THE BROTHER SHE NEVER CHOSE

••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 sound escaped Don Lorenzo; part laugh, part wound. “Thinking didn’t save Adrian. They struck first and murdered my son. They think we are weak.”

My heart twisted.

Father pressed gently, “Rushing into war will not bring him back.”

“It will make them regret touching my family,” Don Lorenzo replied. His voice didn’t rise; it didn’t have to. It was the kind of calm that came right before an earthquake.

He turned his gaze to me then. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

“The alliance stands,” he said quietly. “Stronger than before.”

Father stiffened. “Adrian was the bond between our families.”

“Then another bond will take his place.”

Father hesitated. The silence was thin and fragile.

“Lorenzo..."

He took a breath. “Luciana needs time…”

“There is no time,” Don Lorenzo said, but his tone softened—not command, but fact. “My son is dead. The Valerios think this alliance will crumble. We cannot allow that.”

That felt like a slap.

My voice escaped before I could stop it. “What exactly are you saying?”

Don Lorenzo looked at me, grief flickering through his expression like a glitch in armor. “Roman will step into his brother’s place.”

My stomach plummeted.

Roman.

Cold eyes. Sharper words. The smirk that made me wish violence on sight.

I shook my head. “No. I can’t…”

Father’s eyes held mine, firm but pained. “Luciana.”

My breath stuttered.

“You expect me to marry Roman? Just like that?”

Father didn’t answer. That was my answer.

Rage rose like fire up my throat. “I won’t be used as a replacement.”

Don Orlov’s expression didn’t shift. “You won’t be a replacement. You’ll be the reason the Valerios realize their plan failed.”

The room closed in, and my pulse thundered.

I didn’t wait for permission. I turned, yanked the door open, and slammed it behind me with every ounce of fury boiling under my skin.

The hallway blurred. My heels echoed like gunshots. By the time I reached my room, my hands were trembling. I locked the door and pressed my back to it.

Stared into my reflection—pale, furious, barely holding together. My throat burned.

I was meant for Adrian, not his ghost. Not his brother.

I stood there for what seemed like minutes. Then a knock came, soft but persistent.

“Luci. Let me in.”

Matteo.

I opened the door a fraction. He took one look at my face and pushed the rest of the way in, shutting the world out behind him.

“You look like you’re about to stab the next person who speaks,” he murmured.

“I might.”

He moved closer. “Then let’s get you out of here before you commit a diplomatic incident.”

A humorless laugh slipped out. “I don’t want company.”

“You have me.”

He tapped my chin lightly. “And sadly for you, I am extremely good company.”

Despite the storm brewing in my chest, I cracked a smile.

He hooked an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Luci. Let's go somewhere with bad decisions and stronger drinks.”

I sighed. “Matteo..”

He stepped forward and tugged gently on a strand of my hair. "Luci, you need air. You need a night that isn’t soaked in grief and politics.”

My walls cracked. “You’re not wrong.”

“I’m never wrong,” he said smugly. “Now get dressed. Something black. Something that says, “Touch me and die.”

“You’re ridiculous."

“At your service.” He smirked.

And somehow, somehow, I followed him out.

----

Noise hit like a slap the moment we stepped in. Lights darted across the ceiling. Heat rolled through the air. Bodies moved in unsteady rhythm. It was chaotic enough to distract me, and tonight, distraction was mercy.

Matteo and I found a booth tucked into the corner. He ordered whiskey; I took shots until my throat warmed and my mind loosened.

“So,” Matteo said, watching me over the rim of his glass. “Roman Orlov, huh?”

I groaned. “Don’t.”

“Just saying. If anyone needs a therapist after tonight, it’s you.”

“That obvious?”

“That loud.”

I sagged into the booth. “I don’t want this marriage.”

“I know.” His voice was gentle. “But you’re not facing it alone. Luciana… we’ll figure this out. You’re not a pawn.”

“I feel like one.”

“You’re a queen. Queens get moved last.”

His expression, for a moment, carried the weight of an oath.

He finished his drink and slid out of the booth. “I’m going to take a leak. Don’t start a war while I’m gone.”

“No promises.” I shouted; he probably wouldn't hear because of the loud music.

It took less than two minutes for trouble to find me.

Three men approached with polished suits and predator smiles. Their eyes swept over me like I was something they could buy.

“Sicilian royalty in a place like this,” one murmured. “Didn’t believe the rumors.”

I didn’t bother hiding my glare. “Walk away.”

He let out a light laugh. “Oh! Princess, I’m merely being friendly.”

His hand edged closer to my waist.

My fingers grazed the blade sheathed at my thigh. “Touch me and you lose the hand.”

He halted, a look of surprise crossing his face. “You’re quite the firecracker.”

“That’s not what your surgeon will call it.”

His friends chuckled, mistaking our exchange for playful banter rather than a serious threat.

I adjusted my stance. Alert, and ready. A heartbeat away from drawing blood.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over the table—cold, tall, and immovable. His hand descended onto the man’s shoulder.

He jumped as if struck by lightning, his complexion fading as the figure leaned closer, whispering something that got lost in the music's din.

The stranger retreated, hands raised in a gesture of surrender, apologizing as he dragged his friends away.

I remained still. Not because I was unaware of who had intervened.

I recognized him all too well.

My breath hitched in my throat. him.

He didn’t cast a glance in my direction—not once.

He simply turned and melted into the throng, consumed by smoke and flashing lights, leaving my heart thundering against my ribs.

I blinked hard, my pulse trembling. He shouldn’t have been here watching me.

My lips parted in disbelief, I knew exactly whose hand that was.

But I refused to say his name. Not even in my mind.