Chapter 3 Matteo

The villa was quiet, the kind of silence that carried the weight of centuries. I sat in my study, the glow of the screen casting shadows across the carved wood. My family was scattered, but tonight, distance meant nothing.

Salvatore’s face appeared first, sharp features and sharper eyes. My brother had always been the blade — direct, unyielding. Kat joined a moment later, her smile softer, her presence a reminder that not all Riccis were forged from steel. Wolf leaned into frame beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder, steady and protective.

Jace and Koda joined last, their voices overlapping in greeting, the screen filling with the faces of the people who mattered most.

“You’re calling late,” Kat said, tilting her head. “What’s going on?”

I leaned back, folding my hands. “There will be an engagement party. I need you all there. Kat, bring Wolf. Jace, Koda — I expect you both at my side.”

Kat’s brows furrowed. “An engagement party? Matteo… you’re agreeing to this marriage? An arrangement?”

Her disbelief was expected. Kat had never understood the necessity of alliances, the way bloodlines could be bound like contracts.

“It is necessary,” I said simply. “The Irish want unity. They believe they can bind us through marriage.”

Salvatore snorted, his disdain unmasked. “Unity? With them? I’ve met Isolde O’Connell. She will never be welcomed into this family. She’s poison dressed in silk.”

Kat’s eyes widened. “Isolde? That’s who they’re offering you?”

I let the silence stretch, the same way my father had taught me. Then I spoke, each word deliberate. “They expect me to marry Isolde. But I will not.”

Salvatore leaned forward, suspicion flickering across his face. “Then who?”

I reached into my jacket, pulling out the folded photograph, though they could not see it through the screen. Ciara’s eyes stared back at me, quiet but unyielding.

“Ciara,” I said. “The daughter they tried to forget. The one they never intended me to choose.”

Kat’s lips parted, confusion giving way to something softer. “Ciara… I don’t know her.”

“You will,” I replied. “At the engagement party. And when you do, you’ll understand.”

Jace exchanged a look with Koda, both silent but thoughtful. Wolf gave a single nod, his loyalty to Kat extending to me. Salvatore’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. He trusted me, even when he did not agree.

The silence that followed was not heavy. It was binding.

Not the jewel they polished. Not the pawn they offered.

The shadow they overlooked.

And in that choice, the Ricci family stood united.

The call ended with silence, each of my siblings carrying their own thoughts. Salvatore’s disdain, Kat’s confusion, Jace and Koda’s quiet loyalty. Wolf’s nod had been enough — a promise that he would stand beside us.

I closed the laptop, the screen fading to black. For a moment, the villa was still.

Then I heard the soft shuffle of footsteps. My nonno entered, his cane tapping lightly against the stone floor. Age had bent his frame, but not his spirit. His eyes, sharp and knowing, carried the weight of decades.

“You speak of marriage,” he said, lowering himself into the chair across from me. “Of alliances and bloodlines. But do you understand what it means?”

I leaned back, folding my hands. “It means unity. It means securing the Ricci name against those who would see us weakened.”

Nonno shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That is what it means to men like Declan O’Connell. To men who see daughters as pawns. But marriage, Matteo… marriage is not a contract. It is a vow. A bond that must endure when power fades and silence remains.”

His words carried the weight of truth, heavier than any ledger or alliance.

“You must be certain,” he continued. “Not only that this choice strengthens the family, but that it strengthens you. A wife is not a shadow to be hidden, nor a jewel to be polished. She is the one who will stand beside you when the world turns against you. Do you truly want this girl?”

I thought of Ciara’s eyes in the photograph. Quiet, unyielding. A strength born not of privilege, but of survival.

“Yes,” I said. My voice was steady, certain. “I do.”

Nonno studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Then you must honor her. Protect her. And remember — marriage is not about what the family expects. It is about what you build together. If you choose her, Matteo, you must choose her completely.”

His cane tapped once against the floor as he rose. “Do not forget. A Ricci does not take vows lightly.”

When Nonno’s footsteps faded down the hall, the silence returned. But it was not empty. It carried his words with it, heavy and unyielding.

A wife is not a pawn. She is the one who will stand beside you when the world turns against you.

I leaned back in my chair, pulling the photograph from my pocket once more. Ciara’s eyes met mine from the paper, quiet but steady. There was no polish, no rehearsed smile, no performance. Just truth.

She reminded me of shadows — overlooked, dismissed, but always present. Shadows endure where jewels shatter. I had seen it in her gaze, the kind of strength born from silence, from survival.

Isolde would have been a weapon wielded by her family, a blade turned against me. Ciara was different. She was not a jewel to be flaunted, nor a pawn to be moved. She was something her family had failed to see: a force forged in neglect, a resilience that could not be broken.

Nonno was right. Marriage was not a contract. It was a vow. And if I chose Ciara, I would choose her completely.

I folded the photograph carefully, sliding it back into my jacket. My decision was no longer just strategy. It was conviction.

I would marry Ciara O’Connell.

Not for leverage. Not for power.

But because in her silence, I saw strength.

And in that strength, I saw the future.