Bound To The Ruthless Mafia Heir; Claimed By His Brother

Chapter Seven: Means to An End

The estate became a ghost town over the next two weeks. Cassian grounded everyone, saying something about some vague external threats from rival families in New York.

The iron gates stayed shut, and the guards doubled their patrols around the perimeter. I felt like a bird stuck in a golden cage, watching the world move on without me.

I decided to try my luck and get out of my bedroom. I needed a walk before I completely lost my mind. I walked down the grand hallway, heading toward the sunroom, which was usually open. When I reached the double doors, I twisted the brass handle. It did not budge.

"The sunroom is closed for maintenance, Mrs. Moretti," a guard said, stepping out from the shadows of the corridor.

I sighed, crossing my arms. "Since when? I was literally in there two days ago."

"New orders from the Boss," the guard replied, his voice completely flat. "All glass-heavy rooms are off-limits due to current security risks."

"Right. Security," I muttered.

I turned around and tried the path leading to the rose garden, but that was also locked. I tried the other staircase that led to the ground-floor lounge, and I saw a maid who was standing there, blocking the way with a cleaning cart.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" she asked, her eyes fixed on the floor.

"I just want to go downstairs," I said, keeping my voice calm.

"The lower lounge is being rewired, ma'am. It is not safe," she said. It sounded like she was reading from a script. Every single word was rehearsed.

I rolled my eyes and walked back to the main foyer. It was completely obvious what Cassian was doing, and what was annoying me was the fact that he didn't even try to hide it.

As I stood in the foyer, frustration bubbling in my chest, the heavy front doors swung open. Rafael walked inside, looking completely relaxed. He didn't look like a guy living under a lockdown.

He wore a leather jacket, his hair a bit messy from the wind, and he carried a bag of takeout as if he had just gone on a casual drive.

"Hey," Rafael said, flashing a small smile when he saw me. "You look like you want to punch a wall."

"Must be nice," I said, leaning against the banister. "You get to leave, you get to move around. Meanwhile, I can't even go to the sunroom.”

Rafael chuckled, setting his bag down on a side table, and it made me relax that he wasn't as cold as he was yesterday. "Cassian's security threats are always real, Belinda. But rules are a bit different for me. I have to run the business on the streets. I can't do that if I'm hiding under the bed."

"So you just get a free pass?" I asked.

"Something like that," Rafael said, stepping a bit closer. He checked the hallway to make sure the guards weren't right behind him. "Cassian handles the structure here. He likes boxes. He puts people in them. I prefer to navigate around the boxes."

"He's putting me in a very small box, Rafael. I haven't heard from my father in five days. Every time I ask to call him, the phone lines are down, or the satellite is glitching."

"Cassian is just isolating you to see how you handle it," Rafael said softly. "It's what he does. He cuts off the noise so you only focus on him. Don't let it get to your head."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered, looking at him carefully.

I couldn't help but notice how different they were. Cassian was all about consequences, locked doors, and absolute authority. Rafael was about charm, emotion, and bending the rules just enough to make you feel like you had a choice.

But the weird thing was, neither of them totally ran the place. They were like two opposing forces keeping the estate in some twisted balance, and I was stuck right in the middle of their tug-of-war.

Later that afternoon, Cassian left the estate for a meeting in the city. The moment his black SUV rolled down the driveway, the suffocating pressure in the house lifted just a fraction.

But my isolation was still the same. My phone was completely dead, and any letters I tried to send to my brothers would be intercepted by the front desk for inspection or sent to Cassian.

I was sitting in the small courtyard, staring at the fountain, when Rafael appeared again. He had two bottles of soda in his hands. He handed one to me and sat on the stone bench across from mine.

"Thought you might need a drink," Rafael said.

"Thanks," I said, popping the cap. "Where is your brother?"

"Meeting," Rafael said, taking a sip from his bottle. "He's trying to clean up some messes before winter. He's got a lot of long-term goals, Belinda."

"Like what? Keeping me locked up forever?"

"No," Rafael said, his blue eyes turning serious. "Cassian wanted this marriage because he needed stability. He knew the Rossi name would keep the other families from moving in on our territory while he was vulnerable. He's playing a very long game. He wants to secure the empire so no one can ever challenge him again."

I stared at him, my mind spinning. "And what about you, Rafael? What is your game?"

"I don't have a game," he said quickly. "I'm just looking out for you."

"Are you?" I asked, my voice dropping. "Sometimes I can't tell if you're actually being nice to me because you care, or if you're just another layer of Cassian's plan. Did he send you to talk to me? Are you checking to see if I'm going to break?"

Rafael looked hurt. He stood up, shaking his head. "That's cold, Belinda. After everything we've shared, you think I'm just spying for my brother? I risk my neck every time I look at you in this house."

"I don't know what to think anymore," I said, looking away from him. "Everyone in this family has a secret. I don't know who is telling the truth. Just yesterday you were treating me like I was the problem you had in life, and now you're here handing me a f*****g soda can. What do you want me to think, Rafael?”

"I'm on your side," Rafael said thoroughly. "Just remember that when things get ugly."

He walked away, leaving his soda bottle on the bench. I sat there, completely confused. I wanted to trust him. I wanted to believe that his kindness was real, but I just couldn't.

By evening, the boredom and anxiety became too much to bear. I needed to do something, anything, to feel alive.

I left my room and started exploring the older, eastern part of the estate, a section that was usually reserved for storage and old family archives.

The guards didn't patrol this area as much because it was mostly just dusty rooms.

I walked down a dark wood-paneled hallway, testing the doorknobs. Most were locked, but one near the very end clicked open. I slipped inside and shut the door behind me, holding my breath.

The room was large, filled with rows of metal filing cabinets and old leather trunks. Dust danced in the faint light coming through the small window.

I walked over to the cabinets and pulled one open. It was filled with old Moretti family records, financial ledgers, and legal documents going back decades.

I started flipping through the folders, not really knowing what I was looking for. My fingers stopped on a thick manila folder labeled with Cassian’s name. I pulled it out and sat on an old trunk, opening it up.

Inside were medical reports, toxicology screens, and private investigator logs from two years ago. I skimmed through the pages, my eyes widening as I read the medical terms.

The reports detailed Cassian's paralysis after his accident. But as I read further, I found a handwritten letter from a private medical consultant.

The letter stated that Cassian's inability to walk wasn't just from the physical trauma of the accident.

The tests showed high levels of a specific nerve-blocking agent in his blood system—a drug disguised as standard recovery medication.

Someone had been poisoning him, ensuring his legs would never heal.

My heart pounded furiously in my chest. I turned the page and found a surveillance log with a name scrawled at the bottom: Zade Christiano.

So it wasn't an accident. Cassian's condition was the result of an attack by a rival Don to keep the Moretti Capo de Capi weak and contained.

But that wasn't the most shocking part.

As I dug deeper into the file, I found copies of contracts between my father and the Moretti family dating back three years, long before my marriage was ever officially proposed. There were notes about my background, my education, and my movements in Sicily.

I gripped the papers, my hands trembling.

So my marriage wasn't some sudden political fix to save my family's standing?

It was part of a pre-existing bullshit that both families had agreed on?

I was just a means to an end in this whole drama.