Don’t Cross the Line, I’m Still Your Sister-in-law

Cecilia's POV: My name was Cecilia Rossetti, and my husband, Antonio Rossetti, died in a car accident just a few days ago. His funeral was set to start in three minutes, but I was cornered in a storage room by Antonio's younger brother, Marcus Rossetti. There was a faint resemblance between Marcus and Antonio. It didn't sound like much, but when he walked toward me with those downcast eyes, for a brief, disorienting second, I almost mistook him for my late husband. "What do you think you're doing?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. Marcus didn't answer. He kept coming closer, step by deliberate step, and forced me to retreat until my back was pressed against the corner. The room was cramped, and it felt like there wasn't enough air for both of us. His breathing, steady and unhurried, filled the silence between us. His expression was cold, and his tall frame cast a shadow that swallowed me entirely. Panic prickled up my spine, and before I knew it, my hand shot up to hold him back. However, he caught my wrist in a single motion, his grip firm and unyielding. "Let go of me! I'm Antonio's wife!" I snapped, trying to wrench free. But then our eyes locked, and what I saw in his gaze froze me in place—an intensity that was both dangerous and unrelenting. "Let go of you?" He let out a humorless smile. With that, he shoved me back. My shoulders hit the wall, the impact forcing a small gasp from my lips. Before I could recover, he leaned in, close enough that his breath warmed my face. My chest tightened with fear, and I shut my eyes reflexively, bracing for the worst. A low scoff broke the silence. "What's the matter, Cecilia? My dear sister-in-law, why are you closing your eyes? Scared I might hurt you?" And just like that, he stepped back and released my wrist with almost casual indifference. He dropped himself onto the chair nearby and stared at me. His gaze was far from relaxed. It was predatory, like a wolf toying with a trapped rabbit. I knew exactly why Marcus hated me. Antonio and I didn't have children, which, by tradition, should've meant the Rossetti legacy would pass to Marcus. But Antonio had blindsided everyone, including me, by leaving everything to me in his will. The Rossetti family, his business empire, all of it. I could barely wrap my head around it myself. "You're nothing but a pretty face, a damn ornament. What kind of spell did you put on Antonio to make him hand everything over to you?" Marcus sneered, flicking the ash from the cigarette perched between his fingers. The thin curl of smoke couldn't hide the disdain on his face. "Marcus! Watch your mouth!" Anger flared in me, and my voice rose before I could stop it. But then the reality of my situation hit me like a cold splash of water, and I softened my tone. "I know you're upset, but we're family—" "Family? Don't insult me." Marcus crushed his cigarette under his shoe, his expression growing even darker. "If you gave a damn about this family, you'd know you don't deserve any of it! What can you possibly do for the Rossetti family? You don't even know how many businesses we own!" I looked down and pursed my lips. I had no counterargument. Antonio had never involved me in family affairs, and I'd stayed comfortably out of it. Now, I was in way over my head, and Marcus knew it. But I also knew what he wanted. I took a steadying breath and met his eyes. "How much do you want?" I knew, based on the current situation, I must give Marcus something to pull him to my side. His smirk told me he liked my tone. He said, "The business in the eastern area. They'll be under my control from now on." I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to remain calm. "Fine. But you'll have to back me when I need it until I—" "No." He cut me off without even blinking. "What do you mean no? The eastern area is lucrative. Don't push your luck." Marcus let out a sharp laugh and lifted his gaze to meet mine. "You don't seriously think you're in any position to negotiate with me, do you, Cecilia? You should know women belong in the kitchen, not meddling in men's business." Those eyes were so much like Antonio's, and they were filled with nothing but contempt. My hands clenched into fists. Who the hell was Marcus to look down on me like this? Something inside me snapped. My pride, my stubbornness—it all surged to the surface. I'd make him eat his words if it was the last thing I did. "You think I'm useless?" My voice wavered just a little, but I refused to back down. "Then how about a bet?" Marcus raised his eyebrows and seemed intrigued. "A bet, huh? And what exactly do you have to wager? Your jewelry? Sorry, not interested." "Give me seven days. If I can secure the land in the western area and Casa Jose's casino rights, you'll keep your mouth shut. If I fail, the Rossetti family is yours—no strings attached. I mean every word." His eyebrows arched higher, amusement flickering in his eyes before he had a smug smile. "Deal." He stood up and dusted off his jacket before heading for the door. At the threshold, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a smirk. "By the way, the funeral's already started. You might want to hurry, my poor sister-in-law." He dragged out those last words, lacing them with mockery. I knew he was goading me, but I had no choice. I'd already bet everything I had. Now, I had to go all out. ***** When I arrived at the cemetery, a few arrangements were still unfinished. Some flowers hadn't been properly placed, and it looked a little off. "Maybe move the flowers closer to this side," I suggested to the family members. They froze on the spot and looked at Marcus instead of me, as though waiting for his approval. Marcus gave a slight nod, and only then did they spring into action. He then shot me a mocking look, clearly enjoying the power imbalance. It was infuriating—I should've been the one calling the shots, but I was now ignored. Rage bubbled under my skin. I knew they were openly defying me. Damn it! I could let them enjoy their moment. But one day, I'd make them all regret this! Swallowing my anger, I straightened my clothes and smoothed out my expression until not a single crack showed. I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today to honor my husband, Antonio Rossetti." I bowed my head and held back tears to silently mourn for my husband. "What a heartless woman. She doesn't even shed a single tear for her husband." Hearing the whisper from the guests, I gritted my teeth. I knew clearly that tears wouldn't help me—it wouldn't give me strength or grant me power. Only control of wealth and influence would bring me the truth of Antonio's death. Because deep down, I knew it wasn't an accident. The evidence might say otherwise, but I didn't buy it. I swore I'd find the people responsible and make them pay! Suddenly, a commotion disrupted the somber atmosphere. Laughter and loud voices carried over the cemetery grounds. I looked up, my jaw tightening as a group of men swaggered toward us. At the front was Taron McCarthy, the youngest son of the McCarthy family. "Well, well," Taron drawled, a smirk plastered on his face. "What's this? The mighty Rossetti family reduced to letting a woman run the show? If you're struggling, beg me—my family's more than happy to step in and take over." His men burst into laughter, their voices grating and smug. My eyes narrowed, and a searing anger rose in my chest. If anyone had a reason to take Antonio out, it was the McCarthys.