The meeting was set in an opulent villa deep in the Italian countryside, a neutral territory chosen to ensure no single family had the upper hand. The grandeur of the estate, with its frescoed ceilings and marble columns, was a stark contrast to the tension that hummed in the air. This was no mere gathering—it was a summit of power brokers in the mafia world, led by the formidable Valentin Marconi.Klarisse adjusted the cuff of her cream-colored blazer, her expression composed but her mind racing. She and Alexander stood side by side at the entrance of the villa, their parents, Bronson Robinson and Alan Fowls, walking a few paces ahead. Alexander, dressed in a tailored black suit, glanced at her, sensing her unease.“You ready for this?” he asked in a low voice.“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Klarisse replied, her voice steady despite the nerves coiling in her stomach. She added, with a faint smirk, “Try not to embarrass us.”Alexander chuckled dryly. “Funny, I was going to tell you the
The words hung in the air, and Klarisse felt a pang in her chest. She had no right to feel disappointed—this was what they had agreed upon. Their marriage was a facade, a duty to their families, nothing more. Alexander had been honest about his love for Maxine, and she had told herself she respected that. Still, the question stung in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Klarisse’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on her lap, but she kept her expression composed. She turned to him with a calm smile. "You don't have to ask me for permission, Alexander," she said evenly. "We’ve already agreed to keep personal matters separate." Alexander studied her face, searching for any trace of resentment or judgment, but there was none. Klarisse had become adept at hiding her feelings, a skill honed over years of navigating her family’s secrets and expectations. "Thanks," he said softly, his voice tinged with relief. "I just didn’t want you to think I was being... disrespectful." Klarisse shook her
Klarisse decided to go to her cafe and talk to her only friend and business associate. The cafe was Klarisse’s sanctuary, her one place of freedom from the heavy chains of her family name.Allie, her business associate and closest confidante, stood behind the counter, adjusting the display of éclairs. She was a bright and bubbly presence, with curly auburn hair and an easy smile that had won over even the grumpiest of customers. When Klarisse walked in, Allie immediately noticed the tension in her friend’s posture.“Klarisse!” Allie called out, waving her over. “You look like you’ve had a week, and it’s only... what? Day two of being Mrs. Robinson?”Klarisse managed a small smile as she approached the counter. “Don’t remind me.”Allie handed her a cappuccino without asking. “Come on, spill. What’s going on?”Klarisse took the cup and headed to their usual table in the corner. Allie followed, plopping down across from her.“I don’t know where to start,” Klarisse admitted, staring into
The cafe was unusually quiet that morning. Klarisse sat by the large bay window, staring at the untouched latte in front of her. The early sunlight spilled through the glass, casting golden hues across the room, but the warmth did nothing to soothe the cold unease in her chest. Something felt off. Her phone buzzed on the table, breaking the silence. She glanced at the screen: **Alexander.** For a moment, she hesitated. Their relationship had become a strange dance of guarded conversations and half-kept boundaries, but lately, Klarisse had found herself looking forward to his calls, even if she would never admit it. “Hello?” she answered, trying to keep her voice steady. “Klarisse.” His tone was different—serious, almost strained. She sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?” “I... I need to leave for a while,” Alexander said, his words heavy with an unspoken weight. “What do you mean ‘leave’?” Klarisse’s heart began to race. “There’s a situation I have to handle. Something that can’t
A week had crawled by since Alexander’s departure, and the silence he left behind was deafening. Klarisse buried herself in her cafe work, going over inventory and training new staff, trying to keep her mind occupied. But no matter how busy she kept herself, the absence of any news from Alexander loomed over her like a dark cloud. She told herself it wasn’t her place to wonder or worry. They’d agreed from the start—no emotional attachment, no prying into personal lives. And yet, the void of communication gnawed at her resolve. Her parents, Alan and Kareen, were relentless. “Klarisse,” Kareen’s sharp voice crackled over the phone one morning. “We haven’t seen Alexander in over a week. Where is he?” “I’m not sure, Mom,” Klarisse said, keeping her tone even though the tight grip on her pen betrayed her growing frustration. “You’re his wife now,” Kareen continued, as though Klarisse hadn’t spoken. “It’s your responsibility to know these things. What will the Robinsons think if they f
It was a quiet Wednesday morning at the café, the kind of calm Klarisse usually appreciated. The early sunlight streamed through the large glass windows, casting a golden glow over the neatly arranged tables and chairs. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of pastries warming in the oven, creating a cozy atmosphere. Klarisse had just finished arranging the day’s special menu when the bell over the door jingled softly. She looked up, ready to greet the new customer with her usual polite smile. But the words froze in her throat. Standing just inside the door was a woman she immediately recognized—Maxine. Klarisse’s mind raced. She remembered Maxine vividly, the shy and fidgety woman who had once visited her café. The same woman Alexander had been looking for when he’d stumbled in weeks ago. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Maxine hesitated, her fingers nervously clutching the strap of her handbag. Her eyes darted around the café, as though contemplating whe
Klarisse stared at her phone, Alexander’s name glowing on the screen. For a moment, she hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t expected him to respond so quickly—after a week of silence, his sudden call felt almost surreal. Taking a deep breath, she swiped to answer. “Alex,” she said evenly, though her voice betrayed a hint of relief. “Klarisse,” Alexander replied, his tone subdued but steady. “I need you to come and pick me up.” Klarisse frowned slightly, the frustration she’d tried to suppress bubbling to the surface. “A week of nothing, Alex. No calls, no messages. Your family is losing their minds, and you’re hiding away?” “I know,” he said softly, his voice almost apologetic. “I needed time. But I’m ready to come back now. Can you meet me?” “Where are you?” she asked, her frustration tempered by curiosity. “At the beach house,” he answered. “The one my family owns. It’s far from the city... isolated. No one knows I’m here.” Klarisse’s heart sank as she rea
Klarisse leaned against the car, arms crossed, staring at Alexander as he stood barefoot in the sand, the wind tousling his hair. The beach stretched endlessly in both directions, its tranquility at odds with her mounting anxiety. "You can't be serious," she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. "You want to stay here for another day? Do you realize how much chaos your disappearance has already caused? And now you want me to vanish along with you?" Alexander turned to her; his hands shoved into the pockets of his linen pants. "Just one day, Klarisse. One day to breathe, away from everything and everyone. We’ll go back tomorrow. I promise." Klarisse opened her mouth to argue but stopped when she caught the exhaustion in his eyes. His usual confidence seemed chipped away, replaced by a vulnerability she wasn’t used to seeing. "Alex..." she began, her tone softening. "Please," he interrupted; his voice low. "I just... I need this. I need a moment where I’m not 'Alexander Robinso
The canals of Venice were quieter in the winter. Mists clung to the narrow alleyways like old secrets, and the silence that hung over the lagoon seemed sacred—untouched by the chaos that once roared through these ancient stone paths.It was here, on the edge of the lesser-known district of San Pietro di Castello, where **Valentin Marconi** had chosen to disappear. Not out of shame, but perhaps out of exhaustion. Grief had a way of silencing even the proudest names.The motorboat came quietly through the fog, its engine barely a whisper against the lapping water. Inside sat **Bronson Robinson** and **Alan Fowl**, their expressions sober as they approached the villa surrounded by overgrown cypress trees and guarded only by time and distance. No guards. No entourage. Just an unspoken understanding between old men who had outlived too much.Valentin was waiting for them. He stood on the balcony overlooking the canal, a cane in one hand, a glass of amaro in the other. His silver hair was t
The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted out onto the cobbled street, mingling with the warm mid-morning sun. The soft hum of chatter, the clinking of cups, and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air, a soothing balm after months of chaos and pain. The name—“Clara & Co.”—was painted above the counter in Allie’s own handwriting. A tribute to Klarisse, but also a quiet declaration of independence, had finally opened its doors for a quiet soft launch.It wasn’t a grand affair. There were no streamers, no major announcements. But for everyone who walked through those glass-paned doors, it was clear something special had taken root.Klarisse stood behind the counter, helping the barista learn the flow of orders. Her hands were deft, her movements calm—every motion reminding her of the early days when she and Allie used to dream of a place like this over late-night shifts and greasy diner food. Now, they were here. Together. Building something beautiful.Allie emerged from the bac
The late afternoon sun bathed the quiet Venice street in gold, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. The building Allie had chosen wasn’t much yet—just a stone façade with boarded windows and ivy curling stubbornly around the frame. But where others might see a forgotten corner of the city, she saw potential.She sat across the street on a bench, sketchpad resting on her lap, pencil dancing lightly as she worked on the outlines of what the place could become. Her lips were slightly pursed in concentration, hair pulled into a messy knot, a coffee beside her now going cold. In her mind, the empty space had already transformed—soft pastels, arched windows, a hand-painted sign that read **“Clara & Co.”**Named not after herself, but as a nod to **Klarisse**—the friend who had once handed her an apron and said, “Just try. You’ll find you love it.”This café would be her own branch of Klarisse’s beloved shop, and Allie already imagined the menu, the soft clinking of teacups, the sme
The countryside rolled out before them in soft waves of green and gold, olive trees scattered like gentle sentinels across the hills. The villa stood like a warm promise—sunlit walls, terracotta roof tiles, and pale curtains fluttering at the open windows. Not opulent. Not defensive. Just... home.Klarisse stepped out of the car, her hand loosely gripping her daughter’s while Alexander carried their son in his arms, the toddler already pointing excitedly at the garden.“Mommy! Look, trees!” the boy exclaimed.Klarisse smiled, brushing back her daughter’s wind-blown curls as she murmured, “Yes, baby. So many trees.”They crossed the small stone path leading to the wide front steps. The air was fresh, the kind of quiet that invited stillness instead of pressing it upon you.Alex unlocked the door and gestured for them to go in first. “This is it,” he said simply.Inside, the villa was open and full of light. Large windows let the sunlight stream into a spacious living room that smelled
It started with a quiet morning.The twins were still asleep, tangled up in a nest of blankets and stuffed animals in the nursery suite. Klarisse had stepped out early for a walk with Kareen, leaving the estate unusually still. And in that silence, Alexander Robinson stood in the study with a blueprint spread across the desk.It was a property. A villa just on the edge of Venice—away from the noise and legacy of the Robinson estate, but close enough to feel connected to home.It wasn’t grand. Not by his family’s standards. But it was bright, surrounded by olive trees, with tall windows and a garden that would be perfect for growing wildflowers and a swing set for the twins.He traced the lines of the house with his finger, imagining it filled with laughter and warmth. A place not defined by old wounds, power, or politics—but by love. A place for healing. For them.For Klarisse.For the first time in weeks, he felt nervous in a way that had nothing to do with danger or strategy. This w
The days that followed the wedding seemed to drift by like the slow current of the Venetian canals. With Luca’s downfall firmly in the past, the families were finally beginning to breathe—really breathe—for the first time in months. There were no whispers of war, no looming threats. Just silence. Just peace.It was a strange sensation.And in that silence, each of them began to reckon with the scars they carried—some visible, most not.---KlarisseThe garden behind the Robinson estate had become Klarisse’s refuge.The twins were playing in the distance, their laughter echoing like music through the hedges. She sat beneath the shade of a lemon tree, a book open in her lap but unread. Her thoughts wandered far from the printed words.She still dreamt of that room sometimes—the one Luca left her in. The cold floor. The flickering monitor. Alex's face as he chose someone else.But those dreams didn’t hold the same power they used to. Not since the wedding.Allie had said something that s
The sun had begun to dip behind the Venetian skyline, casting a golden hue over the waters that shimmered in quiet celebration. The courtyard outside the Robinson estate had been transformed into something out of a dream—soft lights strung across olive trees, long tables draped with ivory linen, and floral centerpieces that echoed the chapel’s quiet elegance.It was a wedding unlike any other, not because of grandeur, but because of the people who filled the space—warriors who had survived storms, families that had known loss and loyalty, love that had been forged through fire. Now, they all gathered to celebrate something rare and sacred: peace.Laughter mingled with the gentle notes of live jazz that played from the corner of the garden, where a small band swayed to their own rhythm. Glasses clinked. Plates were passed around. Children danced between chairs, their giggles like chimes in the evening air.At the center of it all sat Artemis and Allie—finally able to breathe.Allie, st
The chapel stood as a picture of timeless elegance—high arched ceilings adorned with soft ivory flowers, pews lined with garlands of eucalyptus and roses, and candlelight casting a golden glow that made everything feel touched by magic. There was a hush in the air, the kind of reverent stillness that wrapped around everyone as they took their seats, waiting for something sacred to begin.Artemis Valen stood at the front, his hands clasped behind his back, every inch of him polished and regal in his tailored charcoal suit. But even as the strong face of a mafia heir, his eyes betrayed him. They searched the entrance again and again, restless, expectant. The man who commanded operations with a single nod now seemed like he was barely holding it together.Alexander stood beside him, proud and composed in his role as best man. His hand occasionally patted Artemis’s shoulder, grounding him. He leaned in, speaking low enough for only his brother to hear.“You’re not going to faint, are you?
The morning sunlight filtered through the lace-curtained windows of the Robinson estate’s bridal suite, painting delicate patterns on the floor. The house was filled with movement—florists arranging centerpieces, chefs preparing hors d’oeuvres, staff bustling about in well-rehearsed harmony. But inside the suite, there was a hush, as if the whole world had paused to take a breath.Allie stood before the mirror, wrapped in a silky white robe, her hair half-curled, makeup just beginning. Her dress hung nearby—sleek, elegant, with a train that whispered stories of power and grace.Klarisse knelt at Allie’s feet, gently sliding on the wedding shoes—blush-colored satin heels with tiny crystals stitched along the sides. She looked up at her best friend, smiling faintly.“Still fits,” Klarisse teased lightly, adjusting the buckle.Allie laughed softly. “You doubted me?”“I’ve seen how much cake you’ve stress-eaten this past week.”“I will *not* be shamed on my wedding day,” Allie replied wit