Chapter 14: I got the wrong sister 1.

I look at Olivia, her eyes are glossy.

She looks completely lost.

That sight nearly breaks me.

I turn back to Lorenzo.

"Please uncle."

"There is no choice."

His words are quiet nd final.

My chest rises and falls rapidly then I reach for Olivia’s hand.

Her fingers are ice-cold.

"Come on."

She looks at me.

"Rissa..."

"Come on."

I pull gentl and she stands.

Lorenzo doesn’t stop us maybe he knows there’s no point, maybw he’s giving us a moment.

I don’t care.

I turn toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

I glance over my shoulder.

"Anywhere that isn’t here."

"Nerissa."

I stop.

His voice is dangerously quiet.

"Sit down."

I laugh without humor.

"No."

"You will not walk out of this room."

I stare at him.

"Watch me."

I take Olivia’s hand tighter, she follows me.

Cassian rises.

I glance at him nd for second, I think he’ll stop us.

Instead, he simply looks at Lorenzo.

Then at me.

His expression is apologetic.

I know what he’s saying without words.

I’m sorry.

Fine.

I don’t need him, I don’t need anyone, i pull the conference room door open.

Before walking through it, I turn back one last time to find Lysander is watching me.

Not Olivia.

Me.

His expression is impossible to read and somehow, that makes me angrier.

I glare at him.

Then at Lorenzo.

"Find another way."

Lorenzo says nothing.

I turn.

"Come on, Olivia."

We walk out, the heavy doors slamming behind us.

I don’t stop walking, neither does Olivia.

But the second we’re far enough from the conference room, she grabs my arm.

"Rissa..."

I turn toward her, hdr eyes are filled with tears.

My heart cracks.

"Oh, Oli."

I pull her into my arms nd she immediately hugs me.

I hold her tightly. For once, neither of us says anything bb ecause there are no words.

Our father is dead, our family is changing, our enemy is sitting at our uncle’s table.

And apparently...My sister is the price they’re willing to pay for peace.

Lysander’s POV.

Walking onto Luciano territory without putting a bullet through someone’s head is probably the last thing I ever imagined doing. Especially after everything that happened, the irony isn’t lost on me.

I’m standing on the grounds of the family I’ve spent years hating h, dressed in a suit instead of body armor, with my brother beside me instead of a dozen armed men behind me.

And I’m about to marry one of them.

Fuck.

I look around the estate there’s guards are everywhere.

They’re watching us just as closely as we’re watching them.

Nobody trusts anybody.

Good.

Trust gets people killed, I shove my hands into my pockets and keep walking.

I hate this.

Every fucking second of it. But I don’t have the luxury of doing what I want anymore.

I’m the Don.

That title wasn’t something I ever wanted.

I never dreamed about sitting at the head of a table, making decisions that determined who lived and who died. I never wanted men waiting for my orders or families depending on me to keep them alive.

I was supposed to be the second son. My brother was supposed to inherit everything, mt father was supposed to live long enough to grow old and grey.

Neither happened.

The war took both of them and when the dust settled, I was the one left standing.

So I became the Don.

Not because I wanted the crown, because someone had to pick it up, someone had to protect what was left.

That’s why I’m here.

Not for the marriage, not for the alliance, not because I decided a Luciano woman was worth giving up my freedom for. I’m here because I’m tired of burying my people.

Every week there’s another body, another funeral, another family asking me why I couldn’t protect their son, another mother looking at me like I’m supposed to have an answer.

I don’t.

There is no fucking answer that brings their dead back.

The war has gone on long enough and if marrying a Luciano woman is what it takes to end it, then I’ll do it.

Marriage has never interested me. Neither has the reputation people have given me.

I’ve heard the rumors.

Lysander Sanchez doesn’t keep women, Lysander Sanchez doesn’t care about anyone, Lysander Sanchez changes women as often as he changes cars.

Bullshit.

I’ve never been interested in sleeping with every woman who looks my way, I don’t have the time and frankly, I don’t have the desire.

I’ve watched too many men destroy themselves chasing temporary pleasures.

I have responsibilities, a family, an organization.....people who depend on me.

Love was never something I had the luxury of worrying about and now I’m about to sign my life away to a woman I’ve never even spoken to, a woman whose family would probably celebrate my death, a woman who probably hates me simply because of my last name.

I glance toward the mansion.

Somewhere inside that house is my future wife.

"Having second thoughts?"

I stop and turn my head to find Jeremiah is looking at me.

My younger brother has his hands buried in the pockets of his trousers, his expression somewhere between amused and irritated.

He’s been against this entire arrangement from the beginning.

I raise an eyebrow.

"Do I have another choice?"

He gives me a look.

"Yes."

I already know where this is going.

"We could walk in there and blow their fucking brains out."

I sigh.

"There it is."

"I’m serious."

"I know."

"They killed Father!"

His voice drops.

"And our brother."

I don’t answer, I don’t need to.

Those names still sit between us like ghosts.

Our father and our brother.

The two reasons Jeremiah has wanted Luciano blood since the day they died.

He steps closer.

"We have no business sitting down with them."

"We have every business sitting down with them."

"They’re the enemy!."

"I know."

"Then why are we doing this?"

"Because I’m trying to make sure there aren’t more graves."