Chapter 6 Ciara

The air in my father’s office was thick, heavy with the weight of unspoken fury. Matteo’s words still echoed his declaration that I, not Isolde, would be his bride. The silence that followed had been deafening, broken only by Isolde’s sobs as she collapsed into our stepmother’s arms.

“Look at her,” my stepmother hissed, stroking Isolde’s hair as if she were the only victim in the room. “You’ve humiliated her, Ciara. You’ve brought shame to this family.” Her words cut, but I refused to flinch.

My brothers surged forward, voices overlapping, each one desperate to convince Matteo and the Riccis that I was unworthy. “She’s weak,” one spat. “She doesn’t belong in your world,” another added. Their accusations piled high, each one meant to bury me beneath their scorn.

Behind his desk, my father stood rigid, his hands gripping the polished wood as though it might steady him. His voice trembled with authority he no longer possessed. “Matteo, this is a mistake. Isolde agreed to the marriage. You agreed to marry her. That was the arrangement.”

Matteo’s reply was sharp, unyielding. “No. I agreed to marry your daughter. Isolde is not your daughter—she is your mistress’s child. Do not twist my words.”

The Riccis stood tall behind him, their presence a wall of loyalty and steel. My heart pounded, but I knew this was my moment. I would not let them speak for me.

I stepped forward, my voice steady despite the storm around me. “I agree to marry Matteo. I choose him.”

Gasps rippled through the room. My stepmother’s eyes widened, her grip on Isolde tightening as if she could shield her from the truth.

Isolde’s sobs quieted into sharp words, her voice trembling with rage as she turned on Matteo. “You think she can satisfy you?” she spat, her eyes flashing toward me. “Ciara is meek, untested. She’ll never give you what I can. I know how to please a man. She doesn’t.”

The insult burned, but I refused to shrink. My chin lifted, my voice steady, cutting through the tension like steel. “I may not be used like a beat-up bike, Isolde, but that doesn’t mean I cannot satisfy a man. Just because Matteo will be my first and only does not mean I cannot learn what he likes. And unlike you, I will not be a lesson in regret.”

The Riccis chuckled, their laughter rolling through the office like thunder. Matteo’s grin widened, pride gleaming in his eyes.

Isolde’s face flushed crimson, her mother clutching her arm as if to shield her from the sting of my words. “Ciara, you don’t know what you’re saying,” she hissed. “You’ll ruin yourself. Listen to me—”

I turned on her, my voice sharp, my Italian precise. “La amante di mio padre non parla per me.” My father’s mistress does not speak for me.

The Riccis roared with laughter, Kat nearly doubling over, Salvatore shaking his head with amusement. Even Wolf’s lips twitched into a grin.

Matteo stepped closer, his hand brushing mine, his voice low and rich with satisfaction. “My kitten has claws.”

I met his gaze, unyielding. “And I know how to use them.”

My brothers bristled, muttering curses under their breath, but their words faltered against the weight of my defiance. My father stood frozen, torn between loyalty and shame, his authority crumbling in the face of truth.

I straightened, my voice carrying through the room, steady and resolute. “You may think me weak, but I am not. I choose Matteo. I choose this life. And I will not be spoken for, not by you, not by anyones.”

The Riccis closed ranks around me, their unity a shield. Matteo’s hand tightened around mine, his grin fierce. “She’s not meek,” he said, his voice carrying like a verdict. “She’s mine. And she’ll learn quickly enough.”

Isolde’s cheeks burned, her stepmother sputtered, my brothers seethed. But I stood tall, knowing I had claimed my place—not as a pawn, not as a shadow, but as Matteo’s equal. And in that moment, I felt the Irish fire in my veins, the stubborn defiance of my mother’s blood. “Ní bheidh mé briste,” I whispered under my breath. I will not be broken.

The room was a storm of voices—Isolde’s shrill protests, my brothers’ curses, my stepmother’s venom. But my father finally raised his hand, silencing them all. His face was carved with tension, his authority fraying, yet his words carried the weight of finality.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low but firm. “The decision is made. Matteo has chosen, and Ciara has agreed. The marriage will stand.”

Isolde gasped, her stepmother clutching her tighter, but my father pressed on. “Ciara, go with the women. We will discuss the contract here.”

My brothers erupted, voices sharp with outrage. “Father, you can’t—she’s not worthy, she’s—”

He cut them off with a glare that froze them mid-sentence. “If you are going to act like whining bitches, then you can go with the women as well.”

The Riccis laughed openly, their amusement filling the office. My brothers’ faces burned with humiliation, their protests swallowed by silence.

Kat moved to my side, her presence protective and fierce. GreenLee, Matteo’s mother, joined her, her hand warm on my shoulder. “Come, child,” she said softly. “You’ll be safe with us.”

Matteo stepped forward, his gaze locked on mine. “Go with them,” he told Kat and GreenLee, his voice commanding yet tender. “Stay together.”

Then, before I could turn, Matteo caught my hand and pulled me close. His lips brushed mine in a kiss that silenced the room, a claim as undeniable as his earlier declaration. The Riccis smiled, their pride evident. Isolde’s face twisted with fury, her sobs breaking into sharp cries.

When Matteo released me, his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “You are mine now, Kitten” he said, his voice carrying like a verdict.

I walked out with Kat and GreenLee, my heart pounding, my steps steady. Behind me, the men remained, their voices rising again as contracts and alliances were debated. But the kiss lingered, the laughter of the Riccis echoing, and the truth was clear: Matteo had chosen me, and I had chosen him.

And no amount of tears, protests, or schemes could undo it.