His Stolen Bride

Untitled Episode

CHAPTER 4: THE OTHER BROTHER

MIA'S POV

"Don't touch me," I said, backing away from Luca's extended hand.

His smile didn't falter.

"Smart girl. Dante warned you about me, didn't he?"

"He said you'd try to trick me. Pretend to be him."

"And yet here I am, no scar, introducing myself honestly." He lowered his hand.

"Doesn't that tell you something?"

"That you're arrogant enough to walk into your brother's house?"

"Or that I have nothing to hide." He leaned against the wall, casual. Relaxed. Everything Dante wasn't.

"Tell me, Mia. What has my brother told you about our family? About the inheritance? About why he really married you?"

"Enough."

"Did he tell you about our father's real will? The one buried in his lawyer's safe?" Luca's eyes—identical to Dante's but somehow warmer—searched my face.

"Or did he just tell you about the heir clause and call it done?"

I hesitated. And he saw it.

"He didn't tell you everything." Luca pushed off the wall.

"Of course he didn't. Control through ignorance. That's always been Dante's way."

"Why are you here?"

"Because you deserve the truth. Because someone should tell you what you're really caught in the middle of."

He gestured down the hallway.

"Walk with me. Just to the library. In view of cameras. In view of guards. I'm not asking you to trust me. Just to listen."

Every instinct screamed at me to run. To call for Dante. To follow his rules.

But another part of me—the part that hated being controlled, being kept in the dark—wanted to know.

"Five minutes," I said. "That's all."

"That's all I need."

We walked to the library. Luca was right—cameras everywhere. Guards watching from the end of the hallway.

He couldn't hurt me here. Couldn't take me.

Could he?

Inside the library, floor-to-ceiling books surrounded us. Luca went to a specific shelf. Pulled out a leather-bound book.

"Our father's journal," he said. "Dante doesn't know I have a copy. Doesn't know I found it before he did."

He opened it. Showed me pages of handwriting.

"See this entry? Three years before he died. He was already planning the will. Already setting us against each other." Luca's voice hardened.

"But not because he wanted to choose the best heir. Because he wanted to see which of us was ruthless enough to destroy the other."

I looked at the journal. The handwriting was shaky, like whoever wrote it was ill.

"'My sons must be tested,'" Luca read aloud.

"'Only through competition will the strongest emerge. I will force them to choose: brotherhood or empire. Love or power. The one who chooses power deserves everything.'"

My stomach churned. "That's sick."

"That's our father." Luca closed the journal.

"He pitted us against each other our entire lives. Dante was the 'heir.' I was the 'spare.'

He gave Dante everything—training, respect, responsibility. He gave me scraps and told me to be grateful."

"So you hate Dante."

"No." The word came out raw. Honest.

"I hate what our father made us. I hate that my brother thinks he has to be cold and cruel to be strong. I hate that he'll destroy you—destroy both of us—to win a game our father started from his grave."

He moved closer. Not threatening. Just... tired.

"I didn't crash your wedding to steal you, Mia. I crashed it to show you that you have a choice. That not everything Dante tells you is truth. That maybe—maybe—the brother who's supposedly the villain is actually trying to save you."

"By doing what? Taking the inheritance for yourself?"

"By breaking the cycle." His eyes locked on mine.

"The will has a clause Dante didn't tell you about. If both heirs agree to share the empire equally, the competition ends. No pregnancy timeline. No forced intimacy. No destruction."

My breath caught. "What?"

"Our father built in an escape. A way for us to choose each other over power. But it requires both brothers to agree. To sign documents. To put family before ambition." Luca's jaw tightened.

"I've been trying to get Dante to agree for months. He refuses. He'd rather force a stranger into his bed and race against a clock than share power with his own brother."

"Why would he refuse if there's an option—"

"Because Dante doesn't share. Doesn't trust. Doesn't believe in anything but control." Luca stepped back.

"But you could convince him. You're his wife. He'll listen to you."

"He barely speaks to me."

"Then make him listen. Show him there's another way." He pulled out a business card. Set it on the table.

"That's my number. When you're ready to talk—really talk—call me. I'll tell you everything Dante's hiding."

"Like what?"

"Like why Vanessa really ran. Like what our father's lawyer knows that we don't. Like who benefits if both of us destroy each other." He moved to the door. Paused.

"And Mia? Be careful. My brother might not hurt you physically. But emotionally? He'll destroy you without even trying."

He left.

And I stood there, holding a journal that might be real or might be a fake, with a business card burning in my hand.

Was Luca telling the truth?

Or was this exactly what Dante warned me about—manipulation disguised as honesty?