Chapter 5 Matteo

The hotel suite buzzed with quiet preparation. Salvatore adjusted his cufflinks with the precision of a soldier, his reflection sharp in the mirror. Kat smoothed Wolf’s tie, her laughter softening the edges of the night.

Near the window, Jace crouched down to Koda’s level. My youngest brother’s wide eyes followed every movement, curious but restless.

“Tonight is important,” Jace explained gently, his voice low and patient. “There will be a lot of people, a lot of noise. You stay close to me, sì? No wandering.”

Koda nodded solemnly, clutching Jace’s hand. “Stay with you.”

“Good,” Jace said, ruffling his hair. “You’ll see—it’s just a party. Nothing to be afraid of.”

I watched them, a small smile tugging at my lips. Even in moments like this, my family was my strength.

When we arrived at the O’Connell estate, the air was thick with expectation. The Irish had polished every corner, every smile rehearsed, every gesture calculated. Isolde was waiting, her gown glittering under the lights, her smile sharp as glass.

She moved toward me, but in her eagerness, she faltered. Her hand reached for Salvatore instead, mistaking my twin for me.

The silence that followed was delicious. Salvatore’s brow arched, his disdain barely contained. I couldn’t help myself—I laughed, turning to my family and murmuring in Italian, “La regina ha scelto il re sbagliato.” The queen chose the wrong king.

Kat stifled a grin, Jace shook his head, and even Wolf’s lips twitched. Isolde, of course, understood nothing. Her cheeks flushed, her smile faltered, and she stood there, embarrassed and exposed.

The night pressed on. Music, wine, endless chatter. The O’Connells paraded Isolde like a jewel, pushing her toward me at every turn. But I had already made my choice.

An hour into the party, I stepped forward. The room quieted, anticipation thick in the air. My father’s lessons echoed in my mind—speak with certainty, let silence sharpen the weight of your words.

I looked at the crowd, at the Riccis standing tall, at the O’Connells waiting for their victory.

“Tonight,” I began, my voice carrying through the hall, “I make my choice clear. Not the jewel polished for display. Not the pawn offered for alliance. My bride is Ciara O’Connell.”

Gasps rippled through the room. The Riccis’ faces lit with joy, their unity unshaken. The O’Connells froze, their smiles shattered, their eyes murderous.

And then, as if fate had timed it perfectly, Ciara appeared at the top of the stairs. Her presence was quiet but undeniable, her beauty striking in a way that silenced even me. I didn’t know what she wore, only that she looked perfect—like she had been meant for this moment all along.

Every gaze turned upward. The Riccis welcomed her with warmth. The O’Connells condemned her with fury.

And I stood at the center, unyielding, knowing I had chosen not just a bride, but a future.

The silence after my announcement was heavy, every eye fixed on Ciara at the top of the stairs. She looked perfect—steady, luminous, a presence that silenced even me. Without hesitation, I moved to her side, offering my hand.

“Come,” I said softly, guiding her down each step. My family closed ranks behind us, their unity a shield.

But the O’Connells were not silent for long. Isolde broke first, her voice sharp and shrill.

“This is a mistake! She doesn’t belong here!” Her heels clicked against the marble as she stormed forward, fury twisting her face. She raised her hand, intent on striking Ciara.

Before the blow could land, Kat stepped in. My sister’s grip was iron as she caught Isolde’s wrist mid-swing, shoving her back with a force that made the crowd gasp.

“Touch her again,” Kat hissed, her voice low but lethal, “and you’ll regret it.”

Wolf was instantly at Kat’s side, his stance protective. Salvatore moved closer, his glare cutting through the chaos. Jace pulled Koda behind him, shielding the boy as the rest of the Riccis surrounded Ciara. She was no longer alone—she was ours.

The O’Connells bristled, their outrage spilling into the room, but they hesitated. They had not expected resistance, not like this.

Then Declan stepped forward, his face carved from stone. His voice carried authority, though it trembled with barely contained anger.

“We will need a few minutes,” he announced, forcing civility into his tone. “Please, everyone—enjoy the food and drinks while we… discuss matters privately.”

The crowd shifted uneasily, whispers rising like smoke. The Riccis remained firm, their circle unbroken. Ciara stood at the center, her mother’s shadow in her reflection, her strength undeniable.

I kept Ciara close as we crossed the hall, my hand steady at her back. The Riccis flanked us, a wall of loyalty and steel. Kat’s glare still burned into Isolde, who stumbled after us, her voice rising in shrill protest.

“This isn’t fair! She’s nothing—she doesn’t deserve this!” Isolde whined, her words tumbling over themselves, desperate and venomous.

Her stepbrothers moved quickly to her side, murmuring comforts that were more insult than kindness.

“Don’t cry, Isolde,” one said, his tone dripping with false sympathy. “She won’t last. Matteo will see she’s not fit for this family.”

Another leaned closer, his eyes narrowing at Ciara. “You should enjoy this moment, little shadow. It’s the only time anyone will look at you.”

Ciara didn’t flinch. She walked beside me, silent, her chin lifted just enough to show she would not break under their words. That quiet strength was more powerful than any retort.

Declan’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. “Enough. We will speak in my office.”

The crowd parted as he led the way, his face carved from stone. Behind us, the guests tried to pretend nothing had happened, their laughter forced, their glasses raised too quickly.

But the damage was done. The O’Connells’ fury simmered, the Riccis’ unity blazed, and Ciara stood at the center of it all.

And I, Matteo Ricci, stood beside her, unyielding. The choice had been made. The war had only just begun.