The Russo estate sat perched on the outskirts of Palermo, Sicily, a sprawling villa surrounded by high stone walls and lush vineyards. It was a world away from the glittering parties of New York, but it was here, in the heart of the Russo empire, that Matteo Russo orchestrated his every move. The villa's grand study was his command center, a room steeped in old-world opulence with dark mahogany furniture, shelves of leather-bound books, and a large oak desk that bore the weight of countless secrets.
Matteo sat at the desk now, a glass of deep red wine in one hand and a dossier in the other. The photograph of Andrew and Sophia, taken at the engagement announcement, stared back at him. His lips curled into a faint smile, but there was no warmth in it. To Matteo, this engagement wasn't about love—it was about opportunity.
"She's done well," he muttered, setting the dossier aside. "Better than I expected."
Across from him, Dante Russo leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. Unlike his father, Dante lacked the polish of a seasoned manipulator. Where Matteo's power lay in his cunning, Dante's strength was more physical, more primal. At thirty-two, he had earned his place as Matteo's enforcer, a role he carried out with ruthless efficiency. But tonight, his frustration simmered just beneath the surface.
"Do you really think she can pull this off?" Dante asked, his tone edged with skepticism. "Sophia's soft. She doesn't have the stomach for what you're asking her to do."
Matteo's smile faded as he fixed his son with a cold stare. "Your sister is a Russo. She'll do what needs to be done."
Dante scoffed, leaning forward. "And what if she doesn't? What if she actually believes this fantasy she's living with the golden boy?"
Matteo took a slow sip of his wine before replying. "Then we remind her of what's at stake. Sophia may think she's in love, but love is fleeting. Family is eternal. She won't betray us."
Dante shook his head, his jaw tightening. "She's not like us, Father. She never was."
Matteo's expression hardened. "That's precisely why she's perfect for this. The Remingtons will trust her because she doesn't fit their image of a threat. By the time they realize their mistake, it will be too late."
Dante remained silent, his frustration evident. He had always been the loyal soldier, the one who carried out Matteo's orders without question. But this plan—sending Sophia to marry into the Remington family—felt reckless. It relied too heavily on trust, something Dante had long since abandoned.
"What's the endgame here?" Dante asked finally. "What are you really after?"
Matteo's eyes glinted with something dark and unspoken. "The Remingtons humiliated me years ago. Evelyn thought she could cast me aside without consequence. This isn't just about power, Dante. It's about retribution."
As the meeting ended, Dante walked through the villa's dimly lit corridors, his mind racing. He didn't doubt his father's resolve—Matteo had built an empire on calculated risks and ruthless ambition. But this plan felt personal in a way that made Dante uneasy. Personal grudges had a way of clouding judgment, and in their world, missteps were costly.
He paused outside Sophia's old bedroom, now unused but still impeccably maintained. The sight of it stirred a mix of emotions—resentment, protectiveness, and a faint twinge of guilt. Sophia had always been different, drawn to the light in a way the rest of them weren't. And now she was trapped, just as much a pawn in Matteo's game as anyone else.
Back in New York, Sophia sat in the quiet of the Remington estate's library, her thoughts weighed down by the dual lives she was living. The engagement ring on her finger felt heavier than it should, a constant reminder of the choices she had made—and the ones that had been made for her.
Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced at the screen: a message from Matteo. "Call me. Now."
Sophia's stomach twisted as she stepped out onto the balcony for privacy. She dialed the number, her hand trembling slightly as she pressed the phone to her ear.
"Papa," she said softly.
Matteo's voice was calm, almost casual. "I hear congratulations are in order."
Sophia swallowed hard. "Yes. Andrew proposed last night."
"And you accepted, of course."
"Yes," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Good," Matteo said. "You're doing well, Sophia. But the real work begins now."
Sophia's grip tightened on the phone. "What do you want me to do?"
"For now, nothing too complicated," Matteo said. "Earn their trust. Get close to Evelyn—she's the key to understanding the Remingtons' weaknesses. And keep an eye on Andrew's business dealings. I want to know everything."
Sophia hesitated, her heart pounding. "And if I don't?"
Matteo's tone darkened. "You know what's at stake. Don't make me remind you."
The line went dead, leaving Sophia standing alone on the balcony, the city lights stretching out before her. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but the weight of Matteo's expectations was suffocating. She loved Andrew, but her loyalty to her father and the fear of his wrath loomed over her like a storm cloud.
In the days that followed, Sophia threw herself into her role as Andrew's fiancée. She accompanied him to business meetings, charity events, and intimate family dinners, all the while carefully observing the dynamics of the Remington family. Evelyn's skepticism was palpable, but Sophia's charm and intelligence slowly began to win her over—or so it seemed.
Behind the scenes, Sophia gathered fragments of information, subtly feeding Matteo the details he demanded. It was a dangerous game, one that required constant vigilance and an unshakable façade. But as the days turned into weeks, the lines between her loyalty to the Russos and her love for Andrew began to blur.
Matteo watched from afar, his confidence in Sophia growing with each passing day. He knew the Remingtons were not easily fooled, but he also knew that their greatest strength—their belief in integrity—was also their greatest weakness. They would never suspect that the woman Andrew loved was the one holding the dagger aimed at their hearts.
But Matteo also knew the risks. Love had a way of complicating even the most carefully laid plans. And as he sat in the quiet of his study, staring at the photo of Sophia and Andrew, he couldn't help but wonder: Would she remain loyal to the family, or would she let love cloud her judgment?
The game had begun, and Matteo intended to win. No matter the cost.