Alessandro POV ~

The whole auction froze the second I stood up.

My voice hit the mic system before my mind even caught up.

“STOP THE AUCTION!”

Silence slammed into the room. Even breathing sounded too loud.

Camilla shot up beside me, clinging to my arm like a leech who smelled money slipping away.

“Baby, what are you doing?” she hissed. “This is the highlight of the night. I’ve been waiting for this. Why would you stop it!”

Her face twisted when she realized I wasn’t backing down. The sweetness vanished. All that was left was hunger and irritation.

Behind us, Damian clicked his tongue, swirling the wine in his glass like the whole thing bored him.

“Let it run, bro. It’s good entertainment. That girl’s probably crying somewhere but who cares.”

Roman raised his glass lazily.

“She won’t come anyway. Why bother playing hero now.”

I snapped before I even turned.

“Not. A. Damn. Word.”

I shoved Damian’s hand off my shoulder so hard the wine spilled across the floor.

He stood up. Roman stood up. For a second we were one breath away from breaking tables and necks but I didn’t give them the chance.

I walked out.

People called my name. I ignored them. Camilla chased after me, heels clicking like gunshots.

“Alessandro. Stop! Don’t embarrass me like this.”

I kept walking until we hit the private corridor the Camilla grabbed the file bag and smashed it against the wall.

I heard something inside rattle.

Glass.

I snatched it back and opened it.

Pulled out the small glass jar. Cloudy. Stained dark.

At the bottom was something small. Curled. Fragile.

Five weeks. Barely formed.

My chest tightened in a way I didn’t understand. Like someone was dragging a blade across my ribs from the inside.

Camilla’s face was drained of color.

“Wait. Is that a baby? Did Rosalie abort it? But she was excited. She was obsessed with you. Why would she abort it? Why would she put it in a jar?”

Her voice was shaking now. Not for the baby. For her own damn fear.

A torn piece of paper was taped to the jar.

Her handwriting. Rosalie’s handwriting. I knew it.

“You and your bastard twins can go to hell.

I know everything you did to me.”

My fingers trembled. I couldn’t stop it. Didn’t even try.

Fuck!

Behind us Damian and Roman had followed. They took one look at the jar and both went still.

Damian’s voice dropped, rough. “Is that the kid she was carrying?”

Roman stared. Eyes narrowing. “Holy hell! She really did it.”

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn't think. All I knew was that for the first time in my entire life. I felt like I was the one bleeding out.

…

I stormed out of the corridor, heart hammering, hands shaking so hard I thought I’d crush my phone if I held it too tight. I grabbed my phone and dialed Rancho, my guy who does whatever I tell him without asking questions.

“Find her. Now. Every move she makes, every call, every damn step. Track Rosalie. She does not get to do this to me without paying for it.” My voice was low, dangerous, full of venom.

Damian leaned over, smirking like the bastard he is. “Bro, chill. She’s probably just hiding. Or trying to play games with you. Let her try. She’ll pay for this. I swear it.”

Roman nodded, slow and deliberate. “Yeah, she thinks she can just mess with you, huh? That’s funny. She’s gonna regret it.”

“Of course I’m gonna make her pay for this,” I spat back, every word dripping poison. “She embarrassed me enough by aborting our child. A damn baby we made a bet on, and she goes and signs divorce papers without even looking at me. She’s testing me. She’s lucky I don't tear the world apart before I found her.”

Camilla tried to touch my arm, her voice soft, fake. “Alessandro, calm down. Think—”

“Not now, Camilla. Not now. I am so pissed off I could—ugh!” I shoved her hand away. My pride was shattered.

I called Rancho again, pacing like a predator in a cage, fists clenching until my nails cut into my palms. “I don’t care how you do it. I want her. Now. She has no right to disappear, no right to touch that baby, no right to walk away from me. She’s mine. Every move. Every breath. Find her.”

Rancho’s voice came back, cautious but firm. “Boss, we are everywhere. Surveillance is up, phones are tapped, every car, hotel, apartment she might have touched is being checked. But…” His voice dropped. “Boss… she’s nowhere to be found. It’s like she never existed.”

I froze.

Every muscle in me screamed. The calm bastard persona I kept for the mafia empire, for the world, for the brothers, it cracked. I slammed my fist on the steering wheel of my blacked-out car so hard the horn screamed. Tires squealed as I peeled out, burning toward the villa, the only place I knew she couldn’t hide from me.

When I got there, the villa was empty. Silent. Ghostly. Rosalie had vanished. Clothes, papers, personal stuff, everything gone. It was like she evaporated. My blood boiled. My empire felt like it could crumble in a second. I was obsessed. Desperate. Furious.

So I decided to crash her parents place.

I slammed through the gates like some rabid dog out of hell, shoving the guards aside when they tried to block me. I didn’t even hear what they were saying. My eyes were burning, my voice shaking from how pissed off I was.

I pointed straight at her parents and barked, “Give me Rosalie. Now! Bring her out before I burn this whole place to the ground. I swear I’ll do it.”

Her father stepped right in front of me like he wasn’t scared. Her mother was trembling behind him but she still didn’t move away. The old man stared at me down, cold as ice, and said, “Our daughter was married to you. If she ever came back here, she wouldn’t come whole. Why would she return to the people who sent her straight into your house?”

“She wouldn’t disappear unless someone helped her. Someone’s hiding her from me. Someone’s playing brave.” I snapped instantly.

Her father didn’t even blink. “If something happened to my daughter because of you, Alessandro Moretti, I swear you will regret the day your mother brought you screaming into this world.”

That set me off.

I slammed my fist into the table so hard everything on top jumped. I grabbed a vase and smashed it against the floor, shards flying everywhere. “She’s mine. She doesn’t leave unless I say she can. She doesn’t get to run.”

Her mother broke down crying, voice shaking but somehow still sharp enough to cut. “If you touched her… if you hurt her… if you broke her… you will pay for every bone in her body.”

Then my phone rang.

I froze. Heart pounding.

Rancho.

I answered, growling into the phone, “Tell me you found her. Tell me you have something.”

His voice on the other side sounded wrong. “Boss… something happened.”

I clenched my jaw. “What now?”

“The photos,” he said. “The ones that were supposed to be the highlight of the auction. The ones of you and her. And your brothers.”

My stomach dropped. Behind me, Damian swore under his breath, a long string of curses. Roman kicked the doorframe so hard dust fell from the ceiling.

Rancho continued, “They’re leaked. Online. Everywhere.”

The world tilted around me.

I roared so loud the windows shook. “What did I tell you!? Delete those! I wanted her found first! I said not a single person touches those files! Who the hell—”

I kicked a chair, sent it flying, wood splintering against the wall.

Then Rancho’s voice came again, quiet, deadly.

“Boss… the one who leaked the pictures and videos… it’s Camilla.”

Everything in me went blank.

…

I hurriedly went to Camilla's house and kicked the front door open so hard it bounced off the wall. I did not bother calling her name.

“Camilla!” I shouted, stalking through the living room, knocking over a chair just because it was in my way. “Get your ass out here. Now. I said now.”

She appeared at the top of the stairs all shaking, and eyes glossy.

“Alessandro,” she whispered. “Why are you yelling at me? I didn’t mean anything bad, I swear. I was just trying to help. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do.”

She even added the trembling lip. The little gasps. The tiny steps backward like I was some monster she’d never met. She had the whole act ready, like she practiced it every morning in the mirror.

I almost laughed.

Before I could get another word out, my brothers howed up. Roman came from the left, Damian from the right, moving in like two overgrown guard dogs that never learned manners.

Roman went first. “Brother, seriously, what the hell are you doing? Why are you screaming at her like that? She’s our girl. You know that. Our first love. You’re acting like someone snapped your spine in half.”

Damian snorted. “Yeah, man, chill. She’s literally shaking. You want her to pass out on the floor? You’re making it sound like she hacked the Pentagon. You’re blowing everything up again.”

The two of them stood there, arms crossed, ready to fight me for a woman who would sell any of us for a better offer. And for a second, just a second, my anger cracked. Because I saw what I looked like. Some idiot roaring in a room full of people who already thought he was losing it.

I rubbed my face and let out a breath. “Fine,” I muttered. “Fine. I got pissed because… whatever. I let my pride run my mouth again.” It tasted like swallowing nails. “She divorced me first. And the… the baby thing. It got in my head.”

I hated the words even as they left my tongue.

Before any of them could answer, my phone rang. The doctor’s name flashed. Everything in me went still.

I put it on speaker. “Talk.”

The doctor’s voice came out steady. “Mr. Moretti, we have the results. The baby Rosalie was carrying is yours. The DNA is a match. It’s not Roman. It’s not Damian. It’s you.”

Everything around me went dim.

Low sperm count. Near zero odds. Camilla’s empty womb because she's barren.

My legs gave out. I dropped to my knees like someone cut the strings. I didn’t even feel the floor under me.

In my head, all I saw was Rosalie’s face.

Those sad eyes. The ones she gave me before she walked away.

The ones I ignored.

The ones I deserved.

Rosalie'S POV

The living room looked smaller than I remembered. I sat between my parents, hands wrapped around a cup of tea I couldn’t drink. My throat felt too tight.

I asked the question I knew I wasn’t supposed to ask.

“Is Gustavo’s grand son still unmarried.”

My father froze mid-pour. The tea hit the cup too slow, too careful, then stopped. My mother straightened like someone pulled a string along her spine.

“Reeves,” he said. “Gustavo’s heir. You remember what happened to him?”

I nodded. I remembered the whispers. Car explosion. Body pulled out in pieces. Doctors saying he would never walk again. The photo of him in that wheelchair everyone tried not to stare at. But no one see his real face and picture.

My father spoke slowly. “He cannot walk. Maybe never again.”

“I know,” I answered. My voice came out small, the kind you hear from someone who learned silence the hard way.

He leaned back, eyes narrowed, the way men look when they want to choose their next words carefully but don’t know how.

“Rosalie, that man runs a quarter of the underworld from a wheelchair. If he wants someone dead, it happens before the sun comes up. If he wants a city to kneel, the city kneels.”

My mother whispered, voice shaking. “Why would you even think of him, baby.”

I gave her a small smile, but it felt wrong on my face. “Because men like him don’t pretend. And they don’t lie when they make a promise.”

My father shook his head. “Gustavo’s family is dangerous. Reeves is worse. He is quiet. He is cold. He is smarter than all of us put together. He is ruthless, Rosalie. And he has no interest in women. Not after the accident.”

“Good,” I said softly. “I’m not looking for interest. I’m looking for safety.”

My mother suddenly inhaled like she’d been stabbed. She covered her mouth.

“Rosalie,” she whispered. “Are you running from Alessandro?”

I didn’t answer.

And that silence told her everything.

My father stood up fast enough that the chair legs scraped. He went to the old desk by the window, the one with the stuck drawer he always complained about. He forced it open and pulled out a single black card.

Just one word on it. Reeves.

He held it out to me.

“This is Reeves’s personal line. Gustavo gave it to me years ago. He owes me a debt from the Santo Tomas deal.”

He hesitated.

“If you call him, you cannot take it back. He will come. He does not ignore debts.”

My fingers closed around the card. It felt heavy. Too heavy. Like it understood what I was asking for.

I swallowed hard. “What kind of man is he now?”

My father thought for a long time.

“He lost his ability to walk, but he did not lose his legs. And he did not lose his hunger. He only learned how to hide it better.”

I looked down at the card again.

For the first time in years, I felt like I was choosing something. Not being pushed. Not being dragged. Choosing.

“Good,” I whispered. “I need a man who can protect what is mine. I want to marry him.”

My parents both sucked in a breath like they were drowning. Before they could speak, my father’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and went pale.

Moretti. Their company.

He put the call on speaker.

The voice from the other end shouted about frozen accounts, canceled contracts, shipments blocked at the pier.

My mother grabbed the edge of the table and my father sat down like his knees gave up.

Alessandro had started.

Everything was already collapsing.

My mother’s lips trembled. “Rosalie… please… please call Reeves.”

My father nodded slowly, defeated. “If this is the only way, then do it. We will support you.”

He took his own phone and dialed a number he hadn’t touched in years. The old Gustavo’s answered on the first ring. The old man’s voice came through rough, powerful, amused.

“You finally used the card,” he said. “Good. Tell me what you need.”

My father cleared his throat. “Our daughter wants to marry Reeves Gustavo.”

The old man didn’t even pause. “Bring the bride. We will start the wedding tomorrow.”

…

The plane landed in a private strip that looked too quiet, too clean, like the world here didn’t bother with noise. Men in black were waiting before the door even opened. One of them took my arm, not rough but not gentle either, and rushed me into a black car with no plates.

I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t have enough strength left for that.

The ride was short. They brought me straight to an old stone courthouse that felt older than the country itself. No music. No flowers. No Reeves.

Only a table.

Only papers.

Only his signature was already waiting there like he’d signed it in the middle of something more important.

My hand shook so much the pen almost slipped when I wrote my name beside his. It felt strange. Quiet. Too final. My heart was beating so loud I thought they could hear it echo in the halls.

The priest spoke with a flat, tired voice, like he’d married strangers like me a thousand times. When he finished, Gustavo’s grandfather put his hand on my shoulder. Heavy. Solid. Not comforting, just… final.

“You are Gustavo now,” he said. “The whole world will know soon.”

I lowered my head. I didn’t trust my voice. I didn’t trust my own lungs. Relief, fear, exhaustion… it all mixed until I couldn’t tell which one hurt more.

...

Later, during dinner, the table was long and cold. The grandfather ate quietly, his men standing behind him like statues. I tried to swallow food but everything tasted the same.

“Will Reeves… meet me?”

He looked at me with a weight that made my stomach twist.

“He will, when he chooses.” He took a slow sip of soup. “Reeves is busy killing people in the basement right now. Traitors.”

My whole body went stiff. His tone wasn’t angry. It wasn’t proud. It was just… normal. Like it was nothing.

I stared at my plate. My hands went cold. My mind went blank.

I was Mrs. Reeves Gustavo now.