Chapter 2 - The Red Rose of Rebellion
By morning, the rain had cleared, leaving the estate shrouded in a thick, gray fog. I woke early, my body aching from the tension of sleeping in an unfamiliar bed. I dressed in a simple black sweater and dark trousers—clothes that felt more like armor than fashion.
When I descended the grand marble staircase, the mansion was quiet, save for the low murmur of voices coming from the dining room.
I walked toward the sound, stopping at the doorway. Luciano was seated at the head of the long table, a cup of black coffee in his hand, listening to Matteo Greco. Matteo was gesturing toward a map spread across the table, his face tight with concern.
"The docks on the Delaware are leaking, Luciano," Matteo said quietly. "Caruso’s men are still holding onto the southern warehouses. They aren't respecting the treaty. If we don't squeeze them now, the Capos will think you've gone soft because of the marriage."
"I am never soft, Matteo," Luciano said, his voice flat, deadly. "If Emiliano Caruso wants to test the boundary of our peace, I will personally show him how small his world can become."
I stepped into the room, my heels clicking sharply against the hardwood. Both men immediately went silent. Matteo stood up, offering a polite, respectful bow.
"Good morning, Mrs. Messina," Matteo said, a faint, friendly glint in his eyes.
"Good morning, Matteo," I replied, ignoring my husband’s icy stare. I sat at the opposite end of the table, as far from Luciano as possible. "Please, don't let me interrupt your war plans. I was under the impression that my presence here was supposed to prevent this exact conversation."
Luciano set his coffee cup down with a sharp clink. "You are here to ensure your father’s survival, Valyria. Not to dictate my logistics. Eat your breakfast."
"I’m not hungry," I said, folding my arms. "And if my father is breaking the treaty, let me talk to him. He will listen to me."
"He didn't listen to you when he signed you away," Luciano sneered, leaning back in his chair. "What makes you think he will listen to you now? You are no longer a Caruso. You are a Messina. And a Messina wife does not negotiate with the enemy."
Before I could answer, a third man entered the room. He was older, mid-forties, with a thick scar running through his eyebrow and an expensive, gaudy gold watch on his wrist. This was Enzo Varga, one of Luciano’s oldest and most ruthless Capos.
"Don Luciano," Enzo said, his voice greasy, his eyes immediately sliding over my body with an unsettling intensity. "The men are waiting at the warehouse. We need a decision on the Caruso shipments. Do we seize them, or do we let the bride's family continue to play in our garden?"
Luciano’s eyes narrowed as he noticed the way Enzo was looking at me. The air in the room instantly turned heavy, suffocating.
"We wait, Enzo," Luciano said, his voice dropping an octave. "And you will keep your eyes on the table. The lady of this house is not a piece of meat for you to drool over."
May you like
Enzo’s smile faltered, a flash of pure anger crossing his features before he bowed his head. "Of course, Don Luciano. My apologies."
As Enzo backed out of the room, I felt a cold chill run down my spine. The peace we had traded my life for was nothing but a thin sheet of glass, and it was already beginning to crack.
