Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 72

Aria's POV

He's been summoned by the Montrossos again. Just like always, whenever the Montrosso princess is involved, Damian drops everything else and rushes to her side. It doesn't matter what we were discussing, what arrangements we were making for our future—the moment her family calls, I become an afterthought.

I watched him leave through the window of the dining room, his black sedan disappearing into the Florence night like a shadow returning to darkness. The house felt different without his presence, somehow larger and emptier at the same time. The weight of the silence pressed down on me, filled only by the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

He's probably going to rescue his precious princess, I thought bitterly, trying to ignore the strange ache in my chest. His duty to her will always come first.

"Miss Aria?" Jennifer's gentle voice interrupted my brooding. She appeared in the doorway with her usual warm smile, wearing her perfectly pressed uniform and carrying a bottle of wine. "Mr. Cavalieri mentioned you hadn't eaten yet. Would you care to join me for dinner? I was just about to prepare something light."

I turned away from the window, grateful for the distraction. "That would be lovely, Jennifer. Thank you."

The kitchen was warm and inviting, nothing like the cold sterility I'd expected from a crime family's estate. Jennifer moved with practiced efficiency, preparing a simple pasta dish with fresh herbs from the garden. The normalcy of it all felt surreal after everything that had happened.

"You seem troubled tonight," Jennifer observed as she set a steaming plate before me. Her voice carried the kind of motherly concern I hadn't experienced since childhood. "Is everything alright between you and Mr. Cavalieri?"

I took a bite of the pasta, buying time to formulate an answer that wouldn't reveal too much. "We're... adjusting to the situation. It's complicated."

"Most worthwhile things are," she replied with a knowing smile. "If I may say so, he seems different since you arrived. More present, somehow. Less like he's carrying the weight of the world alone."

The observation surprised me. "Different how?"

"He pays attention to details he used to ignore. Makes sure your favorite foods are available, asks about your comfort, checks that your room temperature is adjusted properly." Jennifer's eyes twinkled with something that might have been amusement. "Yesterday he spent twenty minutes instructing the staff on the proper way to arrange flowers because he noticed you liked the garden roses."

Before I could process this revelation fully, Jennifer's expression grew more serious. "Have you been following the news about the kidnapping case?"

My fork paused halfway to my mouth. "The Montrosso princess? A little. Why?"

"It's quite strange, if you ask me." Jennifer settled into the chair across from me, her brow furrowed with concern. "While the mafia world certainly has its share of enemies operating in shadows, for someone to kidnap Antonio Montrosso's granddaughter in broad daylight... it's either incredibly bold or incredibly stupid."

I forced myself to take another bite, though the pasta had lost its appeal. "What do you think happened?"

"Well," Jennifer lowered her voice conspiratorially, "I suspect this might be the work of someone playing a practical joke, or perhaps someone she knows personally. Family feuds in our world rarely involve random acts of violence against blood relatives. There are codes, unwritten rules about such things."

The irony of her statement wasn't lost on me. Adriana had orchestrated my own kidnapping without a second thought, breaking whatever codes Jennifer believed existed. But I couldn't voice these thoughts without revealing information I wasn't supposed to possess.

"I suppose we'll have to wait and see what the investigation reveals," I said carefully.

"Indeed. "

I excused myself from dinner as soon as politeness allowed, claiming fatigue. But instead of going to my room.

I didn't want to imagine him rushing to comfort Adriana, holding her close while she trembled in fear and relief. The thought of his hands on her skin, his voice murmuring reassurances, his protective instincts engaged on her behalf...

Stop, I commanded myself. This isn't your business. You're not his girlfriend or his wife. You're a temporary arrangement, nothing more.

Damian's POV

I knew Antonio would want to see me. The old man's intelligence network was legendary, and his ability to piece together seemingly unconnected events bordered on supernatural. Of course he would discover that I was behind his granddaughter's temporary disappearance.

When my father had questioned me about my motives during the drive to the Montrosso estate. I couldn't tell him the real reason—couldn't reveal that I'd orchestrated Adriana's kidnapping as retribution for what she'd done to Aria. Exposing that truth would put Aria directly in the crosshairs of both families' attention, something I refused to allow.

The stupid woman might argue with me constantly, might challenge my authority at every turn, but she was under my protection now. That meant something, even if she didn't understand the full implications.

"It was a case of mistaken identity," I explained to my father as we pulled through the gates of the Montrosso compound. "My men may have accidentally swept her up during an operation targeting someone else."

"Accidentally," Roberto repeated, his tone suggesting he didn't believe a word of it.

"These things happen when multiple operations run simultaneously," I continued smoothly. "I've already retrieved her and ensured her safe return."

What I didn't mention was the conversation I'd had with Lorenzo about Adriana's behavior at the café earlier that day. The way she'd berated the young waitress, the casual cruelty in her voice as she'd demanded the girl be fired for a minor mistake. It had reminded me uncomfortably of how she'd treated Aria—like a disposable object whose suffering was irrelevant.

I'd known then that Antonio needed to see this side of his precious granddaughter. The old man prided himself on raising her to be a proper lady, someone worthy of the Montrosso name. Learning that she was capable of such petty viciousness would disappoint him greatly.

The Montrosso estate was ablaze with lights, every window glowing against the darkness. As our car approached the main entrance, I could see Antonio waiting on the steps.

His expression was unreadable, but I'd known him long enough to recognize the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped his walking stick more tightly than usual. He was angry, but he was also confused—exactly the state of mind I needed him to be in.

"Damian," he said as I approached, his voice carrying the weight of decades of authority. "I believe we need to have a conversation."

"Of course, nonno," I replied, using the affectionate term I'd called him since childhood. "I came as soon as I received father's message."

"Inside," he said curtly. "This discussion requires privacy."

Antonio settled behind his massive desk while my father and I took the chairs opposite him. The familiar ritual felt like stepping back in time, to when I was a boy being lectured about family honor and responsibility.

"I want to know exactly what happened tonight," Antonio began without preamble. "And don't insult my intelligence with talk of coincidences."

Before I could respond, commotion erupted in the hallway outside. Raised voices, the sound of rapid footsteps, and then the study door burst open to reveal Adriana herself.

She looked terrible. Her usually perfect hair was disheveled, her makeup smeared, her expensive dress wrinkled and stained. Most tellingly, there was genuine fear in her eyes—the kind that came from experiencing powerlessness for the first time in her privileged life.

"Grandfather!" she cried, rushing toward his desk. "Thank God you're safe! I was so worried—"

"Adriana," Antonio's voice cut through her dramatics like ice. "Sit down. Now."

Something in his tone made her freeze mid-step. She glanced between him, my father, and me, suddenly uncertain. This wasn't the warm welcome she'd expected.

"But Grandfather, I was kidnapped! These terrible men—"

"I said sit down."

She sank into the remaining chair, her confident facade cracking. For the first time since I'd known her, Adriana looked genuinely vulnerable.

"Now then," Antonio continued, his gaze moving between Adriana and me, "perhaps someone would like to explain why my granddaughter was taken from a location where she had no business being in the first place."

I leaned back in my chair, allowing a small smile to play at the corners of my mouth. "I'm not sure I understand the question, nonno."

"Don't play games with me, boy. I know you were behind this. The question is why."

"Perhaps," I said carefully, "you should ask your granddaughter about her recent activities. Particularly her treatment of service workers and anyone she perceives as beneath her station."

Adriana's face went white. "What are you talking about?"

"The café incident, for instance. The way you screamed at that poor girl over a simple mistake. The threats you made about her employment." I kept my voice conversational, but I could see the impact my words were having on Antonio. "I found it quite... illuminating."

"She was incompetent!" Adriana protested. "She spilled coffee on my dress!"

"She made a minor error," I corrected. "The kind any reasonable person would simply overlook. But you chose to humiliate her publicly, to threaten her livelihood over an accident."

Antonio's expression had grown thunderous. This was clearly news to him, and it contradicted everything he believed about how he'd raised his granddaughter.

"Furthermore," I continued, "it's possible she may have gotten caught up in the aftermath of her own poor choices. When you treat people like disposable objects, sometimes you discover that others are watching. Sometimes those others decide you need a lesson in humility."

"You're lying!" Adriana's voice rose to a shriek. "This is all because you're obsessed with that little whore—"

The slap came so fast I barely saw Antonio move. One moment Adriana was speaking, the next she was holding her cheek in shock, tears streaming down her face.

"You will not use such language in my house," Antonio said, his voice deadly quiet. "And you will explain exactly what you mean by that accusation."

But Adriana was beyond rational thought now. The fear, the humiliation, the public dressing-down had pushed her past her breaking point.

"She's nothing!" she screamed. "Just some nobody you picked up from a bar! But you parade her around like she matters, like she's worth something! You deliberately take her to places where respectable people might see her, you let her wear clothes that cost more than she's worth—"

"Adriana." My voice cut through her hysteria like a blade. "You're confessing to something very interesting."

She froze, suddenly realizing what she'd revealed.

"You said 'that little whore,'" I continued relentlessly. "You mentioned parading her around, letting her wear expensive clothes. How exactly would you know these details about my personal business unless you'd been watching? Unless you'd decided she was a problem that needed to be solved?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Antonio's face had gone completely still, the kind of stillness that preceded explosive violence.

"Adriana," he said quietly, "look at me."

She turned toward him with obvious reluctance, her face streaked with tears and shame.

"Did you arrange for someone to harm this woman?"

"It wasn't supposed to—" she began, then stopped, realizing she was only making things worse.

"Yes or no."