133

133
The hall thundered with a booming chorus of voices, echoing Marcello’s name until the very walls seemed to hum with reverence. Yet, beneath the sea of devotion, Marcello’s sharp gaze picked out the few disgruntled werewolves whose eyes burned with quiet discontent. He wasn’t alone in his scrutiny Mattia, Alarico, and Leone all scanned the crowd as though searching for hidden daggers behind the smiles.

“What does adwopted mean?” Cesario’s small voice broke the tension, his head tilting in innocent curiosity.

Marcello’s expression softened instantly. “It means from today, you’re my son.”

The boy’s gray-speckled eyes went wide. “Swon?” he whispered, darting a glance at Azzurra, whose eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

“If you want it, Rio,” Marcello said, voice steady, “then you’re mine.”

Cesario’s lip trembled before he whispered, “I want to,” and flung his little arms around Marcello’s neck. Marcello held him close, while Azzurra dabbed quickly at the corners of her eyes, trying to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

“Thwank you, Mwarcello,” Cesario murmured.

“You can call me Mama too,” Azzurra added hopefully, her voice thick with emotion.

But Cesario shook his head with certainty. “I like you as my Zuzu.”

Her heart squeezed, but she forced a smile. “Whatever you like,” she whispered back, kissing the top of his head as he snuggled into her arms.

Marcello signaled for the festivities to begin. Music swelled softly through the hall, goblets of wine were passed, and the atmosphere shifted from tense proclamation to celebration.

Silvano approached, resting a firm hand on Marcello’s shoulder. “Your mother would be proud,” he said warmly. “It was her dying wish that humans be free.” Marcello inclined his head in acknowledgment, though the compliment seemed to weigh heavy on him.

Turning to Azzurra, Silvano’s tone grew regretful. “I owe you an apology. I hope someday you’ll forgive me.”

She returned a thin, polite smile. “Time will tell.”

Silvano crouched slightly to meet Cesario’s gaze. “And you, young man, may call me Granddad.”

Cesario’s face lit up. “Dada!” he chirped, the word tumbling out unbidden as if his heart had recognized the bond before his mind could catch up. Silvano swept him easily into his arms, pride glowing in his eyes.

Leaning close to Marcello, Silvano’s voice dropped to a quiet confession. “I know he’s Mattia’s boy. The same eyes… just like your mother.” And without waiting for a reply, he walked away with Cesario perched happily on his arm.

Marcello’s stare followed them, jaw tight. Of course, only Mattia seemed blind to the truth. Cesario carried the same gray-speckled gaze, brightening with joy just as their mother’s once had.

One by one, Benedetto, Alarico, and Leone offered their congratulations. Then came Zephriel, his presence calm but commanding.

“I’m pleased to see how you’ve changed,” he said with a smooth smile before turning to Azzurra. “And what an honor to finally meet Queen Azzurra.” He bowed over her hand, brushing a courtly kiss across her knuckles.

Azzurra returned a stiff smile and gently withdrew. “Thank you. Truly.”

Zephriel waved dismissively. “Let’s not linger on old battles. My wife a human longed to attend tonight, but it wasn’t safe. Thanks to you, Marcello, I can finally declare her my queen without fear of losing her.”

“Bring her next time,” Azzurra replied earnestly. “I’d love to meet her.”

Zephriel’s eyes warmed. “I will.” His gaze flicked to Marcello. “Did you speak to him?”

“My father did. Mattia hasn’t given an answer yet,” Marcello replied.

“Then I’ll wait. Congratulations, both of you.” With a graceful nod, Zephriel slipped away.

Marcello’s hand found Azzurra’s, tugging her gently toward the dance floor where couples already swayed.

“I’m hopeless at this,” she confessed quickly.

His low chuckle rumbled through her. “So am I.” But his hands kept her close, moving her effortlessly in time with the music. His lips brushed her ear, his voice a possessive growl. “I don’t like other men touching you.”

Azzurra bit her lip, her reply a soft murmur. “And I don’t like the way the she-wolves stare at you.” Her tongue flicked mischievously against his ear, and his body stiffened.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he muttered.

“Neither am I.” She winked, and his chest tightened with want. If he didn’t stop now, he’d forget the hall, the guests, everything.

When Marcello caught sight of Mattia slipping quietly from the room, his focus snapped. He mind-linked Alarico, who instantly moved to Azzurra’s side. With a murmured excuse, Marcello followed his brother into the cool night air of the courtyard.

Mattia stood alone, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. The sight unsettled Marcello--Mattia was no smoker, yet the habit had taken root.

“The stars are bright tonight,” Marcello said as he approached.

Mattia didn’t look at him. Only hummed.

“How does it feel?” he asked after a pause.

“Mattia”

“It must feel good,” his brother cut him off, voice flat, “to hold the woman you love… and to claim another man’s son as your own.”

He dropped the cigarette, crushing it underfoot before turning, his eyes sharp and cold. “How can you adopt him when I’m still alive? Tell me, brother how long were you planning to hide it? Cesario is mine, isn’t he?”

Marcello’s silence was telling.

“If Father hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t have noticed,” Mattia went on bitterly. “But he was right. The boy has my eyes. The same eyes as our mother.” His voice cracked before hardening again. “That silver-haired woman she wasn’t human, not wolf either. She carried power unlike anything I’ve ever seen. How did she leave Cesario here?”

Marcello’s tone was quiet, resolute. “You didn’t even know he existed. And now you think blood gives you the right to him? Azzurra would die for that child, and Rio loves her as fiercely. Family is more than blood, Mattia.”

“I know I don’t deserve him,” Mattia admitted, shoulders trembling. “But it cuts me to the bone. I almost killed my own son… for Giuditta. Cesario looks at me like I’m a monster. What happens when he learns the truth?”

Marcello gripped the back of his neck, pulling him in until Mattia’s forehead pressed to his shoulder. The older brother shook, fighting against the tears that threatened to break.

And beneath the grief, a deeper fear gnawed at him because he knew the truth of the woman with silver hair. She wasn’t wolf, nor human. Her power was unlike anything he’d ever faced. And now, some part of it lived inside Cesario.