บททั้งหมดของ The Ricci Heir: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

The party had thinned, the music fading into softer notes as the Ricci men gathered their coats. My father, Salvatore, and Wolf were already speaking quietly near the door, but I lingered, my eyes fixed on Ciara. I walked her up the stairs, the hush of the house wrapping around us. At her door, she turned to me, her eyes wide, uncertain, but trusting. I reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, letting my fingers linger against her skin.“You were strong tonight,” I murmured, my voice low, meant only for her. “You showed them who you are.”Her lips parted, a breath escaping, and I leaned closer, pressing a kiss not to her forehead but to her temple, then her cheek, then finally her lips — soft, lingering, a promise more than a demand. She melted into me, her hands resting lightly against my chest, her blush blooming again. I pulled back just enough to see her face, the warmth in her eyes, the flush across her skin. “Rest,” I whispered, my thumb tracing her jaw. “Tomorrow

The moment I stepped into the dining room, the air shifted. My eyes went straight to Ciara — her dress soaked, her cheek blazing red with the mark of a hand. Fury surged through me, sharp and immediate.I crossed to her, ignoring the stunned silence, my hand brushing her face, tilting her chin so I could see the damage. “Kitten,” I whispered, my voice low, dangerous. “Are you hurt?”She shook her head, though her eyes betrayed the sting. My jaw tightened. Behind me, Declan’s voice thundered, demanding answers.“What happened here?”The O’Connell sons sat rigid, silent, unwilling to betray their sisters but unwilling to lie outright. Siobhan’s voice cut through, sharp and defensive. “It was nothing, Declan. Just a misunderstanding. We’ll talk about it after Matteo and his family leave. Ciara embarrassed us — she’ll be punished for it.”Punished. The word snapped through me like a blade. I turned, my gaze cutting across the table, silencing them all.“No,” I said, my voice cold, final.

The moment we stepped onto the jet, Ciara’s hand tightened around mine. Not out of fear — but because she knew exactly what was coming. My family didn’t hide their opinions well, especially not around strangers.Kat was already buckled in, legs crossed, sunglasses perched on her head. Salvatore stood beside her, arms folded, watching us board with a raised brow.The second they saw Isolde behind us, dragging her suitcase like she was arriving for a photoshoot, both of them snapped their attention to me.Kat leaned forward, speaking in rapid Italian the moment Isolde was out of earshot.“Perché diavolo è qui?”(Why the hell is she here?)Salvatore didn’t bother lowering his voice.“Pensavo che stessimo portando via solo Ciara, non… questo.”(I thought we were only bringing Ciara, not… this.)Ciara’s cheeks flushed, but not from embarrassment. She understood enough Italian to catch the tone, if not the words.I exhaled slowly. “È stata una mossa di Siobhan,” I explained. “Ha insistito c

The door clicked shut, and for a heartbeat the cabin was silent.Then Ciara burst into laughter.Not a polite laugh. Not a nervous one.A full, uncontrollable, doubled‑over laugh that shook her whole body. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stop, but every time she looked at me, she lost it all over again.And God help me — I started laughing too.I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed like that. Not the polite kind I used in meetings. Not the sharp kind I used with my siblings. This was real. Unexpected. Warm.“Kitten,” I managed between breaths, “you… you just shut the door in her face.”She nodded, still laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “She—she looked like she swallowed a lemon.”I leaned back against the wall, watching her with something that felt dangerously close to awe.I had expected her to be flustered. Embarrassed. Maybe even scared of Isolde’s judgment.But she wasn’t.She took control.She put Isolde in her place.She defended herself — and me — wit

The moment Ciara and I stepped into the dining room, the air shifted.Isolde was already seated — of course she was — perched in the chair beside mine like a vulture guarding a carcass. Her red dress was loud enough to be a warning siren, and she sat up straighter the second she saw us.“Matteo,” she said sweetly, patting the chair next to her, “I saved your seat. And Ciara—” she gestured vaguely toward the far end of the table, “there’s an open spot down there.”Ciara stiffened beside me. I felt it — the hesitation, the uncertainty — and it lit something sharp and protective in my chest.I didn’t even look at Isolde.I took Ciara’s hand, threading my fingers through hers, and guided her past the chair Isolde was guarding like a throne. Past the center of the table. Past the place where I normally sat.Straight to the head of the table.A murmur rippled through the room — my mother’s soft inhale, Salvatore’s low whistle, Kat’s barely contained grin. Even my father lifted a brow.Good.