Wed To The Mafia, Wedded To Revenge Chapter 02

Wed To The Mafia, Wedded To Revenge Chapter 02

I shut my eyes on the drive back to the company, lost in thoughts of my paintings.

A sudden phone call cut through my quiet thoughts.

I frowned at the caller ID and answered.

“I’m back,” Cassian’s cold voice came through the line.

I could tell just from his tone that he sat in a car, his face completely devoid of emotion as he held the phone.

“Grandfather wants us over for dinner tonight.”

“I can’t make it. I have plans,” I replied evenly.

Silence stretched across the line for a moment, then the call ended.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and tossed my phone aside.

I was not trying to pick a fight with Cassian on purpose.

Tonight was Eleonora Bianchi’s birthday gala.

The late Mr. Bianchi had been one of the most respected master painters in the country.

He had mentored me back when I still painted for a living, before I switched to finance.

I had been a lonely teen with a small gift for art in those days.

Eleonora had always been incredibly kind to me.

If not for her, my birth parents would never have found me.

A stiff family dinner with Cassian held no appeal compared to celebrating Eleonora’s special day.

I handed over my gifts to the elderly woman—a rare antique artifact I had recently acquired, alongside an old painting I had created myself.

Eleonora ran her fingers gently over the canvas, her eyes filled with delight.

She still regretted that I had given up painting.

“Seraphina, you were a prodigy. One of your works sold for seven figures when you were just fourteen.”

“My late husband spoke of your art until his final days…”

I lowered my gaze and pressed my lips together softly.

“There is no changing paths now. You joined the De Santis family and will one day run its business empire. Finance is not a poor choice.” Eleonora sighed.

“It’s just a shame about that Moreau boy…”

She trailed off and patted my hand gently.

I offered her a warm smile.

A murmur rippled through the crowd nearby.

A man walked over and stopped right beside me.

“Happy birthday, Mrs. Bianchi.”

My fingers tightened abruptly. I would never forget that voice.

The devil himself stood before me.

“Ms. De Santis.” Damian Volkov tilted his glass and wore a faint smirk as he spoke to me.

I returned a polite smile. “Mr. Volkov. I heard you were unwell recently. It seems you have fully recovered.”

Damian shook his head with a laugh.

“I have to get out and about while I can. Staying cooped up indoors would be dreadfully boring.”

His eyes swept across the room.

“I was hoping to catch up with Mr. Moreau tonight. Is he not here?”

Whispers erupted all around us.

Then a warm palm landed firmly on my waist.

“Why not join me for a drink later, Mr. Volkov?” Cassian spoke from beside me.

Every pair of eyes in the room locked onto our group in an instant.

Everyone knew the history between New York’s two most powerful Mafia families, Moreau and Volkov.

Damian’s clan had orchestrated the car crash that killed Cassian’s parents when Cassian was only sixteen.

Yet the Moreau family had not crumbled. Under Cassian’s leadership, it grew stronger than ever.

The Volkov family faced a different fate. Eleven years prior, Damian had fallen seriously ill and required an organ transplant.

The Volkovs poured endless resources into saving him, but his health remained fragile ever after.

His family lost its former power and slowly declined.

I kept a practiced smile on my face, standing shoulder to shoulder with Cassian as we exchanged sharp words with Damian.

Damian soon ran out of retorts.

The smile faded completely from his face as he turned to leave.

I watched his retreating figure calmly, until a sharp pain flared at my waist.

I turned my head and met Cassian’s stern gaze.

“Stay away from Damian,” he frowned.