Chapter 3 - Shadows on the Snow
The peace inside the Duca estate was fragile, held together by stone walls and armed men.
On Olivia’s third night at the estate, the storm outside turned into a howling blizzard. She couldn't sleep. The soft cashmere blankets were warm, but her mind kept racing back to her real life—her mounting debts, her ex-husband’s threatening texts, and the reality that she didn't belong in a mafia boss's fortress.
She stepped out into the quiet hallway, wearing her slippers, intending to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen.
As she passed the library, a low, intense argument spilled through the crack of the mahogany door.
"The High Council is meeting on Thursday, Gabriel!" a harsh, raspy voice hissed from inside. It was Marco Duca, Gabriel’s older cousin and senior lieutenant. "You can't bring a civilian—a broken flower vendor—into this house right before the vote!"
"My house is my concern, Marco," Gabriel’s calm, lethal voice replied.
"The Commission thinks you’ve gone soft since Isabella died!" Marco argued, his tone rising with bitter jealousy. "The Syndicate wants stability. Donatella Moretti has been waiting for two years to consolidate the Moretti and Duca families through marriage! Her father controls the docks! What does this florist give you? Wilted carnations?!"
"Donatella Moretti will never step foot in this house as my wife," Gabriel said coldly. "And if you mention Olivia Brooks in that tone again, Marco, I will remove your tongue myself."
A heavy silence fell inside the room.
"She’s a distraction," Marco spat, stepping toward the door. "The Council will demand a decision on Thursday. You either marry into the Moretti family to secure the alliance, or the Council will consider your throne vacant."
Olivia froze in the hallway, her breath catching in her throat.
Donatella Moretti. The Syndicate. The High Council.
She took a slow step backward, her slippers making no sound on the runner rug, but the library door swung open before she could reach the stairs.
Marco Duca stepped out. He was a sharp-featured man in his late forties, with dark, calculating eyes and a scar running along his jawline. He stopped when he saw Olivia standing in the dim light.
His gaze swept over her in the ivory sweater, a sneer curling his lips.
"So," Marco whispered, stepping close enough for her to smell tobacco on his wool coat. "This is the little stray my cousin picked up out of the gutter. Enjoy the silk sheets while you can, little florist. The Council doesn't tolerate weeds in the garden."
"Marco," Gabriel’s voice rang out from the doorway, cold as a steel blade.
Marco didn't look back. He gave Olivia one last contemptuous glare and walked down the hallway toward the side exit.
Gabriel stepped up behind Olivia. She turned to face him, her pulse hammering against her ribs.
"You heard," Gabriel said. It wasn't a question.
"I don't want to cause trouble for you, Gabriel," she said, using his first name for the first time. "If my presence is hurting your position with your family..."
"My family is in that bedroom upstairs sleeping," Gabriel interrupted, stepping closer until he towered over her, blocking the draft from the hallway. "Marco and the Council are merely men who forget who built the floor they stand on. Do not worry about them, Olivia."
"He said you have to marry someone else to keep your throne."
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Gabriel reached out, his warm, rough thumb gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The touch was so tender, so unexpected from a man of his reputation, that Olivia gasped softly.
"I choose who enters my life," Gabriel whispered, his eyes dark with unyielding promise. "No one else."
