Page 2 of Forced & Knocked-Up Bratva Bride

He was Dad’s younger brother, a lot more gentle and a lot less serious than my father. Uncle Roberto was the jovial one—a free-spirited man who always had a way to lighten up everyone’s mood wherever he found himself. He was the exact opposite of his brother, a stark contrast.

Sometimes, I wished both brothers had switched places so Uncle Roberto would be my father and Dad my uncle. But that ship had sailed, and my fate was sealed already.

But make no mistake, Uncle Roberto was just as deadly as he was “nice.” He was the kind of man that would send his enemies to hell with a fucking smile on his face. My brothers called him “The Joker,” and in my opinion, that was a perfect term for him. In the criminal underworld, people feared my father more, but they knew better than to piss off Roberto as well.

As the men talked, I sat there in my elegant green gown, my manicured fingers cradling the neck of my champagne flute. Occasionally, I chuckled at Uncle Roberto's random jokes. I raised the glass to my lips and took a sip, suppressing my smile. The men were discussing pressing issues regarding the family business, allies and foes, and somehow, my uncle found a way to lighten the mood.

“Why do you always joke even in conversations like this?” Dad asked, his voice deep and husky as his eyebrows knitted together.

“And why do you always have to be so serious, brother?” Uncle Roberto asked, chuckling, his light blue eyes darting across the other family members. “Take it easy with thegrumpiness. It’s not good for your heart,” he teased, sipping his wine.

“You know, uncle, I had no idea you were an expert in cardiac anatomy,” my brother, Bruno, said, his tone laced with mild sarcasm.

“I’m an expert in many things, nephew.” He laughed, ignoring my brother’s dry wit. “For some, I use my tongue as a tool.”

The hall was silent for a moment, and brows knitted, puzzled looks settling on all our faces. Marco’s bacon stopped halfway to his mouth as he exchanged glances with our father.

I was confused at first, shifting my gaze from one person to another in an attempt to understand the cause of this brief silence.

Then, it hit me when Bruno grumbled out loud, “Oh, come on, Uncle Roberto!” He dropped back into his chair, a faint scowl flashing in his gaze. “You didn’t have to say that. Now, I’m stuck with that image in my head.”

“Shall I give more details?” Uncle Roberto asked, his tone mild and teasing.

“No!” my brothers chorused.

“Jesus Christ!” Bruno mumbled under his breath, his head down and fingers rubbing his forehead.

Uncle Roberto laughed. “That’s for mocking your uncle, boy.” He extended his hand and ruffled Bruno’s hazelnut-brown hair.

I lowered my face, suppressing my smile, pretending I had no idea what Uncle Roberto’s analogy meant.

He turned to me, a wide grin spreading beneath his salt-and-pepper mustache. “Shit.La mia preziosa gemma, I forgot you were at the table, too.” The Italian statement was his cute way of referring to me as his precious gem.

I set down my glass and threw up my hands defensively. “Don’t worry, uncle. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” My lips curved into a faint smile.

“Yeah, right,” Bruno said, sarcasm creeping into his tone.

Uncle Roberto shot a quick glance in his direction. “You haven’t learned, have you?”

“Please, no more.” He clasped his palms over his ears, eyes dropping to the floor.

We laughed.

Uncle Roberto beamed at me. “So tell me,Ciccina, how’s law school treating you?”

Ciccina—a nickname he gave me since I was three years old. It was Italian for “little one,” and even though I was all grown up now, the name still stuck. Plus, my petite frame didn’t help at all.

“Have they figured out yet that you’re too smart for them?” he added, chuckling.

A small smirk tugged at the corners of my lips as I tried to sound as modest as I could. “Not yet, uncle. I’m not sure.”

“Ah. It’s your professors I pity.” He laughed lightly. “Poor bastards, thinking they’re there to actually teach you, Alessia Romano, who has the law coursing through her veins.Idioti.” He dramatically waved a hand, chewing his vegetables. “One day, you will run circles around all of them…and when that day comes, I hope you remember your favorite uncle.” The fleeting pause ensued when he locked eyes with me.

My response was a warm smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

One of my father’s men—his lieutenant, Mario—walked over to where my father was seated and lowered his head, whispering something in Dad’s ear. At first, I thought it was nothing until I watched Dad’s eyes narrow. His jaw tightened, and his expression turned dark. Sinister.

Whatever information Mario had passed to him must have been something serious, considering how tense he’d suddenly become.

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