Page 6 of Unholy Union
This is no dream. I’m not asleep. I’m fully awake and the limitless future I thought was ahead of me suddenly slips out of focus. Instead, I’m facing a future that seems so bleak, it might as well be a nightmare…
Chapter 3
Cato
Bones - MS MR
The engagement dinner is held at the Marquess Hotel in Midtown Manhattan. The building stands tall among the others on 58thStreet, its facade made up of limestone and glass. A velvet red carpet leads the way up the front steps where the hotel’s crest of a lion in a crown has been chiseled out of gold.
Our driver pulls up behind the line of vehicles idled at the curb and the valet opens the door. I step out first, straightening my suit jacket, thoughts of how soon I’ll get to leave already on my mind.
Cassian, my younger brother, slides out of the town car next, coming up on my left. “Tell me again why we’re not just killing them now and calling it a day?”
My jaw hardens as I cast him a warning look. “Because, unfortunately, we’re not allowed to spill blood before dessert.”
We enter to a lobby of marble floors, oil paintings on the walls, and large flower arrangements in every direction.
Everyone is well dressed for the occasion, using the event as a chance to show off their latest designer threads. I couldn’t care less, barely giving a nod of acknowledgment to the guests who greet me. Cassian, however, shoots them dimpled grins and cracks a joke about the open bar.
Tonight is no joyous occasion; tonight is strictly business.
It’s a formal dinner solidifying the pact that’s been made between the Valentes and the Corsinis. There’s nothing celebratory about it.
Two guards flank the entrance to the Mirador Room. They rush to bow as soon as they see us coming.
The Mirador Room itself is as opulent as the rest of the hotel. Bathed in marble with gold-gilded trim, the room is already crowded with our dinner guests mingling. A string quartet plays in the corner, the soft music a backdrop to the buzzing chatter.
I scan the sea of faces, recognizing most. The men are in their dark tailored suits, some with subtle lapel pins that distinguish their affiliation. The women wear glittering jewelry and dresses they’ve probably had to starve themselves to fit into.
Things are cordial.Polite.
But there’s an unmistakable sense of caution in the air. Almost everyone sticks to their family’s side. The Valentes with the Valentes. The Corsinis with their own.
At my side, Cassian stuffs his hands in his pants pockets. “Nothing says eternal devotion like giant floral centerpieces and fake smiles.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I answer, studying each person in the large room. “This isn’t about devotion. It’s a business arrangement and nothing more.”
“And Papà appreciates your dedication to the cause,” he sneers. “If I’m ever arranged to be married, just shoot me. Less dramatic, same eventual result.”
“The Corsini daughter is obedient. She has been trained to be the wife of a man like me. She understands what this is. We won’t be at each other’s throats.”
“Who knew my big brother was such an optimist?” He slaps me on the back in brotherly fashion, then catches sight of a leggy blonde strutting by in a skintight black dress. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to see if diplomacy’s as flexible as she looks.”
He’s gone from my side within the next second, disappearing into the crowd. It figures that he would go chase after the first plaything that catches his attention. As the “spare” son, Cassian moves through life with little to no responsibility.
Our baby sister Celeste is similar. Because in the eyes of my father, daughters are essentially useless, she’s decided to make herself scarce. She opted for college abroad and hasn’t looked back since.
My upbringing has differed from both of my siblings.
I’ve been groomed from a young age to follow in Papà’s footsteps. I’ve been shown the ins and outs of the family business—the legalandillegal one—and I’ve carried the weight of our family’s legacy on my shoulders.
It’s never been a duty I’ve shied away from. I’ve always been proud to be the heir.
The crown is heavy, but nothing worth having ever comes easily.
Papà knows I’ll bring the Valente name more power and prosperity than we’ve ever had. Our reign is only beginning.
The heavy fragrance of jasmine wafts through the air. A whisper follows, lips grazing my ear.
