CHAPTER 3

The grand dining hall of the Russo mansion gleamed with polished marble floors and towering chandeliers, but for Remy Martins, it felt more like a stage where he had been dragged unwillingly into the spotlight. The long oak table stretched endlessly before him, the air thick with silence.

At the head of the table sat Tyrone Russo, commanding even in stillness. His dark eyes cut across the table, occasionally flicking toward Remy with an icy disinterest that made him shrink into his chair.

To Tyrone’s right lounged Alexi Ricci, playful smirk already tugging at his lips as he swirled a glass of deep red wine. On Tyrone’s left sat Oliver Russo, posture loose but watchful, his eyes frequently darting toward Remy in quiet reassurance.

At the opposite end of the table, her back straight, silver hair neatly tied, sat Lillian Russo. The matriarch of the family, her presence was iron and warmth in equal measure. She had orchestrated this dinner with one purpose: to remind her grandson of his duty.

For several minutes, silence reigned, broken only by the clinking of silverware. Remy sat with his hands in his lap, too nervous to touch the food before him.

Then, Lillian’s clear voice cut through the quiet.

“Eat, Remy,” she said firmly, though her tone softened with kindness. “You’ll need your strength.”

Remy startled slightly, then nodded, fumbling with his fork. “Y-yes, ma’am,” he whispered.

Tyrone set his knife down, finally speaking. “This is the one?” His gaze slid lazily over Remy, sharp and unkind. “The one you expect me to marry?”

Remy froze. The air thickened. He opened his mouth but no words came.

“Yes,” Lillian said, her voice calm but resolute. “This is the child of Liam Martins—the promise I made to his mother. You will honor it, Tyrone.”

Alexi chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Well, I’ll say this much—he’s not what I expected. Sweet. Shy. Looks like a lamb that wandered straight into a wolf’s den.” He raised his glass toward Tyrone, smirking. “Fitting, don’t you think?”

Remy lowered his eyes, cheeks flushing, while Oliver bristled beside him. “Leave him alone, Alexi.”

Alexi’s grin widened. “Relax, Oliver. I’m only teasing.” His eyes flicked to Remy again, amused. “Although I do wonder how long that innocence will last in this house.”

Tyrone’s voice rumbled low, heavy with disdain. “He won’t last at all.” His gaze locked on Remy, sharp and cruel. “Weak. Fragile. He wouldn’t survive a day in this world.”

Remy’s chest tightened. His hands trembled under the table. The words cut deeper than he wanted to admit.

But before he could shrink away, Oliver slammed his fork down.

“Enough, Tyrone!” Oliver’s voice rang through the hall, eyes blazing. “You don’t even know him yet. Stop judging him like he’s already failed.”

The room went still. No one raised their voice to Tyrone—no one except Oliver.

Tyrone turned his head slowly, his glare locking on his brother. “Watch your mouth.”

Oliver didn’t back down. “No. You always do this—tear people down before they even have a chance. He’s here because of a promise, because of Mom. At least show him some respect.”

For a moment, the brothers stared each other down, the weight of their unspoken history filling the room.

Then Lillian’s voice sliced through the tension, sharp as a blade. “Enough.”

Her gaze moved first to Tyrone. “You forget yourself. This boy is here under my protection. You will not dishonor your mother’s wish with such cruelty.”

Tyrone’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Then her eyes softened as they turned to Remy. “Do not let my grandson’s tongue frighten you, child. He was born with steel in his veins, but even steel bends under the right hands.”

Remy blinked, surprised by the warmth in her words. He managed a small nod, though his voice trembled. “Thank you… ma’am.”

Oliver leaned closer, whispering so only Remy could hear. “See? Even Grandma’s on your side.”

The smallest smile tugged at Remy’s lips, though he quickly hid it behind his glass of water.

Alexi, of course, broke the moment with a dramatic sigh. “Ah, family dinners. So warm. So loving. Always with a dash of death threat.” He smirked at Oliver, eyes glinting.

Oliver’s ears flushed, but he ignored him, focusing on Remy instead. “Don’t worry. You’re not alone here.”

Remy’s heart fluttered, fragile but real. In a house full of shadows, Oliver’s kindness felt like the only light.

Tyrone noticed. His eyes lingered on the small exchange between his brother and his future spouse, something unreadable flickering in his gaze before he turned back to his meal.

The rest of the dinner passed in a strange balance—silence, tension, the occasional jab from Alexi, and Lillian’s steady authority keeping the storm from exploding.

But as the plates were cleared and the night stretched on, Remy couldn’t shake the feeling that he had stepped into a battlefield—one where every look, every word, was a weapon.

And seated at the head of the table was the most dangerous man of all.

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