Page 2 of Wicked Bloodlines

“Dario’s messenger said immediately,” I replied, deliberately letting the last of dripping sweat onto the Persian rug that probably cost more than most people made in a year. “So here I fucking am.”

Dario’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly, the only indication that my little act of rebellion had registered at all. “Sit down, Matteo.”

I remained standing. “I prefer to stand.”

Gabriel snorted, earning a sharp look from Vittorio. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. Whatever Dario called me here for promised to be spectacularly bad.

“The Rossi family has been making moves along the eastern corridor,” Dario began, his voice measured and calm as if discussing the weather rather than potential war with a rival family. “They’ve acquired three shipping companies in the last month and have been courting several of our business associates.”

“So I’ll pay them a visit,” I said, flexing my still-bleeding knuckles. “I’ll make sure they understand the consequences of stepping onto our territory.”

“That’s exactly the kind of reaction we need to avoid,” Alessandro interjected, straightening his cufflinks. “We’re not street thugs anymore, Matteo. We’re businessmen.”

“Speak for yourself,” I growled. “Some of us still get our hands dirty so you can play businessman in your fancy suits.”

“For Christ’s sake, Matteo.” Dario didn’t raise his voice. He never needed to. “Violence has its place, but this situation requires a different approach. The Rossis are too established now. A direct confrontation would cost us more than we’d gain.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling the familiar frustration building. This was how it always went. They made the plans, I carried them out. They stayed clean, I got bloody. They strategized in comfort, I risked my life in the streets. And now they wanted something else from me. I could feel it coming. I wouldn’t trade what I did for what they did. I was singularly suited to the violent life required of me and reveled in it. None of my brothers except Dario were built like me. Mentally or physically.

“We need to secure our position through alliance, not conflict,” Dario continued, his gaze never leaving my face. “The Marchesi family still holds significant influence with the old guard, despite Cesare’s declining power. Their connections could prove invaluable against the Rossis.”

“If you don’t want me killing someone, Dario, what exactly does this have to do with me?” I asked, though the sinking feeling in my gut told me I already knew.

Dario leaned forward slightly. “You’re going to marry Sofia Marchesi.”

The words hit me like a sucker punch. For a moment, I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think past the roaring in my ears. Marriage? Me? “I’m your enforcer, Dario. The last place you want me is in the middle of a room where I’m not expected to kill someone. Being married to Marchesi’s daughter guarantees I’m more visible and therefore less effective. Find someone else.”

“There is no one else,” Vittorio said, stepping forward from his position by Dario’s side. His voice was lower than Dario’s, rougher around the edges. “It has to be one of us, and you’re the only one who makes sense.”

“Bullshit,” I snarled, starting to pace the room like a caged animal. “Why not Golden Boy Gabriel? He’s the pretty one with the clean record.”

Gabriel stopped his own pacing to fix me with a hard stare. “Because I’m the public face of our legitimate businesses. I can’t be tied to the Marchesis’ more questionable ventures. It also guarantees the feds start poking around in all our shit if I’m linked to a Marchesis.”

“It has to be you,” Dario stated patiently, “because you’re my sword. You’re the one who enforces my will. Also, the Marchesis will be less likely to cause problems with you as the bridge between our families. The Marchesi name combined with Luca power will ensure the Rossis don’t control the Eastern seaboard. Your marriage will give us access to Cesare’s old-world connections while showing strength to our enemies. In return, Cesare’s getting enough money to live out the rest of his days however he wants.” The four of them watched me carefully, and I knew Dario had dropped that little bombshell out of the blue on purpose.

I turned away, stalking to the window to stare out at the manicured grounds of Villa Luca. This place had been my home for as long as I could remember. But this crossed a line. “You know we don’t traffic women, Dario.” I turned to face my brother, needing to see his eyes. “Are you really considering buying this woman?” Instead of answering me, Dario held my gaze with a steady one of his own. “You’ve already arranged it, haven’t you?” I asked without turning around. “It’s a done deal.” I sounded as outraged as I felt.

“Cesare Marchesi and I came to an understanding last week,” Dario admitted. “The details are still being finalized, but the agreement is in place.”

I laughed, a harsh sound devoid of humor. “Of course it is. Why bother asking me first?” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “You know I’m not going to force myself on this girl. Right?”

“No one said you had to. It can be a marriage in name only. The two of you can work something out to satisfy both your needs while being discreet.”

He had me there. I held his gaze and, like I knew he would, Dario grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

I heard the soft clink of glass against glass. Gabriel handed me a tumbler with two fingers of top-shelf whiskey, the kind he saved for important occasions or difficult conversations. We both knew I had no real choice. I could fight, rage, refuse. But in the end, family was family. And in our world, the family always came first.

I took the glass and downed the contents in one burning gulp. The whiskey traced a path of fire down my throat, settling into a warm glow in my stomach. “When?” I asked, my voice rough from the alcohol and resignation.

“Tomorrow,” Dario replied. “She arrives tomorrow.”

The bass at The Gray hit me like a physical force as I pushed through the VIP entrance. The exclusive club pulsed with expensive perfume, top-shelf liquor, and the desperate energy of beautiful people trying to prove they mattered. The renovated bank building loomed around us, marble columns and gold leaf catching the strobe lights, the dance floor a writhing mass of bodies in the center of it all. I shouldered my way toward the bar, not bothering with niceties. People noticed me. They always did. Likely because my reputation preceded me. In this city, the Luca name was both a blessing and curse. Tonight, I needed it to be the former.

The bartender spotted me and abandoned the customer he’d been serving mid-sentence. “Mr. Luca,” he greeted, already reaching for the bottle of Macallan 25 he kept specifically for me. “The usual?”

I nodded, drumming my fingers on the bar top. My knuckles were still raw and scabbing from the earlier fight. I’d showered and changed at home, swapping bloody workout clothes for a black button-down and tailored pants, but no amount of soap could wash away the conversation with my brothers.

Marriage. To a woman I’d never met. Tomorrow.