Chapter 2 — First Night's Gambit

Dominic

The heavy doors of Villa Russo's master suite closed behind us with the quiet finality of a tomb. Moonlight spilled through bulletproof windows, casting long shadows across the Persian carpet – one of my mother's final touches before the paranoia of power transformed our home into a fortress. My new bride drifted across imported marble, her wedding gown whispering against the floor with the same calculated precision I'd witnessed during the ceremony. Each step measured, each movement purposeful.

"Beautiful craftsmanship." Valentina's fingers traced the edge of a mahogany dresser concealing one of our panic buttons. "Nineteenth century Florentine, if I'm not mistaken." Her eyes swept the room in a pattern I knew intimately – mapping exits, cataloging defensive positions, noting surveillance points. Professional assessment masked as casual admiration.

"Three generations of Russos have called these walls home." I loosened my tie, tracking her reflection in the antique mirror as she paused before the Caravaggio. The same painting that had once hidden my grandfather's favorite Thompson submachine gun. The Family Ring felt heavier tonight, its rubies catching lamplight like fresh-spilled blood. "Though I suspect it's not so different from where you were raised."

A ghost of a smile played at her lips as her fingers found the nearly invisible seam of a hidden passage. Not by chance. "Old families share certain... architectural preferences, don't they? The same secrets written into the foundations." Her accent shifted subtly, adopting the precise cadence of Sicilian aristocracy. Another piece of the puzzle I'd married.

The Phoenix Pendant at her throat caught the light, its diamond-studded wings spread in eternal flight. Or perhaps eternal vigilance – the gems' regular pattern suggested surveillance tech cleverly disguised as decorative excess. My father's voice echoed in memory: Look closest at what seems purely ornamental.

"Sei più di quanto sembri," I murmured, letting the Italian slip deliberately this time. A test.

"As are you, marito mio." Her response came in flawless Sicilian dialect, the kind taught in Europe's finest schools – or by family enforcers preserving old traditions.

I closed the distance between us, noting how she maintained her position. Most people flinched away from my approach. Valentina's pulse remained steady at her throat, though her pupils dilated slightly – attraction warring with tactical assessment.

"Most brides show more nervousness on their wedding night." My hand came to rest on the wall beside her head, caging her in. Testing boundaries.

"Most brides haven't spent years preparing for this moment." She reached up, adjusting my tie rather than removing it. Her perfume carried notes of jasmine and something darker – the same scent I'd caught earlier when she'd whispered trade details in perfect Mandarin to our Chinese associates. "Or do you prefer your women afraid, Don Russo?"

The air crackled between us, charged with recognition rather than simple desire. Predators sizing each other up, each seeing their own lethal grace reflected back. Her breath hitched as I leaned closer – the first genuine reaction I'd witnessed since she'd said "I do."

I caught her wrist as she withdrew her hand, feeling the steady pulse beneath delicate skin. Old calluses spoke of extensive weapons training, likely beginning in childhood. "And what exactly were you preparing for, Mrs. Russo?"

"To be worthy of this." Her free hand came to rest over my heart – coincidentally near my shoulder holster. Her fingers splayed across Italian wool, tracing the outline of hidden steel. "To understand the weight of power. The price of control."

My thumb traced circles on her inner wrist, finding the slight ridges of scars beneath expensive bracelets. "Is that what you want? Control?"

"I want partnership." She leaned in, breath warm against my ear. The movement pressed her body against mine in a way that sent heat through my veins while triggering every survival instinct I possessed. "The question is whether you're brave enough to share it."

Three sharp knocks interrupted – Marco's signature. "Don Russo." His voice carried urgency beneath its usual deference. "Forgive the interruption, but there's a situation with the Cavalli shipment that requires immediate attention."

I caught the flash of recognition in Valentina's eyes at the Cavalli name before she masked it. Interesting. The moment shattered, leaving shards of suspicion in its wake.

"Of course there is." I let irritation color my tone. "Wait in the study."

"Sir." His footsteps retreated, but the damage was done. Our careful dance had been disrupted.

"Duty calls." Valentina moved toward the balcony, moonlight transforming her gown into silver armor. "Don't let me keep you from your empire."

"We're not finished here."

"No." She turned back, one hand resting on the marble railing where my brother had stood his last night alive. "I believe we're just beginning."

I watched her a moment longer, noting how she shifted to keep me in her peripheral vision even as she appeared relaxed. The same training I'd received, though from different masters.

The Family Ring caught the light as I reached for the door, rubies pulsing like fresh wounds. My father's final warning echoed: Trust no one completely, not even family. Especially not family.

"Make yourself comfortable," I said, pausing at the threshold. "This is your home now."

"Yes," she agreed, deadly grace in every syllable. "It is."

I closed the door, the lock engaging with mechanical precision. Through reinforced wood, I heard her footsteps move not toward the bed, but to the antique desk housing copies of shipping manifests. Very interesting.

The walk to my study felt longer than usual, each step echoing with choices yet unmade. Security cameras tracked my movement, red lights blinking like watching eyes. At the grand staircase's foot, scattered rose petals from Valentina's bouquet marked where Sofia had caught it, my sister's expression a mix of triumph and warning.

She waited now by Marco's side, her cocktail dress replaced by a business suit – she'd anticipated this interruption. Her presence at this hour spoke volumes.

"Brother." Sofia's greeting held none of its usual warmth. She extended a tablet displaying security footage from Porto Ombra. "You need to see this."

I closed the study door, straightening my tie. Somewhere above, my new bride was likely executing her own carefully laid plans. But for now, duty called.

The game had begun. And like it or not, we were all players now.