3

Ares

“You're going to be late to your own goddamn wedding.” Matteo muttered, washing blood off his knuckles. “Couldn't resist the urge for blood today, could ya?”

The body on the floor had stopped twitching a while ago, far too quick for my liking. I crouched, curling my fingers around the knife still wedged in the man’s arm, and pulled it free. Blood spilled from the wound, spreading across the concrete and reaching the tips of my shoes.

He wasn’t dead yet. I made sure of it. The heart had to keep working, at least for a while, if the organs were to be worth anything. Matteo grabbed a towel, wiping his hands. “You realize most people celebrate their marriage with champagne, not murder, right?”

I looked at him and signed, fuck off.

He grinned. “Love you too, bro.”

Wiping my knife clean on the man's shirt, I sheathed it and stood. My wedding was in five hours. Plenty of time to get business done.

Matteo tossed the towel into a corner. “You think he told us everything?”

Information extracted under pain is never complete, and a man who believes he might live will always lie. This one had begged for mercy in the end. They all did. They’d sell out their mothers, their children, the last shred of their soul for a breath they didn’t deserve.

I signed, He told enough.

Matteo sighed, glancing down at the ruin on the floor. “So, we’re done here.”

‘Have the body processed.’

He frowned. “Processed? Jesus, Ares, you mean dumped, right?”

I met his eyes. ‘Processed.’ Even in death, a traitor could still serve a purpose. Salvageable organs went to clinics we funded, passed off as anonymous donations.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You ever think about how fucked up it is that we’re technically saving lives?” He tried to sound casual, but he still had a conscience that hadn’t learned how to stay quiet, not that I blamed him. At just eighteen, he was the least crazy compared to the rest of us. My silence said enough, and he turned away to make the call.

I stared at the body one last time, then at the faint smear of blood on my shoe. The man’s name was already gone from my mind, replaced by the weight of what came next. An arrangement that would finally seal the deal. I barely remembered meeting the girl I was meant to marry. Everything was a blur, unremarkable except for the moment in Russo's courtyard.

The basement door opened, pulling me from my thoughts. “Ready for your big day?” Lucien’s voice dripped with sarcasm. He looked like he just rolled out from bed—dark curls flattened on one side, stubble shadowing his jaw, and shirt half-tucked like he couldn’t be bothered. His grin was lazy, disarming in a way that made you think he wasn't capable of snapping a man's neck with his bare hands.

‘Surprised you're awake’ I signed.

He grinned. “Wouldn’t miss watching my big brother tie the noose for anything.”

Enzo came in behind him, fully dressed. “He means knot,” he said dryly, glancing at his twin. Despite being identical, the contrast was clear. If Lucien was the storm, Enzo was the silence that followed after. His dark eyes met mine, expression blank. “Though no one would blame her if she brought rope instead of vows.”

Lucien laughed. “Maybe she’ll strangle herself at the altar. Save us all the trouble.”

Matteo shot them a glare from where he stood near the body. “Could you all take this shit somewhere else?”

“Language, baby brother,” Lucien teased.

Selene padded in barefoot, wearing one of Enzo’s hoodies. “No one told me there's a party going on here.” Her hair, still damp from a shower, framed a face too soft for this world… until she opened her mouth. She wasn’t supposed to be down here which, of course, meant she was.

“Does Father know you're here?” Enzo asked.

“Does Father know you're messing around with Siena?” She shot back.

Enzo’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing. Her gaze found the dying man on the floor, then me. “Do you ever get tired of killing before breakfast?”

I raised a brow, just enough to make her grin.

“Guess not,” she said softly.

Lucien crouched near the body, prodding at the man’s limp hand with his shoe. “You think the old man’s finally gonna step down after today?”

He had no fucking choice.

★★★★★

Pietro Russo was a pathetic man who didn't know how to keep his household in order yet claimed to be a patriarch. My jaw ticked, fist clenching and unclenching with impatience. Delay was something I hated, and the excuse he rushed out was unbelievable.

“A wardrobe malfunction.” Lucien scoffed, reaching for another glass of bourbon. He’d already loosened his tie, his gaze drifting across the room like a man searching for entertainment.

Since this wasn’t a typical wedding, because I refused to stand at an altar and pretend this was more than a business transaction, we were seated instead in the Russos’ formal dining room. A long, glossy mahogany table divided our side from theirs.

The day’s agenda was painfully simple: share a family dinner, recite our vows before a priest in Pietro’s office, and sign the fucking papers. Yet, the one seat that mattered most on the Russo side remained empty.

“If this takes any longer, I’m going to die of boredom.”

Enzo’s jaw flexed. “You should stop drinking.”

Lucien ignored him, knocking back the glass. “Let’s stop pretending this isn’t a waste of everyone’s time.”

“Lucien’s right.” Matteo chimed in, faking a yawn.

“Enough,” Father murmured. He didn’t raise his voice, but it silenced them. Cesare Marcelli sat at the head of the table, one hand resting on the carved lion’s head of his cane. His dark eyes roved lazily across the table until they landed on Pietro.

“You insult me with this delay.” The gentleness in his voice only meant one thing. Rage in disguise.

Pietro’s face flushed, the napkin trembling in his hand. “Of course not, Signore Marcelli,” he stammered. “She’ll be here any moment now. She’s just nervous. It’s a big night.”

I nearly scoffed. Father didn’t understand that word, or the concept of fear, and hesitation. He’d gutted it from all of us before we were old enough to name it.

He tilted his head slightly. “Nervous,” he repeated, tasting the word like it offended him. “Perhaps, we should reconsider this business arrangement then.”

Pietro’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Please. Allow me to check what’s keeping her.”

Father waved a dismissive hand. “By all means,” he said softly. “Before I change my mind.”

Pietro blanched and excused himself, almost tripping over the corner of the carpet in his haste to leave.

“A woman needs a firm hand to keep her from rotting from the inside out.” He said, looking at me. My father saw women as things to possess, and silence. I'd seen what that made of my mother, and I swore never to be like him. His eyes slid to Selene, the only woman in the room. She'd insisted on joining us, and for reasons known only to his cruelty, he'd agreed. Her blue eyes, the only trace of our mother left, darted between Pietro’s retreating form and Father, a scowl hardening her delicate features. Selene never hid her anger the way we'd learnt to. She wore it openly, like an armour. “Is that why you turned your wife into a punching bag? To stop her from rotting?”

“Your mother was a stubborn woman.”

“You talk like you’re proud of what you did to her.”

A faint smile ghosted over his lips. “I did what had to be done. She learnt her place. And so will you.”

Her chin lifted. “Maybe that’s why she never loved you.”

The cane hit the marble floor loudly, drawing the attention of everyone. “Attenta, ragazza,” he murmured. Careful, girl. “You’re walking dangerously close to forgetting who owns your future. With luck, your husband will do what I never could. Break that tongue of yours before it costs you your life.”

Her lips parted, ready to spit back another truth, but my hand found her thigh beneath the table. Not now. Soon, his threats would mean nothing. Soon, his voice would be gone.

Pietro returned moments later. “She’s coming,” he announced breathlessly.

“About damn time,” Lucien muttered just as the door opened. Then, after a beat, his tone shifted. “Well… would you look at that?”

The edge in his voice forced my head up, and for the second time in my life, I forgot how to breathe.