Mixed blood

Chapter seven : full of promise

The dim glow of the chandeliers cast a golden hue over the polished oak table, the rich scent of whiskey and cigars thick in the air. It was a small, private gathering—a mere formality, meant to symbolize the official bond between the Russo and Romero families before the marriage was finalized.

Henry Russo sat at the head of the table, his son William on his right, accompanied by his closest friend, Diego Costa. Across from them sat Frederick Romero, flanked by his two brothers, Ricardo and Juan, along with Luana's cousins, Giovanni and Silas.

Luana sat between Giovanni and Suzy, her arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair, exuding boredom.

She hadn't wanted to come, but tradition demanded it.

"¿Cómo demonios terminaste en esto, primita?" Giovanni leaned back, swirling his drink in one hand. (How the hell did you end up in this, cousin?)

"Did you lose a bet or something?" Silas added, shaking his head.

Luana smirked. "I wish."

Silas examined William across the table with barely disguised curiosity. "You're really going to marry that?"

Suzy, who had been amazed by the cake, stopped eating. "Come on, at least that looks sexy."

Luana groaned. "Cállate, Suzy." (Shut up, Suzy.)

But Suzy just grinned.

Giovanni asked, "You know the Russos have a reputation, right?"

Luana arched a brow. "What kind of reputation? They had a lot."

Silas scoffed. "The kind where the men collect mistresses like trophies. It's a damn family hobby. They've had them for generations. Affairs, scandals—it's just part of how they operate. Henry Russo's had three—three—that we know of. One of them even showed up to a gala once. Awkward."

"That, and they don't exactly hold women in high regard," Giovanni added, "I've heard they ignore their wives' opinions, shut them out of business, and control every part of their lives. Where they go, what they wear, who they speak to—everything."

Luana's stomach tightened, but she forced herself to keep her expression neutral. She already knew that, but hearing it laid out so plainly made it feel heavier. 

"They don't ask. They decide," Silas added, giving William another glance. "Control freaks, the whole bunch of them."

"You sure you're ready for that, primita?" Giovanni continued. "A life where your words don't matter?"

Luana exhaled slowly, tilting her head toward William. Polished, poised... and, in this moment, a little too perfect. Like the kind of man who'd ask you what you wanted for dinner after already ordering for you.

He looked calm, collected—like a man who was completely at ease with the arrangement. Because why wouldn't he be? He wasn't the one whose life would be dictated by someone else's rules.

The idea of marrying into a life, where she was just an extension of her husband's authority, where her every move might be scrutinized, managed, owned... it made her skin crawl. She'd spent her entire life fighting to breathe freely under the weight of expectations, and now they wanted her to trade one gilded cage for another.

But there was no way out.

Not unless she was willing to start a war.

Her uncles were less entertained. They had been skeptical about this arrangement from the start. Now, sitting across from Henry Russo, they looked as if they were sizing up an old enemy rather than an ally.