Page 9 of Intrigue
My father leans back, sighing with thinly-veiled irritation. “Oh, but I do, Selene. You will become exactly who I say, because your choices ended the moment you stepped back into Florence.”
“I’m marrying Cassian. I’m getting married. Isn’t that what you wanted?” My voice shakes despite my effort to remain strong. “Why can’t you just let me have this one thing?”
His smile turns colder. “Because Cassian is merely convenient and he’s weak. You need a made man beside you, someone who commands respect. You’ve chosen poorly, just as your mother did when she left me for that riffraff who later got her killed.”
“I don’t care about your approval,” I state. “I will marry Cassian, with or without your blessing.”
He nods. “Very well. Then Sandro will oversee the wedding. Tradition demands the eldest son lead such events. Perhaps it will remind you of your place, Selene.”
“It would be an honor,” he drawls mockingly. “Tradition must be upheld.”
“This isn’t necessary,” I argue coldly. “Cassian and I can handle it. We don’t need your interference.”
“I’m an old man now, your brother got himself killed while burying his cock in an enemy's son, your mother is long dead, and my godson now holds this family together. I won’t let you disgrace our name any further by marrying some peasant and throwing a wedding no one wants to attend. Sandro’s earned his place.” My father takes a puff of his cigar, indifferent. “He’ll ensure things run smoothly, so what he says goes.”
“But this doesn’t make any sense.”
My father deliberately ignores me as he signals a guard to summon Cassian. “Your pet isn’t equipped to handle the details involved with a Marconi ceremony.”
Moments later, Cassian enters, tension clear in the tight line of his shoulders. Sandro appraises him openly, derision sharp in his stare.
“So this is the fiancé,” he says, a subtle mockery coloring his tone.
Cassian offers his hand politely. “Cassian Varela. It’s good to meet you.”
Sandro ignores the gesture, studying him with dismissive eyes.
Cassian's brows furrow as he lowers his hand. "You look strangely familiar. Have we met before?"
A predatory grin spreads across Sandro's face. “I can’t say that I have. It’s not my habit to forget a face… except maybe those of the men I’ve killed. Have I had a reason to shoot you and you somehow survived?”
Cassian's throat bobs visibly as he forces a nervous laugh. "Of course not... must be my imagination playing tricks."
Their exchange seems a little odd.While Cassian's intimidation is clear as day, something doesn't quite add up. Why would someone so clearly unsettled deliberately poke thebear by suggesting they'd met before? Then again, this could simply be another case of male ego at work –that primal, unconscious pissing contest men sometimes fall into when sizing each other up. If that's the game they're playing, Sandro's casual mention of killing makes it crystal clear who holds the power here. One look at his wolfish smile says it all–this is his territory, and everyone else is just visiting.
My father continues casually, like he couldn’t be bothered. “We’re agreed then. You’ll marry this da Vinci enthusiast, and Sandro will ensure everything is up to our standards.”
Cassian stiffens beside me, clearly uncomfortable under their scrutiny but attempting composure. “I’m sure we can manage the details ourselves.”
He says it with confidence, but I hear what they do, that slight tremor in his voice, the uncertainty creeping in. I squeeze his hand, pretending I don’t feel how clammy it’s gotten.
“Yes, Father. Besides, we’re only here briefly, no need to disrupt my dear pseudo-brother’s precious schedule on my account.”
My father laughs again, eyes coldly amused. “Ah, the painter speaks. And yet, you understand nothing. My decision is final. Do not make me put a stop to this after everything you’ve done so far.”
“So you are just all of a sudden cool with our union?”
“Actually, Selene, we need to discuss your fiancé’s gallery. It interests me. Expanding into your circle could benefit our... ventures.”
Cassian’s brow furrows slightly, confused. “Meaning?”
I clench my fists, hating how easily I’d stepped into this trap. “Of course. Everything is a negotiation to you.”
“Your fiancé’s business holds promise for our endeavors. His gallery could serve our interests. Art moves discreetly. Contraband, even more so—especially under the name of areputable art consignee. No one would suspect it. Think of it as your family contribution, Cassian. It’s the least you can do, given you’ve chosen to wed my daughter.”
Sandro leans lazily against the desk, his mocking tone stoking my anger. “It’s a practical arrangement, Selene. Cassian isn’t exactly built for taking down rival factions. Auctions and galas, though, he might manage those. He just has to paint, hold events for our secret meetings and clients and help move some goods. He doesn’t even need to know what they look like. Leave the dirty work to the ones who can handle it.”
My fists clench at my sides, my anger flaring at his subtle insult and twisted enjoyment of my discomfort.