Chapter 3

Augusto went straight to Mark's uncle's office. As soon as he arrived, he handed over the copy of the contract and explained what his question was.

"What I want to know is about this clause," he said, pointing to the specific passage. "It only stipulates that a member of the Castro family must be given in marriage. They should have put my sister's name. In that case, they can't contest it if another family member is presented in her place, correct?"

The lawyer read the document carefully, adjusting the glasses on his face. He took a few seconds longer than necessary, as if confirming something too obvious to ignore.

"Yes, you're correct," he replied at last. "They made a serious error in this clause. Not specifying the bride's name in a marriage contract is an enormous oversight." He paused briefly, incredulous. "Honestly, I don't know how the lawyer responsible let this slip through. A contract of this type is usually meticulous about every single word."

Augusto was overjoyed to hear that. What truly mattered was that the document bore the signature of Pietro's father, who at the time was still the mafia leader. That made the contract fully valid. For the first time in days, he felt hope. He could hardly wait to tell his sister the news and make her believe that maybe there was a way out.

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Pietro had just finished his self-defense training. He was sweaty, his body still tense with the adrenaline from the precise movements. He said goodbye to the instructor and headed to where his things were. When he checked his phone, a slight smile curved his lips.

"The package has been delivered to the Castro family home, sir."

The day had started well.

He'd waited eighteen years for this moment. Every step, every silence, every decision had been calculated with surgical patience. Now the plan was beginning to take shape, and very soon he would have what he'd desired all those years.

Pietro headed to his room. The gym was inside his own house — something he considered practical. He took a quick shower, but his mind remained fixed on a single place. Or rather, a single person. He wanted to know how they'd reacted to the delivery of the gifts, what expressions they'd made, what feelings had been stirred.

Nothing interested him more than that.

He finished his shower, got dressed, and went downstairs to the study. Diego was already waiting for him.

"Good morning, little brother," he greeted him with his usual smile.

Diego was Pietro's younger brother and completely different from him. While their father had dedicated himself to molding Pietro into a cold, ruthless man, Pietro had done everything he could to keep Diego from following the same path. He'd taken upon himself the weight, the violence, and the dirty decisions, keeping his brother away from that world, shielding him as best he could from the darkness in which he himself was submerged.

"Good morning," Pietro replied, sitting behind the desk.

With Diego, he could be who he really was. He didn't need to wear the mask of the cold, bloodthirsty monster the world knew. Diego was aware of his brother's secrets and, on some occasions, even helped him when needed.

"So... it's next week?" Diego asked, a faint smile on his lips.

Pietro opened the desk drawer and pulled out a photograph. In it, Alice and Augusto appeared smiling, sitting on the lawn of the house where they lived.

Diego came around the desk and leaned in.

"You're really lucky," he commented, studying the image. "She's beautiful... I wish I were the one marrying her." He sighed before sitting back down in the chair across from the desk.

In truth, Diego had always been in love with Alice. Even so, he'd accepted the fact that she was promised to his brother. And deep down, he knew Pietro would never touch her.

"You'll get your chance, little brother," Pietro said calmly. "You know my plans for this marriage contract well enough."

Pietro noticed then the subtle spark of hope that appeared in his brother's eyes. Diego looked up, as if trying to draw out more than he'd been told, seeking to confirm that silent promise.

"Do you really think this plan will work?" Diego asked. "You think you can get around Dad?"

The biggest obstacle in Pietro's plans was his own father. If the old man discovered everything that had already been orchestrated to bring this moment about, he would lose his mind.

"I will," Pietro answered with conviction. "You know he trusts me blindly. He thinks he created the perfect successor... or rather, the perfect monster."

They both smiled at that. Pietro turned his gaze back to the photograph, running his thumb carefully over the face in the image. That smile always knocked him off balance.

From the moment he'd walked into that house beside his father eighteen years ago, Pietro had known what he wanted. What he liked. Those eyes, that frightened gaze, had lodged themselves inside him in a way impossible to explain. He'd been only thirteen at the time, but by the time he left, his mind was already made up.

When they were adults, that boy would be his.

It didn't matter who needed to be bribed, manipulated, or eliminated along the way. The owner of that gaze would belong to him.

Augusto would be his.

From that point on, Pietro tracked Augusto's every move, even though Augusto never knew it. He knew who his friends were, who he got close to, who he was interested in. He even knew the exact day and with whom Augusto had lost his virginity. Nothing escaped him.

The jealousy and envy he'd felt toward that girl had nearly made him lose control. Pietro wished it had been with him. The first kiss, the first touch, the first time. During one of his training sessions, consumed by rage, he'd nearly killed the man he was sparring with that day, unleashing on him a violence that didn't belong to him. It took immense self-control not to cross a line he could never come back from.

He swallowed the jealousy in silence. He couldn't be the monster his father wanted him to be — at least not with Augusto. Not yet. He couldn't interfere directly in his life, not until the right moment came. He allowed him to have fun, to get involved with whomever he wanted, to live freely, even though it corroded him from the inside.

The wait would last until the date stipulated in that contract. Eighteen years was already far too long. After that, he wouldn't wait anymore. Augusto would be his, and Pietro would never allow him to slip away again.

Whenever he saw him at meetings, he couldn't look away. He watched the women who flirted with Augusto, even knowing that within the organization, Augusto had never been considered a good match. The son of a traitor, he carried a stigma that had never left him. Beyond that, his father had never allowed him to marry, and when Pietro took over command, he'd never granted that permission either.

The anger he felt watching Augusto coveted by those women was channeled into training and enemies. Every blow, every confrontation served to relieve the frustration of not being able to touch him. During one of the meetings, he ended up seeing Augusto in the garden, accompanied by a woman. They were kissing, and he was touching her intimately, without any shame.

The sight made Pietro's blood boil.

He wanted to rip him away from there, pull him from that woman, take him far from everyone and show him, with cruel precision, what he could do with every part of his body. It took every ounce of self-control he'd learned over the years not to act on impulse.

To the world, Pietro maintained the image of a womanizer. He slept with some women, fed his own reputation, and made a point of being seen that way. That was also part of the plan. He knew Augusto would use that argument against him if needed, and above all, his father could never suspect the truth.

No one could know that he loved him.

Pietro

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