Chapter Four: The Butterfly Effect

Three Month Ago

"Charlotte, are you even listening to me?"

Arthur Morgan sat in the interior of his sleek, all-black Range Rover, dressed in a tailored suit that barely concealed the sharp edges of his temper. Beside him was his daughter, Charlotte, a 24-year-old dressed casually in a hoodie and joggers. They were on their way back to the Morgan estate after what Arthur considered a long, frustrating day.

For the past fifteen minutes, Arthur had been talking—no, lecturing—Charlotte about the precarious position their family was in. But Charlotte was barely paying attention, her eyes glued to her phone, scrolling through pictures of celebrities at the latest Met Gala.

"Mhmm… sure, Dad… I'm listening," she said absently, a grin spreading across her face at something on the screen. She clearly wasn’t listening at all.

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “Verdammt! Give me that,” he snapped, snatching the phone from her hands in one swift motion.

“Dad! That’s not fair!” Charlotte protested, her voice rising in indignation. “I was just about to find out who Taylor Swift’s date for the Met Gala was!”

“Really, Charlotte?” Arthur barked, his voice dripping with disbelief. “You want to talk about what’s fair? Fine. Let’s ficken do that!”

Arthur Morgan rarely raised his voice with his daughter, but now his tone was sharp enough to cut glass. His wild gesticulations made it clear that Charlotte was about to get a verbal lashing she wouldn’t soon forget.

“What’s not fair,” Arthur began, his voice rising with frustration, “is that I had to swallow my pride and sign a damn treaty with the Rinaldis just to keep this city from tearing itself apart! What’s not fair is that, after all the concessions I’ve made, I’ve had to beg for peace from a family who thrives on bloodshed! What’s not fair, Tochter, is that some bastard ordered a hit on their Don, Tomas Rinaldi, five months ago, and they think *I* was the one who gave the order!”

Charlotte stared at him, stunned into silence. She’d never seen her father like this—his rage was palpable, his words like venom.

“And what’s not fair, Charlotte,” Arthur continued, his voice hardening even further, “is that no one has found the killers or the one who ordered the hit, leaving us as the prime suspects! Do you know what that’s done to us? To me? Every day, I’m walking on a razor’s edge, trying to keep those paranoid bastards from retaliating!”

He leaned closer to her, his eyes blazing. “Do you understand now? What’s not fair is that after all the groveling I’ve done—after sponsoring Tomas’ funeral, after countless visits to offer my condolences—they *still* don’t believe me. And because of that, I’ve had to promise you to that interim Don of theirs, Dominic Rinaldi, in marriage. That’s right, Charlotte. My only daughter, married off like a pawn in a game of chess. All of this, just to keep the peace and stop them from wiping out our family!”

“Dad…” Charlotte’s voice cracked, her shock spilling over into her expression.

“Oh, I’m not done!” Arthur snapped, cutting her off. “You want to know what else isn’t fair? It’s you sitting there, scrolling through your goddamn phone, ignoring me, while I’m trying to explain how your life is about to change forever! You care more about some stupid celebrities and their overpriced dresses than the fact that I just sold my soul to protect this family!”

Charlotte flinched, staring down at her sneakers. She knew better than to argue when her father was in this kind of mood.

Arthur exhaled shakily, his voice softening just slightly. “This isn’t a game, Charlotte. You’re not a child anymore. You’re going to play a critical role in keeping yourself, me, your brothers—this entire family—alive. You need to start paying attention.”

Without another word, Arthur leaned across her, pressed the button to lower the window, and flung her phone out of the car. It sailed over the edge of the bridge they were crossing, disappearing into the river below.

“Dad!” Charlotte shouted, her voice breaking.

Arthur ignored her. “You’ll thank me later,” he muttered, sitting back in his seat.

Unbeknownst to him, however, his impulsive act had just opened a window—literally—for the black Mercury Marauder that had been tailing them for the past two days. The open window gave the men in the car behind them a clear view of Arthur and Charlotte. They had been waiting for this moment.

Meanwhile, inside the car, Arthur was still talking. His words were softer now, more measured—but no less heavy.

“Please, Charlotte,” he started once more, his voice nearly begging. "I understand this is overwhelming, but you need to comprehend." This is greater than either you or me. It's concerning survival. I didn’t desire this for you.

I tried to protect you for as long as I could.”

Charlotte’s voice trembled as she finally spoke. “You promised me, Dad. You promised I’d never have to be involved in this life.”

Arthur’s face softened, and he pulled her into an embrace. “I know, mein Engel. I know. And I’m sorry for breaking that promise. But this… this is the only way.”

Tears gathered in Charlotte's eyes, overflowing as she pressed her face into her father's chest. "I sense that I'm being exchanged," she murmured between her tears.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, the reality of her words piercing him profoundly. It was an exchange. He had no choice but to sacrifice her freedom to guarantee the safety of their family.

"I'm sorry, my love," he murmured, stroking her hair. "Rest assured: no matter what happens, I will always stand by your side."

However, it was a vow Arthur wouldn’t survive long enough to fulfill.

As he held Charlotte close, he glanced out the open window. That’s when he saw it—the black Mercury Marauder pulling up beside them.

Arthur’s instincts kicked in immediately. He shoved Charlotte down, pinning her to the seat to shield her from what was about to happen.

“Stay down!” he barked.

It was already too late.

The Marauder's window opened, and a gunman in a mask displayed an AK-47. The gun was fired, unleashing a barrage of bullets that broke the open window of the Range Rover.

Arthur winced as the bullets struck him, his body convulsing with every impact. Charlotte yelled, her voice raspy with terror, as her father's blood splattered on her face and clothing.

The Range Rover's driver accelerated, trying to escape the situation, but the damage had already been done.

Arthur slouched ahead, his form icy and motionless.

“Dad!” Charlotte screamed, shaking him, but there was no response.

The car sped away, but the smell of blood and the weight of her father’s lifeless body pressed against her made it clear that nothing would ever be the same.

Arthur Morgan was gone, his sacrifice the final act of a father trying to protect his daughter.

Present Day: The Rinaldi Mansion

The silence in the bedroom felt as weighty as the band on Sierra's finger. She perched on the corner of the spacious bed adorned with crisp white sheets, the room gently lit by a lone lamp on the far wall. Across the room, Dominic faced the dresser, methodically unbuttoning his shirt with careful, measured actions. His back faced her, the defined contours of his shoulders rigid under the gentle illumination.

“You don’t look comfortable,” Dominic said suddenly, his voice low and calm. He didn’t turn around.

“Should I be?” Sierra replied, her tone sharper than she intended.

He hesitated, the edge of his lips curling into what could have been a grin. "That depends on the level of honesty you intend to have with me."

Her fingers gripped the edge of her dress firmly. "Honestly? about what?"

Dominic then turned, his shirt unbuttoned and draped loosely over his body. His deep-set eyes fixed on hers, and for a brief instant, the air in the room grew heavy, like a rope constricting around her neck.

"All of it," he stated plainly.

Sierra rose, compelling herself to look him in the eye. "I believe we both understand that this marriage lacks any connection to honesty."

Dominic tilted his head, examining her as if she were a conundrum he couldn't fully decipher. "True, it does not. However, I expect complete loyalty."

“Loyalty?” She let out a soft, bitter laugh. “To a man I barely know?”

“To a man who owns this mansion, half of the family cling New York and has billions in his account,” Dominic corrected, his tone hardening. “And to a man who just made you his wife.”

Sierra folded her arms across her chest. “And if I don’t?”

Dominic stepped closer, his presence commanding, his eyes never leaving hers. “Then you’ll find out what it means to be disloyal to me.”

Her breath hitched, but she refused to look away. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

The air between them crackled with tension, but Dominic stepped back, his expression smoothing into something colder, more controlled. He shrugged off his shirt and hung it neatly over a chair before walking toward the bathroom.

“Get some sleep, Sierra,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll need it.”

“For what?”

He hesitated at the entrance, his hand placed on the frame. "Tomorrow, you will meet the family."

The door snapped closed behind him, leaving Sierra isolated in the oppressive quiet of the room.