His Brother's Bride To-Be

LucianaAs I gazed out the windows, the stunning views of New York City captured my attention. I had just spent an entire day with Andrian, and we decided to take a drive under the stars. I cranked down the window of the Aston Martin DB11, inviting the soft night breeze to envelop us. “When all this wedding madness settles down,” he said, his voice calm and steady, “I’m going to take you somewhere peaceful—no phone calls, no guards, just us without anyone looking over our shoulders.”I turned to face him, a playful smile on my lips. “You keep saying that as if you can negotiate with fate.” I chuckled at the thought.“Maybe I already have,” he said with a cheeky grin that made my heart flutter.I couldn’t help but smile back; he looked so dashing from the side. I could really picture him walking me down the aisle in just two weeks. Yet, I noticed his focus was fixed on the rearview mirror, and there was a seriousness etched on his face.“Is something wrong?” I asked, a hint of concern

THE FIRST CRACKRoman Power never looks the same from the front row as it does from the shadows.I have always preferred the shadows.They give a man room to breathe, to think, to calculate. Andrian handles the spotlight, the speeches, and the diplomacy. I handle the problems no one wants mentioned in boardrooms lined with marble.Yet tonight, I sat in his stead. Not by my choice.The heir’s chair never fits me right. The back is too straight, the eyes are too many, and the room is too loud with pretense. Father doesn’t care; to him, duty is duty, and I serve where I’m placed.Still… I would have rather remained behind the scenes, exactly where I belong. Maneuvering numbers. Erasing threats. Moving pieces the world never sees.That is my kingdom.Not this long conference I just engaged in, filled with Sicilian perfume and lies dressed like treaties.My gaze drifts from the balcony down to Father and Don Moretti. They are engaged in a hushed conversation beside the car. I couldn't qu

••Luciana••Night settled over the Moretti estate like a heavy curtain drawn too quickly, muffling sound, hope, and every breath we tried to take. The house felt colder than usual, tense with unspoken things. By the time Don Lorenzo Orlov arrived, grief had already seeped into the walls.Father and I waited in his study. The room usually smelled of leather and expensive ink; tonight the air carried sorrow sharp enough to taste.Don Orlov stepped inside, looking carved from grief itself. His eyes were rimmed in exhaustion, but beneath that was steel.Father stood. “Lorenzo… I’m sorry for your loss.”Don Lorenzo offered a single stiff nod. “Condolences don’t resurrect the dead. I didn’t come for sympathy.”Father gestured for him to sit. He didn’t.“We know who cut the brakes,” Don Lorenzo said, his voice low and controlled. “The Valerios wanted blood, and they took my son.”Father’s jaw tightened. “We suspect them, yes, but nothing is confirmed. We must think before we move.”A bitter

SHADOWS OF THE CROWN••Roman••The study smells like cigar smoke and old grief.The same room Adrian once sat in, laughing over battle plans, scolding me for being reckless, promising that one day Russia would be mine too.Now it’s quiet. Too quiet.Theo stands near the window, tall, sharp-eyed, and silent as ever. My father’s most trusted bodyguard, my right hand, and the only man I’d trust with both my life and my secrets. Years ago, he took a bullet meant for me. Ever since, he’s spoken little but seen everything.He was flipping through a file with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Mildred sits on the edge of Father’s desk, her heels tapping against the polished wood, eyes red but proud — a soldier’s sister.“Theo,” I mutter, rubbing a hand down my jaw, “tell me something good before I break something.”He looks up, lips twitching. “Good news? We’ve got men planted inside the Valerio network. Two dockhands, one accountant, and a driver. The bad news is the Valerios are smarter

A MESSAGE TOO CLOSE••Luciana••The hush of the library enveloped me like a soft velvet glove as I flipped through a pile of alliance documents, wedding drafts, and security assessments that my father insisted I 'review as a fitting future Don’s wife.' They were all spread out on the expansive mahogany table. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a golden glow over the ink and paper.This room had always been my refuge — the only place in the villa where the walls didn’t feel like spies.My pen lingered over a line in the proposed engagement itinerary, which read: 'An heir must be produced within a year of the marriage.' With a sigh, I drew a red line through it.I refuse to let him touch me after this marriage; the thought churns my stomach.At that moment, my phone buzzed beside me..I reached for it without thinking… and froze.Unknown Number:“Meet me before it’s too late.”The pen fell from my hand.The room suddenly felt too small, too still, like the air had stop