2. A Throne of Broken Glass: Entry into the Moretti Estate

CHAPTER TWO

Julian POV

"Eyes up, Prince. We don’t want the neighbours thinking I bought a corpse."

Dante’s voice pulled me from the dark fog of my thoughts as the armoured SUV rolled through the Moretti estate’s massive iron gates. The tyres crunched over crushed white gravel, a sound so clean it felt like a mockery of the grime still coating my skin beneath this expensive silk shirt.

I didn't look at him. I kept my gaze fixed on the mansion ahead a gothic monstrosity of grey stone and arched windows that looked more like a fortress than a home. "You didn't buy a corpse, Dante. You bought a ghost. There’s a difference."

"A ghost can't sign bank transfers," Dante countered, his tone dry. The car came to a halt in front of the sweeping marble stairs. "Move. Your brothers are waiting in the drawing-room. I believe they’re anxious to say their goodbyes."

My stomach turned. The physical pain from the basement was a dull throb compared to the acid rising in my throat at the mention of Leo and Marcus. Dante stepped out of the car, and a guard immediately opened my door, his hand hovering near his holster. A silent reminder: I was a guest, but I was also a target.

I stepped onto the pavement, my legs feeling like lead. I followed Dante up the stairs and through the towering oak doors. The interior of the Moretti house was a temple to stolen wealth, gold leaf molding, Renaissance paintings that probably belonged in a museum, and the suffocating scent of lilies and floor wax.

We stopped at the entrance of a sun-drenched room filled with leather chairs and the smell of expensive tobacco. There they were.

Leo, my eldest brother, was leaning against the mahogany bar, swirling a glass of amber liquid. Marcus sat on the sofa, scrolling through his phone as if he were waiting for a flight at an airport, not selling his flesh and blood to a rival.

"Julian!" Leo turned, a fake, polished smile plastered on his face. He walked toward me with open arms as if we were at a Sunday brunch. "You look… a little worse for wear, but alive. Thank God."

I stepped back before he could touch me, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "How much, Leo?"

Leo’s smile faltered, his eyes darting to Dante, who remained standing by the door like a silent gargoyle. "Now, Julian, don’t be like that. The family was in a corner. The Morettis have resources we need to stabilize the Vane docks. This is a strategic merger."

"I am your brother, not a dock," I hissed, my voice trembling with a rage so hot it made my vision blur. "You stood there and let them take me. You let them break my ribs for a 'merger'?"

"We did what was necessary for the name!" Marcus snapped from the sofa, finally looking up. His eyes were cold, devoid of the brotherhood we had shared since childhood. "You were always the pampered one, Julian. Always the one sent to the best schools while we stayed in the dirt. It’s time you did something for the Vane name instead of just spending its money."

"The name is gone the moment I marry him," I said, pointing a shaking finger at Dante. "I’ll be a Moretti. You didn't save the Vane name. You traded it for a comfortable seat at Dante’s table."

Dante stepped forward, the heavy click of his boots on the marble floor silencing the room. He walked to the bar, poured himself a drink, and turned to my brothers.

"The business is concluded," Dante said, his voice dropping an octave into a threat. "The funds have been wired to your offshore accounts. You have one hour to clear your personal belongings out of the Vane penthouse. It belongs to the Moretti Syndicate now."

Leo blinked, his glass pausing halfway to his lips. "The penthouse wasn't part of the"

"Everything is part of it," Dante interrupted, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "I own the docks. I own the warehouses. And I own the Prince. Which means you are officially irrelevant. Get out before I decide that I’d rather keep my money and just keep your tongues instead."

I watched, a sick sense of satisfaction washing over me, as my brothers, the men who had just sold me, scrambled. They didn't look at me. They didn't offer a final word of regret. They scurried past Dante like rats fleeing a sinking ship, their footsteps echoing down the hall until the front doors slammed shut.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled only with the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.

"They’ll be dead within a year," Dante said quietly, staring into his glass. "Men who sell their own blood have no foundation. They’ll spend that money on ego and blow their brains out when the well runs dry."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I asked, turning to face him. "Knowing that I was sold by men you don't even respect?"

Dante set his glass down and walked toward me. He didn't stop until he was deep in my personal space, forcing me to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. He reached out, his gloved hand tracing the line of my jaw, moving with a terrifying slowness.

"It should make you realize that I am the only thing standing between you and the rest of the sharks in this city, Julian. Your family is gone. You are a Moretti now. My Moretti."

He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "And tonight, we make it official. The priest is already waiting in the chapel. Don’t keep him waiting. I hate tardiness almost as much as I hate betrayal."

He pulled away, leaving me cold in the sunlight. He walked out of the room, leaving me with a single guard at the door. I looked around the opulent room, at the "Throne of Broken Glass" I had been forced onto.

I was alone. I was hated. And in three hours, I would belong to a monster.

I walked over to the bar and picked up the glass Leo had left behind. I didn't drink it. I threw it against the marble fireplace, watching it shatter into a thousand shimmering shards.

"I’m going to kill you, Dante," I whispered to the empty room. "I’m going to kill you and take it all back."

But as I looked at my reflection in the polished wood of the bar bruised, broken, and dressed in the enemy’s silk I wasn't sure if the man looking back was capable of murder, or if he was already dead.