The Crimson Vows: The Arranged Mafia Marraige

3.MANIPULATION

LEONARDO'S POV: 

(Above image shows how he looks)

The room felt like a battle meeting ground, shadows dancing on the walls as my dickhead uncle, a serpent in a tailored suit, approached with his son, both of them eager to deliver a message that would bind me further to the intricate web of the Italian Mafia a master manipulator in the labyrinth of the Italian Mafia, approached me with a sly glint in his eyes. His every word carried the weight of strategy and hidden agendas.

"Boss," my uncle spoke, his words dripping with calculated deference, "we find ourselves at a juncture where the family legacy demands a strategic move."

I arched an eyebrow,"Explain."

His son, a chip off the old block, stepped forward. "Ancient Italian Mafia law dictates that for the family name to endure and to continue the legacy, you must marry. A strategic alliance that will solidify our position."

I surveyed them both, my cold gaze piercing through their thinly veiled intentions. "And who is this strategic alliance with?"

My uncle's smile held a glint of malicious satisfaction. "Arina Ivanov , the daughter spanish mafia Isaac Ivanov. A move that will not only bind our families but strengthen our influence in the underworld."

I nodded, the chessboard of power and influence unfolding before me. "And what if I choose not to follow this script?"

My cousin, ever the opportunist, smirked. "It's not a choice, Boss. It's an obligation. The family's future depends on it."

I leaned back, fingers steepled in contemplation. "This isn't just about family, is it? It's about securing your position in the hierarchy."

My uncle feigned innocence, his eyes betraying the truth. "It's about ensuring the continuity of our lineage, Boss. The family needs a future leader."

I chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. "A future leader who conveniently shares your blood. How convenient."

My cousin interjected, his tone sharp. "This is about the survival of the family, Boss. We must adapt to the changing landscape of power."

I locked eyes with them, a chill in my gaze. "Adaptation doesn't mean sacrificing autonomy. This alliance, is it solely for the benefit of the family, or is there a more personal agenda?"

My uncle chose his words carefully. "Personal desires are secondary to the interests of the family, Boss. We're merely ensuring the prosperity of our legacy."

As they left the room, their footsteps echoing in the silence , the ancient Italian Mafia law, a shackle disguised as tradition, threatened to entwine me in a legacy not of my making—a legacy that demanded not only allegiance but the surrender of personal autonomy.