The Savage Bride

Bargain of past

(One Week Ago)

The neon lights of the casino flickered in the distance, casting a golden glow that bathed the bustling crowd in warm, vibrant hues. The hum of slot machines, the clinking of coins spilling from one machine to the next, and the laughter and chatter of people all blended into a chaotic symphony. The energy of the place felt alive, almost overwhelming.

I stood near a towering slot machine, absentmindedly tracing the edge of my purse strap. My eyes were unfocused as I let the noise wash over me, though my mind was a million miles away. The place was wild, filled with people who either ignored the surrounding madness or embraced it—it was hard to tell. Ethan, standing next to me, seemed to feed off the excitement, his easy smile lighting up his face as he scanned the room, his eyes sparkling with an infectious kind of joy.

My mom, on the other hand, stood a few steps away, her expression calm and composed as her sharp eyes flicked over the bustling crowd. She didn’t seem fazed by the chaos—if anything, it felt like she was dissecting it, searching for something or someone. That air of detachment was so quintessentially her, unshakable and composed, as if nothing in this world could c***k her cool exterior. It should have been reassuring, but instead, it left me uneasy. She didn’t belong in this madness, but at the same time, she seemed oddly comfortable navigating it. It was hard to tell if she was ignoring the chaos or controlling it from a distance.

I turned my attention to Ethan, raising an eyebrow. “How did you convince Uncle Henry and Aunt Sylvia to let you come to LA with us? They never let you out of their sight, let alone out of town.”

Ethan leaned in with a playful grin, his voice light and teasing, though there was a sincerity in his words that made me pause. “I didn’t need to convince them. They already know I can’t live without you.”

I rolled my eyes, but despite the sarcasm in my tone, I couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at my lips. “You’re such a charmer. But we both know the real reason you’re here. You wanted an excuse to explore the casinos and bars in LA. That’s why you agreed to come with us, right?”

My mom, who had been standing a few steps away, laughed softly. The sound was almost a relief, lightening the mood and breaking the lingering tension. “Leave him alone, Azalea. You’re always giving him a hard time. Ethan, you did the right thing coming with us. Now you and I can explore LA while your uncle’s off doing… whatever it is he’s busy with.”

Ethan shook his head with a resigned smile, unfazed by the teasing. “I’d be happy to, Mrs. Moretti. I’ve already got a list of places I think you’ll love.”

Before I could settle into the warmth of the moment, something else caught my attention. A pair of men stood nearby, speaking in low voices that barely reached my ears. Somehow, my senses seemed to sharpen. One of them, a tall man with a chiseled face and sharp, predatory eyes, glanced toward me. His gaze lingered a moment too long, cold and calculating like a hunter sizing up its prey.

“Who’s she?” he asked, his voice carrying just enough edge to make the question feel more like a threat.

The other man leaned in and whispered something I almost didn’t catch. “That’s Azalea Moretti, daughter of Maximilian Moretti.”

Hearing my name—and especially my father’s—sent a chill down my spine. The way Rafael’s sharp eyes fixed on me made it impossible to ignore the unease crawling up my back. I forced myself to look away, but the weight of his stare lingered long after we moved on.

The man beside him nudged his arm, breaking the moment. “Rafael, we need to go. Your father’s calling for us.”

Rafael hesitated for just a moment, his sharp gaze still locked on me as I walked away with my mom and Ethan. Just as we passed him, I turned to my mom, my voice soft but shaky. “Mom, where are we going?”

My mom glanced at her phone, her face briefly illuminated by the screen as we stepped out into the warm LA air. “Your dad said we’re having dinner with an old friend. He sent me the address.”

The drive felt long, the silence in the car heavy with unspoken questions. When we arrived, it was immediately clear that the evening was going to be unlike anything I had ever experienced.

Half an hour later, we found ourselves stepping out of the car and into the expansive driveway of a grand bungalow that looked straight out of a fairy tale. The intricate stonework, the immaculately kept gardens, and the golden lights bathing the estate gave everything a warm, ethereal glow. The place felt like a dream—one I wasn’t sure I wanted to be part of.

Maximilian was already waiting at the door, his expression unreadable, as always. As we entered, the imposing presence of Carlos De Luca emerged from the shadows of the grand entrance. His aura seemed to fill the entire room with authority and power. Standing just behind him was Rafael, his face calm and composed, but those sharp eyes still seemed to follow me. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched and analyzed.

“Welcome,” Carlos said, his tone warm as he greeted my father. “It’s been too long, Max.”

“It has,” my father replied, his voice distant, as if the words were more an obligation than a genuine sentiment.

There was something in his tone—an undercurrent of tension that made my skin prickle. It was subtle, buried beneath the surface, but unmistakable. Whatever it was, it left me uneasy, as if I were standing at the edge of something far deeper than I understood.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, we were ushered inside. The dinner that followed was a spectacle of luxury, almost surreal in its extravagance. Every dish that arrived was more impressive than the last, the flavors bold and rich, the presentation so meticulous it felt almost too perfect to touch.

I couldn’t help but be drawn into the grandeur of it all. The conversation turned lighter as I asked Carlos about the history of the house. His expression softened just enough to show he was pleased by my curiosity, and he indulged me with anecdotes about the estate’s legacy.

My mom and Ethan joined in, their chatter weaving a buffer of warmth that temporarily eased the heavy atmosphere.

When the plates were cleared and the dining room emptied, Rafael’s sister-in-law extended an invitation for me to explore the house, particularly the library. I accepted eagerly, grateful for the excuse to escape the weight of the evening.

Wandering the halls, I found myself lost among the rows of ancient books and artifacts in the expansive library. The sheer magnitude of it all was almost overwhelming—each corner of the house seemed to hold a piece of history, a whisper of a story untold. It was a reprieve, a quiet escape from the tension that lingered in the air downstairs. But while I explored the timeless silence of the house, a storm was building, just beyond the walls—a storm that would change everything.

In a private study, my father and Carlos sat across from one another, their postures stiff and guarded. The air between them was heavy, almost suffocating, weighed down by unspoken words and buried history.

Rafael stood near the door, his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp gaze shifting between the two men like a predator watching its prey.

Finally, my father broke the silence, his voice low but firm.

“Carlos, I left this life 23 years ago. Why have you brought me back into it?”

Carlos leaned forward, his expression hardening, his eyes narrowing with a cold edge.

“You walked away from your position, your family name, and your power. Do you have any idea how much we’ve suffered because of the deals you left unfinished?”

“I had no choice,” my father replied, his tone steady, though laced with an undeniable regret.

“I lost my father and my brother to that life. If I had stayed, I would’ve lost my wife and daughter too. So I left. And I’ve never looked back.”

Rafael’s voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and unyielding.

“You may have left, but what about the enmity between the Moretti family and the De Luca family? Who’s going to pay for my brother’s life—the one your father took?”

My father’s jaw clenched, his gaze unflinching as he responded.

“My father killed your brother. And he paid for it. He died… the worst kind of death.”

He paused, his voice softening just enough to carry an undertone of sorrow.

“But I didn’t kill your dad… My revenge is still to be taken,” Carlos said, his voice calm but sharp as he looked my father straight in the eye.

My father’s jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffening at the words.

“Don’t try to threaten me, Carlos,” he replied, his tone cold and firm. The De Luca family profited from my departure more than they could have earned by killing me. You gained control of the Moretti businesses, and I’m sure you’ve made more than enough to compensate for any losses.”

Carlos raised a hand, silencing him with a subtle but commanding gesture.

“Enough,” he said, his voice icy. “We’re not here to debate the past." We’re here to resolve this.”

I watched as my father leaned back slightly, though his expression remained guarded.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but still wary.

Carlos’s gaze sharpened, and at that moment, it felt like the air in the room grew heavier.

“To end the enmity once and for all,” Carlos said, his tone deliberate.

"Marry your daughter, Azalea, to Rafael. That will settle the scores between our families.”