The wedding was only a week away, and the engagement had been nothing short of a spectacle. The drama, gossip, and expectations had stirred up quite the uproar. Now, here we were, in the backseat of a luxury car, driving to one of the most prestigious clubs in Italy for what was supposed to be a bachelor party. The entire club had been booked, ensuring that there would be no unwanted guests. It was going to be a night filled with strippers, booze, and everything men in our world typically indulge in before their "big day."

As we sped down the road, I glanced over at Raffaele. He was visibly tense, his jaw clenched, and his fingers tapping impatiently against the leather seat. The wedding was inching closer, and it was clear he wasn’t thrilled. His recent meeting with his fiancée hadn’t helped either. I couldn’t blame him; the woman had been ice cold, barely pretending to be civil. When she had rolled her eyes and ignored my casual question, I could see the rage simmering in Raffaele. In our world, a woman behaving like that could easily find herself in serious trouble. Fortunately for her, it was me she disrespected, and I had a little more patience than most men in our circles. Still, she was playing a dangerous game.

On the other hand, Christina, Andrea's sister, was the polar opposite. Composed, elegant, and far more welcoming, she exuded a calm innocence that intrigued me. There was something about her that stirred something deeper in me. Oh, the things I would do to her once she was mine. But I wasn’t a savage, at least not like my father had been. I grew up watching him brutalize our mother—violence, control, rape—it was a nightmare I swore I would never repeat. I would never be that kind of monster to any woman, let alone someone like Christina. After we marry and she's all mine, I’d respect her, slowly unravel her, and show her what it meant to be with me. No rush, no force—just a slow burn until she was ready.

My thoughts were interrupted when the car came to a halt outside the club. The building oozed sophistication from the outside, far from the seedy nightclubs we’d frequented in the past. As we stepped inside, I could see that it was just as luxurious as I’d expected. The lighting was dim, with neon glows bouncing off the polished floors, while half-naked women danced provocatively on platforms scattered across the room. They wore nothing more than bikinis, their bodies moving to the slow, seductive rhythm of the music. This kind of scene usually didn’t excite me much. I wasn’t the type to drool over women on display. I preferred to find one, take her to a private room, have my way with her, and leave without a trace. There was no place for love or attachment in my world, and I sincerely hoped Christina didn’t expect anything like that from me. If she did, she’d only end up disappointed.

Love wasn’t in my vocabulary, and I wasn’t about to start learning it now.

“Well, I really don’t understand you boys needing this, considering that in a week you’d be having your way with your wives,” Dad sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. “They’re really sexy, if what I heard was right. You’ll have a good time breaking them.” He gave an evil smirk that made my skin crawl. His casual cruelty, especially when talking about women, had always disturbed me. Even now, as a grown man, his words still filled me with a familiar disgust. Dad never saw women as anything more than possessions to be used and discarded, and he’d never bothered to hide his twisted view.

I was glad Raffaele and I had moved away from him long ago. I wouldn’t put it past the man to try something with our wives and then blame it on them. He had a way of twisting reality to fit his narrative, always painting himself as the victim when he was anything but. I shuddered at the thought of him being around Christina or Andrea too often. He’d treated our mother horribly, and I’d learned long ago what kind of monster he was behind closed doors.

Raffaele and I exchanged a quick, uneasy smile at Dad’s comment, not wanting to escalate the situation. Confronting him would only complicate things and drag us into another one of his toxic games. Instead, we slipped away into a private, enclosed area of the club, where the loud music and flashing lights were muffled. We weren’t here to indulge in the usual debauchery. Tonight wasn’t about that. It was more about drinking and having some time alone as brothers, something that had become increasingly rare as our lives grew more complicated.

Once we settled into a quiet corner with a couple of drinks in hand, I decided to break the silence. “So, how are you feeling about this wedding?” I asked, though I had a vague idea from the way he had been acting. Still, I wanted to hear it from him directly.

Raffaele took a long sip of his drink before answering, a bitter edge in his voice. “I’d be more pleased about this marriage if Andrea were more like Christina,” he admitted. “Honestly, if she shows up at my side looking like she did the first time we met, I’ll lose it. That was the most hideous outfit I’ve ever seen. And her makeup—completely overdone. If she can’t handle it herself, at least she should let her sister do it for her.”

I chuckled, not surprised by his harsh criticism. “I think she did it on purpose, though,” I said, trying to offer a different perspective. “To provoke you and her father. The look on her face when her father reacted? She seemed pretty satisfied.”

Raffaele shrugged, unconvinced. “Maybe. I’m not sure I care what her reasons were. It was a disaster either way.”

As we continued to talk, I remembered something from the engagement dinner. “Did you notice anything off between the brother and the two sisters?” I asked. “Christina seemed tense, and Andrea looked dangerously pissed.”

Raffaele nodded, taking another swig of his drink. “Yeah, I noticed Christina stiffen when Matteo got close. As for Andrea, I wouldn’t read too much into it. She always seems pissed. Maybe their brother was responsible for disciplining them when they were younger. That’s pretty common in some families.”

I frowned, not entirely convinced by his explanation. There had been something in Andrea’s eyes that struck me as more than just frustration over the arranged marriage. It was protective, almost fierce, as though she was shielding Christina from something deeper. “Maybe,” I muttered, though my gut told me there was more to the story.

I decided to keep my suspicions to myself for now. Until I had something solid, there was no point in stirring the pot. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something dark lurking beneath the surface, something that went beyond the usual family tensions.