Entangled with the Mafia Don novel Chapter 33

Ezra's POV:

The heavy, ornate door to Lorenzo’s private study clicked shut behind Andrei Sokolov and his chillingly composed daughter, leaving a vacuum filled only with the oppressive weight of the just-concluded transaction. The air, still carrying the faint, cloying scent of Sokolov’s expensive cologne, felt tainted, polluted by his presence in our sanctuary. My father, Lorenzo, stood by the massive mahogany desk, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge, his usual booming authority subdued, replaced by a strained, almost defeated air.

Tatiana Sokolova. The image of her remained etched in my mind – a study in glacial beauty and icy entitlement. The way her piercing blue eyes had swept over our opulent surroundings with such detached indifference, as if judging its worth. Her infrequent pronouncements to her father, each word precise and laced with an unspoken command, had painted a clear picture of a woman accustomed to wielding power, even at her young age. And that undercurrent of raw sensuality, carefully masked beneath layers of cold composure, had been an unwelcome, unsettling distraction.

"Papa," I began, my voice low and dangerous, the simmering rage that had been building since Andrea’s news finally threatening to breach the surface. "You can't be serious. You just sat there… you just agreed to hand me over to that… that animal, and his ice princess daughter?"

Lorenzo turned slowly, his face etched with a weariness that seemed to have deepened tenfold in the past hour. He ran a hand across his forehead, a rare display of exhaustion. "Ezra, you heard the terms. It was a necessary negotiation. A strategic alliance forged in the face of imminent bloodshed."

"Alliance?" I scoffed, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "It's a cage, Papa! You're sentencing me to a life with a woman who looks at me like I'm a particularly unpleasant stain on her expensive rug!"

"Her personal feelings are irrelevant, Ezra," Lorenzo said, his voice strained but firm. "Just as yours must be. This isn't about affection; it's about survival. It's about preventing a war that would cripple us, that would paint these streets red with the blood of our men."

Andrea, who had remained standing awkwardly near the door, finally found his voice, his tone laced with disbelief. "But… a marriage, Don Lorenzo? Isn't there… another way? We could…"

Lorenzo cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Silence, Andrea. You don't understand the stakes here. The Morettis were explicit. They need a concrete sign of stability, a guarantee that this conflict ends now. A marriage… a blood tie… is the strongest guarantee they could ask for."

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