3

Back at the Marquez estate's cabin, the brothers' argument simmered into uneasy quiet.

"Sometimes I wonder what grandfather was thinking, leaving all this to him."

Master Andre Marquez's voice cut sharply through the study, anger lacing every word.

Master Gabriel's presence alone silenced them further. The room felt smaller, tighter, more suffocating under the weight of his aura.

Marriages, Andre thought bitterly, had become little more than meaningless ceremonies in modern times. To him, they were a joke—an outdated ritual in a world where loyalty, power, and bloodlines dictated the only truths.

"How do I know? I'm just a fucking attorney brother!" Master Dante Marquez snapped back, his voice rising and catching Brother off guard for a brief moment. Frustration laced every syllable.

Brother exhaled sharply in defeat. With a sudden jerk of irritation, he kicked the chair in front of him to the side and let his body slump into it lazily. As much as he hated to admit it, all three of them—no matter their power, wealth, or reputation—were powerless in front of their grandfather. The man was a living legend, a titan in the world of mafia politics, and none dared challenge him. Not one.

"I literally peed my pants sitting in front of him," Dante admitted, a hint of helplessness in his tone.

Gabriel Marquez, the throne holder of their empire, sat in perfect silence, a cup of aged whiskey in hand. The liquid swirled in the glass as his dark, oceanic eyes watched his brothers with an almost predatory calm. The topic of marriage seemed to mean nothing to him—but only to the outside observer. Deep down, Gabriel's mind was a storm, burning with a restrained fury that his calm exterior barely contained.

"Thank God I refused to be part of this shit," Brother muttered, his eyes narrowing. "Otherwise, grandfather would have dragged me into this too."

Dante gave a quiet nod, agreeing without a word. Brother was the eldest, the first heir by blood, but unlike Gabriel, he had wisely chosen to step back when the throne was within reach. Politics, family hierarchy, the delicate power plays of their mafia—Brother had no desire to rule. He preferred the distance, the safety of influence without the suffocating weight of command.

Thus, the empire fell to Gabriel, the underboss, the second heir, the man both feared and revered across Europe. And Dante, adopted by the Marquez patriarch, remained the legal backbone of their operations, handling contracts, alliances, and agreements, yet having no claim to the throne. Though bloodless in relation, he was bound by loyalty, honor, and the Marquez name.

Together, the three of them had forged one of the most formidable alliances in the West. The Marquez empire alone held sway over vast territories in Europe and America, but their influence was amplified through strategic partnerships—the Arnolds in America, the Silva family in southern Europe. Marriages, alliances, and carefully constructed networks had always been tools of survival and supremacy.

The Silva family, half Italian and half Spanish, commanded their own territories but owed their rise to shrewd alliances. The first daughter, Madam Grace, married into the Arnold family, securing the Silva's influence in America. The second daughter, Miss Elena Silva, was now betrothed to Gabriel. Through this union, the Silva name would gain renewed prestige, while Gabriel's position as the throne holder of Marquez's empire would be further solidified.

Brother leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose, a frown etching itself deeper. "All of this because of a promise made before she wasn't even born."

Dante chimed in, his voice steady, matter-of-fact. "He gave his word to the Silva family. Before their child was born correct, he promised the marriage. Both Gabriel and Miss Silva were betrothed when she was still in her mother's womb."

Gabriel's eyes darkened, an uncharacteristic flicker of irritation passing through them. He had expected the marriage to be a formality, a necessity, but hearing the details laid out reminded him of just how deep the chains of family loyalty and legacy could cut.

"That's what's insane," Brother said, running his fingers through his hair. "After all these years of hide-and-seek, the Silva family is finally ready to present their daughter. And suddenly... grandfather declares the marriage. Out of nowhere. Completely unexpected. That's... insane."

Gabriel took the remaining whiskey in his glass in one deliberate gulp, swallowing its bitterness without flinching. He listened to his brothers' conversation, their words bouncing off the walls of the study, yet his mind remained focused on a single truth: he hated that he was being forced into this marriage. Not for himself, but for the empire, for the throne, and ultimately, for the patriarch whose word was law.

"First grandfather chased after me for the throne," Gabriel thought bitterly, "and now he wants me married. Tomorrow, it will be an heir... and the demands never end."

This was not a normal marriage. This was a binding of promises made decades ago, a political contract disguised as a romantic union. Gabriel's mind, for all its strategic genius, found it absurd to consider that a child's betrothal could dictate the path of men and women decades later. Seven-year-old Gabriel, guided by the commands of a patriarch and the whispers of a fortune, had been betrothed to a woman still in her mother's womb. Now, that child had grown into a man, powerful, feared, and respected—and yet his life was once again dictated by that early promise.

"What is her name again?" Gabriel finally asked, his voice low but demanding. His dark eyes fixed on Dante, the only one who could answer with certainty.

"Miss Elena Silva," Dante replied. "Daughter of the Silva family. She is... everything one would expect from their lineage. Beautiful, intelligent, disciplined. She has been raised to command attention, to represent her family's legacy... and now, she will become yours."

Gabriel's jaw tightened. Everything Dante said was meant to highlight the advantages of the union, but Gabriel heard only the chains it represented. He would rule an empire, yes—but for the sake of honor and alliance, he was being forced to intertwine his life with a woman he had never met.

Brother leaned forward, frustration lining his features. "It's not just about appearances or alliances. Grandfather doesn't joke. You need to understand the implications. The Silva family... they've been playing the long game. And now... the time has come."

Gabriel's hands flexed around the edges of his chair, his mind calculating, planning, yet caged by loyalty. "I understand," he said finally. His voice was calm, almost detached—but beneath it, a storm raged. "I will do what must be done. I always have."

Dante nodded, accepting the statement as fact. He had no desire to argue with the throne holder. Gabriel Marquez had always been unstoppable once his mind was set, and even the patriarch of the family had learned long ago not to force him unnecessarily.

Brother shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Sometimes I envy the simplicity of your position, Gabriel... and sometimes I fear the weight you bear."

Gabriel's gaze hardened. "The weight of the throne is mine to bear. And it always will be. Silva's aren't a threat to me... no one is"

A tense silence settled over the room. The legacy of the Marquez family, the ancient power, the alliances, and the promises of their ancestors—all of it pressed down on Gabriel. And looming over it all was Miss Elena Silva, the unknown variable, the woman he would soon call bride... a life dictated decades before either of them could understand the depth of its consequences.

Dante let out a low whistle. "Well, all of that still doesn't justifies Grandfather's obsession with Silva's. A marriage between the Silvas and the Marquez empire would make us untouchable he says. Politics and power, bound in one neat little package, let's just believe that for now."

Andre shook his head in disbelief. "Untouchable? Or trapped in an even bigger cage?"

Gabriel did not answer. His thoughts were elsewhere, drifting to the faceless girl whose name was now tethered to his.

Elena Silva.

A stranger. An ally. A future chain—or perhaps, a key.

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