Wed To The Mafia, Wedded To Revenge Chapter 03

Wed To The Mafia, Wedded To Revenge Chapter 03

I took a slow sip of wine and almost laughed aloud.

Stay away? That was impossible.

Every single thing I had done over the past decade was for him.

“Rest easy. I won’t drag the Moreau Group into this, and you need not interfere with De Santis affairs,” I said flatly.

Cassian froze, his cold dark eyes darkening further.

He clearly had not expected me to speak to him so bluntly, after years of me complying with his every wish.

I did not wait for his reply and walked away.

I touched up my lipstick in the restroom stalls when I heard people talking about me.

“I can’t believe Damian showed up tonight.”

“What surprises me more is Cassian. Do you think he came here for Seraphina?”

“Absolutely not!” The voice dripped with disdain.

“If the Moreaus didn’t owe the De Santis family a life favor, Seraphina would never have married into their household. She’s only used the Moreau name to expand De Santis all these years.”

“Just a nobody who grew up in a foster home. Who does she think she is?”

The voice rose sharply.

I leaned against the mirror with my arms crossed, a faint smirk playing on my lips.

The two women stepped out of the stalls and paled the second they saw me.

I took a step forward, my tone cool.

“Before you speak ill of me again, you’d better ask your families if they dare to cross me.”

Their faces drained of all color.

I stepped outside the restroom and chuckled softly.

This was the true power of influence.

Matteo. If only I’d had this power years ago, you would still be here.

I exchanged polite goodbyes with the Bianchi family members and prepared to leave. I had no desire to stay any longer, not after seeing everyone I wanted to avoid.

Cassian’s luxury car pulled to a stop directly in front of me.

Leone Altieri stepped out and opened the passenger door.

Cassian sat inside in a tailored black suit, his expression cold as he looked at me.

“Get in.”

I paused in my tracks.

“I need to talk to you,” he repeated with a frown.

I waved my driver and Mira ahead, telling them to head back first, then climbed into the car.

Mira suddenly hurried over and pressed a small paper bag into my hands.

“Ms. De Santis, I brought you some candy. You haven’t eaten all night. Have a few, so you don’t faint again.”

A heavy silence filled the car.

Cassian’s voice turned gruff.

“You’ve been sick?”

I set the bag of candy aside casually.

“Just low blood sugar. Tell me what you wanted to say.”

Cassian fell quiet for a moment and told the driver to change routes to a restaurant.

I silently appreciated that he had listened to Mira’s concern.

Cassian ordered a mango mousse for me when our meals arrived.

I stared at the dessert in surprise.

Cassian leaned back against his seat and spoke.

“There are rumors that Moreau Group plans to bid on the port reconstruction project.”

“That was false information I spread myself,” I admitted plainly.

Cassian rubbed his forehead, clearly disapproving.

“You’re targeting the Volkov family. Damian is far craftier than you think. He won’t fall for this easily.”

“He will believe every word,” I replied.

I already had proof of the spy he had planted deep inside the De Santis Group. Once that spy passed along the fake bidding documents, Damian would lose his composure entirely.

Cassian had always been his biggest rival.

“The De Santis family has grown rapidly in recent years. Taking such huge risks to bring down Volkov is unnecessary.”

“This is never about the De Santis family,” I said.

I lifted my head and met his eyes directly.

Cassian clenched his fists, his face returning to its usual impassive state.

“If this is for another reason, then it is even more pointless.”

He assumed I was acting to help him avenge his parents, planning to finish what he intended to do within five years.

He could not have been more wrong.

No more words were exchanged between us, and the atmosphere turned icy.

Cassian rarely discussed business over dinner.

We prepared to leave soon after. He glanced at the untouched mango mousse, his expression turning colder.

“You don’t like it?”

I glanced down at the dessert and sighed quietly.

“Cassian, we’ve been married for five years. You still don’t know I’m allergic to mangoes.”