MATTEO
I descended the marble steps of the mansion, the morning sun glinting off the fleet of steel and glass waiting in the driveway. It was a parade of excess. Alessandro stood by his matte black Lamborghini Aventador, looking every bit the cold, calculated heir. Marco leaned against his vintage Ferrari GTO, exuding a reckless, playboy energy that masked his lethality. Even Luca was there, looking far too smug next to a lime-green McLaren that screamed for attention he hadn't earned. The air hummed with the idle thrum of high-performance engines and the silent presence of twenty armed guards.
Then, my eyes adjusted, and I saw her.
Seris Valerius. She was leaning against Alessandro's door, and for a heartbeat, the world went silent. She was poured into a deep emerald silk dress that hung precariously from gold-chain straps, the fabric clinging to her hips and pooling at mid-thigh in a way that defied the laws of decency. It was a "fuck you" to the morning air. Her skin looked like heated cream, glowing against the dark silk, and her hair fell in loose, expensive waves over one shoulder. She looked like a goddamn siren…ethereal, dangerous, and so beautiful it felt like a physical ache in the chest. She didn't belong in this den of wolves, yet she looked like she owned every single one of us.
It had been a week since Father's decree forced us under one roof. Seven days of her presence poisoning the air. I'd spent those days trying to find the crack in her foundation. I'd dug through her files: Seris Valerius. Born to a middle-class family in the suburbs, parents alive and blissfully unaware, a clean slate that was almost offensive. Top of her class, a degree in linguistics, no criminal record, not even a parking ticket. She was the "golden child," the perfect daughter. It didn't make sense. No one with a soul that clean survives a night with a Ricci, let alone a week.
I marched toward the group, my jaw tight. I pointed a finger toward her. "Don't tell me she's going with us to the meeting…"
Before I could finish, Marco gripped my shoulder and shoved me toward my own car. "Not today, Matteo," he grunted, slamming my door shut before I could protest.
I sat in the back of my armored Bentley, fuming. Through the tinted glass, I watched Alessandro's guard hold the door for her. She slid in with a warm, practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes. Because our cars were parked parallel, she was only inches away from me, separated by two panes of glass.
I couldn't help it. I lowered my window.
The hum of the city rushed in, and as if sensing my gaze, she turned her head. We were eye-to-eye. It felt like an hour, the world outside the cars blurring into gray. I searched her face, looking for the monster I knew was hiding behind that "good girl" resume. What exactly are you? The question screamed in my head.
Her face remained a mask of perfect, porcelain calm. Then, slowly, a tiny, devastating smile tugged at the corner of her lips…a secret shared only with me.
My brows furrowed, my pulse jumping in my throat. My gaze dropped, involuntarily, to those lips. They were soft, painted a deep berry red, and they looked like they knew exactly how much chaos they had caused in a single week.
Just as quickly as it appeared, the smile vanished. She turned away, staring straight ahead as if I were nothing more than a ghost in her peripheral vision.
I felt a surge of heat…half rage, half something far more treacherous. I kicked the back of the driver's seat. "Let's move," I growled. "Now!"
SERIS
I stepped out of the car, the humid air instantly clinging to my emerald silk. A guard—one of the few who still looked at me with something other than suspicion—held the door with a practiced bow. I took a moment to look up, squinting against the glare reflecting off the Aethelgard Heights tower.
The building was a monolith of black glass and brushed titanium, piercing the skyline like a jagged needle. It looked less like a corporate headquarters and more like a fortress for the modern elite. The entrance was flanked by two massive marble pillars, and the fountain in the courtyard didn't splash; it flowed with a silent, eerie precision.
Alessandro's hand found mine, his fingers possessive and cold, as he led me toward the revolving glass doors.
The moment we crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted. The lobby was a cathedral of high-end commerce…vaulted ceilings, floors made of polished obsidian that mirrored our silhouettes, and a scent of ozone and expensive cologne. Hundreds of workers in tailored charcoal suits moved like ants in a colony, but as we approached, the frantic pace died. They didn't just bow because of the guards; they bowed because the Ricci name carried the weight of a death sentence.
We were ushered into a private elevator, the gold-leaf doors sliding shut to seal me in with the four brothers. The silence was thick, broken only by the soft hum of the lift and the heavy, rhythmic breathing of Matteo behind me.
The doors chimed as we reached the penthouse. A row of receptionists, all dressed in identical white blazers, greeted us with smiles that felt surgically implanted. They led us down a long, plush-carpeted hallway toward a set of towering mahogany double doors.
The women knocked softly, and as the doors groaned open, a wave of frigid air hit us. We stepped into a boardroom that overlooked the entire city through floor-to-ceiling windows.
***
The boardroom was a tomb of glass and steel, the city sprawling out below us like a map of conquest. Alessandro's grip on my hand was firm, his presence a shield of cold arrogance. Beside him, Marco and Matteo stood like twin pillars of lethal intent, their faces carved from granite. They weren't afraid; the Ricci brothers didn't know the meaning of the word. They walked into this room as kings expecting a tribute.
"Welcome, Ricci brothers," the voice smoothed over the room, dripping with an authority that matched their own.
The high-backed executive chair remained turned toward the view, a silhouette against the blinding sky. Then, with an agonizingly slow rotation, the chair spun around.
The man sitting there didn't look at the brothers first. He didn't even acknowledge the three most dangerous men in the city standing in his sanctum. His gaze was a laser, bypassing the men and pinning me to the spot.
My heart didn't just skip; it felt like it hit a wall. My breath hitched, a silent gasp dying in my throat as the blood drained from my face. Alessandro felt my hand go cold, but he didn't look at me…his focus was on the man in the chair.
I was the only one who truly understood the catastrophe standing before us. The man in the chair offered a polite, professional nod to the brothers, but his eyes stayed on me, shimmering with a secret that could get me killed before I even left this building.
I'm fucked.