CHAPTER ELEVEN
1103 Words
ALESSIO’S POV
The storm outside had started before sunset.
When the storm usually hit in this area, it was always stronger than any area.
This pack was built against the storms, and to me, it was a sight to look upon.
I liked storms. They reminded me of myself—loud on the outside, chaos underneath.
When I was younger, after father's harsh beatings and yelling, I would sit at the front porch and just stare at the rain.
It was always heavy, and the sounds were loud.
It drained my thoughts.
So many times when I thought to kill the old man who had no sympathy for anyone, including his own damn mate.
Because he compared me to Alejandro.
If Alejandro hadn't died from weak health, I would still be in the shadows.
I enjoyed the shadows, I enjoyed father not paying attention to me.
Until Alejandro died.
It was then that father noticed he had a substitute Alejandro, and all his anger was unleashed on me.
I sat in my leather chair, fingers steepled, staring at the flames licking the inside of the fireplace. They were quiet tonight. Controlled.
Unlike my thoughts.
“She’s here, Ale.” Lorenzo said from across the room, his voice unreadable.
I didn’t look at him.
“I assumed as much when the gate opened.”
“She didn’t expect a welcome, but I think even she was surprised by the silence.”
“Good.” I muttered.
It was better that way.
She shouldn't have any expectations from me.
I never want to see her.
Lorenzo stepped further into the room, his boots echoing against the stone.
“You should at least meet her before the ceremony. Lei è molto bella.”
According to her pictures her father gave me, I knew that.
“No.”
“She’s your Luna. Or Luna to be.”
“She’s a stranger.”
“So were you once,” he said simply.
I finally looked at him.
“Don’t start, Renzo. Non accetterò alcuna mancanza di rispetto da parte tua .”
He held up a hand.
“I’m not saying you owe her anything. But the girl walked into this house like she was walking into a funeral. Not a wedding. She's just eighteen.”
“Is that meant to make me feel guilty?”
“It’s meant to remind you that she’s not the enemy.”
I stood, walking over to the window. The trees were barely visible through the downpour.
“She’s a symbol,” I said.
“A solution. This marriage is a chess move, not a vow.”
“She’s not a pawn.”
“She’s whatever this pack needs her to be.”
Lorenzo was quiet for a beat. Then he said.
“Her file said she was supposed to inherit her pack. Firstborn twin. Strong-willed. Respected.”
“Until she was disgraced.” I added.
He shrugged.
“That’s politics. You should understand that better than anyone. She doesn't look like someone whose innocence has been compromised.”
I didn’t respond. Because he wasn’t wrong.
“But do you know what wasn’t in the file?” Lorenzo continued.
I turned toward him, brow raised.
“She didn’t cry.”
My jaw tensed.
“What?”
“When she arrived. When I told her you wouldn’t meet her. When she stepped into a foreign house with no welcome and no family... She didn’t cry. Didn’t flinch. She just looked at me and said, ‘Thank you.’”
I said nothing.
Lorenzo stepped closer, his voice lower now.
“I’ve seen spoiled noble ladies sob because their pillows weren’t feathered. I’ve seen war-trained she-wolves scream when their mates ignored them. But this one? She said ‘thank you.’ Like she expected nothing. Like being forgotten was normal.”
I gritted my teeth and turned back to the storm.
Because that—that—felt too familiar.
The girl wasn’t just strong. She was used to pain.
And I hated how that made something twist in my chest.
She was no different than I.
A substitute.
“She’s not my concern, Ren. I don't care about her.” I said finally.
“Once the wedding is done, she’ll have her wing of the estate. I’ll have mine. That’s the deal. We are not staying close. She does her duty as Luna of the pack, I do mine.”
Lorenzo sighed.
“At least look her in the eyes before you condemn her to that. Don't you think about heirs?”
“I said no. I don't give a f**k about no heirs. Non avrò figli che prendano in mano questo freddo titolo .”
He didn’t argue this time. He just walked toward the door, pausing before opening it.
“She’s not your mate, Alessio,” he said without turning.
“But that doesn’t mean you have to be her monster.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
I stood there, hands shoved into my pockets, rain pouring just beyond the glass.
I wasn’t her monster.
I was everyone’s.
Including my own.
I never wanted any of this.
This pack, these responsibilities.
I had made a mistake once, I was never making it again.
Marciane was a mistake.
Engaging in small talks with her gave her hope that she could change me.
No one could.
I couldn't even change myself if I tried.
And when she realised she could never change me to love her, to give her children, she drowned herself.
I saw her as a coward.
If I knew suicide was a better option, I would have ended it a long time ago.
There were many painless ways to do it.
She never had the heart to be Luna of Cassano pack.
She was soft, and her softness led her to her grave.
I had the courtesy of attending her funeral and stood still as her parents blamed me for her death, for killing their only daughter.
What was I to do?
Pretend that I loved her? Give her the children she wants?
I wanted nothing to do with children.
I was not going to give a chance for my father's spirit to mess things up further.
I was not going to give a chance to become like him.
I stood up and brought out Silver’s picture from my desk drawer.
White hair, blue eyes.
She wasn’t even smiling.
She had that look in her eyes that I saw when I stared at myself in the mirror.
How could two broken people fix each other when all we both knew was pain?
- Writer
