maria sit by the pool, their legs dangling in the water as they talk. The faint sound of her laughter drifts through the open window—light and melodic. I see glimpses of the little girl who used to run around our yard with Daniele.

Maria leans forward slightly, her posture relaxed, her lips curved in a soft smile.

The setting sun catches the golden tones in her hair, and for a brief, foolish moment, I can’t look away.

She’s beautiful.

It’s a simple thought—one I shouldn’t have—but it slips through the cracks of my mind.

The realization twists something in my chest, a sharp pang that feels like betrayal. She’s my son’s fiancée.

My son’s future wife and my future daughter-in-law.

I tear my gaze away, clenching my jaw so tightly it aches.

This has to stop.

I grip the edge of the window frame, forcing my breathing to steady. Whatever this is—this fleeting, unwelcome attraction—it’s nothing. It has to be nothing, for the sake of peace within my own home. I’ve forced this union on my son; the least I can do is not lust after his woman.