Silent love

Chapter 26

On the previous chapter...

Chrysanthe stretched her arms above her head. "We should make this a weekly thing. I need more excuses to humiliate you all".

Fiorenzo groaned. "No way. My legs already hate me".
"Stop acting like you are a grandpa who sits all the time, only drinking some wine". Cecilia replies.

Yaqueline bumped her shoulder against mine as she passed, amusement in her expression. "Better luck next time, Rico".

Rico.

Only some people can call me that, I will let it pass for now.

I arched a brow at her. "Don't get used to it. I went soft on you. Next time I won't".
She hums. "I'm sure you did".

The estate loomed ahead of us, the warm glow of the house inviting us back inside. The game was over, but the night wasn't.

And for the first time since this marriage began, since this alliance was forced upon us, it didn't feel like war.

Maybe we will get used to it, like one family.

                                                ʚ YAQUELINE'S POV ɞ

The hum of the engine filled the silence between us as the car glided through the darkened streets. Streetlights flickered past in a blur, casting fleeting patterns of gold and shadow across the tinted windows.

I shifted slightly in my seat, adjusting the delicate lace of my dress. It was a masterpiece. Black, intricate, yet perfectly modest. The lace hugged my arms and shoulders, a contrast to the smooth silk beneath it. A dress meant to command attention without demanding it. The matching Dolce & Gabbana lace heels completed the look, elegant and timeless.

Federico sat beside me, unreadable as ever. His dark gray suit, probably one of the most expensive in Italy, was tailored to perfection, the fabric carrying a quiet sheen under the dim car lights. It was a gift from Chrysanthe for his birthday. He wore it effortlessly, the crisp white shirt and matching gray tie, he looked like danger.

His dark hair was slicked back with gel, the style sharp and precise, fading neatly into the lower sides while a single strand fell forward onto his forehead. The low lighting accentuated the sharp lines of his jaw, the meticulous trim of his beard that framed his face perfectly. 

Then the scars. 

One traced from his left cheekbone down to the lining of his lips. Another peeked out from the collar of his shirt, barely visible against his throat. And then, scattered across his skin, were the small, dark beauty marks, that in a way softened the hardened features of his face.

His hand rested on his muscular thigh, his fingers occasionally drumming against the fabric of his suit. His other hand was glued to his phone. He wasn't texting, he was watching. Probably waiting for an update.

Every few minutes, his jaw clenched slightly. Something is on his mind. This time it wasn't just business, it was about his sister. Seraphina is on a mission tonight, that I didn't know much about.

The silence stretched between us, thick and lingering.

I knew where we were going. I knew the basics. Demetrio Kotova. Russian mafia. An alliance in the making. What I didn't know was why my presence was necessary beyond appearances.

My father was invited too, but he and Vincent are too busy with their own alliances at this moment. Father called me yesterday. He told me that I need to visit him.