Unlikely Bond: Billionaire Forbidden Love.

Maria's POV

The air was filled with the scent of newly polished wood as I finished wiping the last table, my bruised fingers shivering from holding the cold wet cloth for hours. The sun was already starting to set, the golden rays shining through the large windows of Madam's estate, causing the marble floors to shine.

My legs ached from standing for hours, and my back complained each time I stood up straight, but the day's tasks were finally over.

I breathed out, pausing briefly to check out the room. Everything was shiny and clean, just how Madam preferred it. The shimmering crystal chandelier above sparkled, casting small rainbows onto the ceiling. Despite spending years in this place, the wealth around me seemed like it belonged to another realm, one I was permitted to only clean up but never genuinely felt part of.

Madam settled by the window in her chair, enjoying her afternoon tea with the same elegance she showed in all her gestures. Her silk robe, adorned with intricate floral designs, flowed around her like a regal mantle. She hadn't talked to me since lunchtime, completely engrossed in the novel she was reading.

I hesitated before stepping forward. "Madam," I said, keeping my voice low and respectful.

She didn't look up. "Yes, Maria?"

"I was hoping to ask if I could take tomorrow off." I joined my hands, my heart racing as I pushed the words out of my mouth. "My sister is getting married and I want to be there to help her and get ready for her big day."

At that, Madam finally lifted her gaze, dark eyes studying me with quiet scrutiny. She set her teacup down gently on its saucer, tapping a single manicured finger against the porcelain. The silence stretched between us, and I swallowed hard, trying not to fidget under her stare.

"Your sister," she mused, her voice cool but not unkind. "You never mentioned she was engaged."

"It happened quickly," I admitted. "They've been planning for months, but things have been...complicated."

Her lips pursed slightly, but she nodded. "I see." She looked out the window, where the sky had turned into hues of pink and orange. For a brief moment, I thought she would refuse.

Then, with a sigh, she said, "Alright then. You could have the day free, but I want you back by Sunday morning. I have an important brunch, and I'll need everything prepared."

Relief flooded my chest, so strong I almost staggered. "Thank you, Ma. I'll be back first thing."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Go, then. And enjoy the wedding."

I bowed my head, then turned and left quickly before she had a chance to change her mind.

I entered the front door of our cozy home; the aroma of roasted chicken and fresh bread filled my nose and surrounded me like a cherished hug. The home was hardly spacious enough for the three of us, but it had consistently been vibrant and filled with affection.

"Maria, you have arrived at last!" My father's voice resonated from the dining table, where he was bent over a pile of envelopes, writing intensely. His glasses with silver rims had slid down to the end of his nose, and his shirt was sprinkled with flour, probably from his effort to assist with baking the cake.

I placed my bag down and looked over his shoulder. "Dad, what are you up to?"

"Writing invitations, of course," he said proudly, lifting one up. "A wedding is a grand occasion, my dear. It should be treated as such."

I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing. "Dad, the wedding is tomorrow."

"Exactly!" he declared. "Which is why these need to go out immediately!"

I laughed softly and planted a kiss on his cheek. "You're incredible."

Before he had a chance to reply, Wanda entered the room, lifting her wedding dress with a blend of excitement and anxiety. The ivory material glimmered in the light, with fine lace adorning the sleeves.

"Maria," she breathed. "Tell me I don't look like a ghost in this."

I let out a soft laugh. "You look beautiful."

She twirled gently, the dress spreading around her legs, but even as she smiled, I noticed a flicker of doubt in her eyes. A shadow of something sinister, something she wanted to suppress with the joy of the wedding.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Wanda...are you sure about this?"

Her jaw tightened. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean." I folded my arms. "You're still thinking about him, right?"

She averted my gaze, her fingers gripping the material of her dress tightly.

"Wanda," I pressed. "Getting married won't change what happened. It won't bring him back."

Her lips trembled slightly before she hardened her expression. "I know that."

"Do you?" I looked at her face, my heart twisting. "Every time I look at you, I see it: the anger, the sorrow. It's still there, no matter how hard you try to hide it."

She turned back to me sharply. "What do you expect me to do, Maria? Forget? Move on like it never happened?"

"No," I said softly. "But I don't want you to lose yourself."

Her eyes burned with something unreadable. For a long moment, she didn't speak. Then, finally, she sighed, the fire in her eyes dimming. "Tomorrow is about the wedding," she said, her voice quieter now. "Nothing else."

I wanted to believe her.

The rest of the night involved getting ready, making final adjustments to Wanda's dress, setting the table for a late meal, and listening to Dad recount stories from his wedding day.

"I was so nervous, I nearly fainted at the altar!" he exclaimed, making Wanda and me burst into laughter.

"You didn't," Wanda sneered, but Dad raised a hand.

"I promise! If your mother hadn't been holding my hand, I could have crumbled at that moment."

His laughter was infectious, his eyes shining with kindness and affection. In spite of everything, the challenges and the suffering, we still had moments like this. Moments that made all the suffering worth it.

But, despite our laughter and the toasts we raised to Wanda's future, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen soon.

Something that would change everything.

Wesley's POV

The alley smelled like piss, fear, and desperation.

The narrow walls loomed over us, the single flickering street lamp barely casting enough light to make out the features of the man we had cornered. His back was against the wall, his chest rising and falling, sweat running down from his head despite the cold air.

He was in his early twenties, maybe, but that was not important now. Betrayal had no age restriction.

I took my time walking forward, my polished luxurious shoes tapping softly against the pavement. "You stole from me," I said with a calm voice. "Which means you thought you could outsmart me."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. His gaze quickly shifted to my men-Luca, Victor, Lazaro, and Danny, who stood behind me like shadows, preventing any chance of him escaping.

"I-I have no idea what you're talking about," he stammered.

I sighed. "That's the best you've got? You had plenty of time to come up with a lie and you chose to deny it?

He pushed himself harder against the wall, knuckles pale as he tightened his fists. His breath was quick, shallow. I could hear it, the erratic rhythm of a man who knew his time was running out.

"Where's your friend?" I asked, tilting my head. "The one who helped you."

He refused to answer me. I studied him for a moment, then took another step closer, my presence suffocating the small amount of space he had left. "You know how this goes. You tell me what I want to know, and maybe...I let you leave here breathing."

It was a lie of course, but he didn't need to know that yet.

His eyes flickered, something calculating behind them. Then, in a last, pathetic attempt at control, he moved.

A flash of light-

The idiot went for his gun but before he could even raise it, a shot rang out.

He let out a strangled cry as his leg gave out beneath him, blood soaking through his jeans. He hit the ground hard, clutching his thigh where Danny's bullet had torn through muscle and bone.

I let the silence drag as he writhed on the ground, his gasps bouncing off the alley walls. Then, I squatted down, placing my elbows on my thighs. "Having done what was in your mind, let's give it another try. How did you do it?"

He let out a shuddering breath, his fingers tightening around the wound. "We...we paid off one of your drivers," he admitted, his voice trembling. "He let us into the warehouse. Took what we could carry and ran."

I nodded, unsurprised. There was always someone willing to sell their loyalty for a quick payday.

"And your partner?"

The man hesitated. His jaw clenched like he was weighing his options like he had any. I gave him a few seconds, then reached inside my coat, letting my fingers brush the handle of my pistol.

His resolve shattered instantly. "Carlos! Carlos Mendes!" he blurted out. "He's hiding at the docks!"

I let the name settle in the cold night air. I could hear the hope in his voice now, the desperate belief that telling me what I wanted to know would make me spare his life.

It wouldn't.

I stood up, pulling out my golden pistol. The weight was familiar and comforting.

"Please, man," he whimpered, raising a trembling hand. "I told you everything-"

"You stole from the wrong man."

I pointed my gun at his head and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed through the alley. The body slumped and blood pooled.

I turned away before he had even stopped twitching.

"Clean this up," I ordered.

Luca, Danny, and Victor moved in immediately, dragging the corpse toward the dumpster in the alley. Lazaro exhaled, spinning his gun on his finger before holstering it. "Shame. The guy could've lived a little longer if he had stolen from another man."

"Not my problem," I muttered, already walking toward the waiting car.

An hour later, I was home.

The iron gates of the Thompson estate opened without hesitation, the guards stationed at either side giving me a respectful nod as I passed. The driveway curved in a perfect arc, lined with towering marble statues and pristine rose bushes.

The house...no the fortress stood like a monument of power, its towering columns and carved stone making it clear that only the strongest survived here.

Inside, the air smelled of expensive cigars and aged whiskey, a blend of wealth and tradition. The heavy chandelier cast a golden glow over the polished floors and the distant hum of classical music played from somewhere deeper in the house.

The weight of the night lingered on my shoulders as I entered, the remnants of blood on my sleeve a stark contrast to the luxury around me.

"Long night?"

Jason was waiting for me, leaning lazily against his doorframe. His arms were crossed, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The hallway light cut sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the resemblance we both shared with our father.

I ignored his smirk and walked past him, heading toward my room. He followed, as always.

"You handled it?" he asked.

I unbuttoned my bloodstained shirt, tossing it onto the chair. "It's done."

Jason gave an approving nod. "Good. They needed to be reminded of their place."

I took a clean shirt from the closet and put it on my shoulders. Jason observed me, the same mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You know he wants to see you, right?"

I paused mid-button. "Who?"

Jason scoffed. "Who else? Dad."

I exhaled slowly, the tension in my shoulders tightening.

Jason clapped a hand on my back, his smirk widening. "Good luck brother," he teased. "Try not to piss him off too much."

I didn't respond.

He chuckled, disappearing into his room and leaving me alone in the hallway.

The hallway to my father's office was longer at night. The heavy wooden doors at the end stood like sentinels, carved with intricate symbols of dragons and wolves, representations of our family's rule.

I straightened my back and adjusted my cuffs. I knew what was coming, a lecture, a reminder. Maybe even a warning.

But that didn't stop the weight in my chest as I lifted my hand and knocked.

"Enter."

My fingers curled around the handle.

I took a breath.

And stepped inside.

Wesley's POV

The wooden door closed gently behind me, enclosing me in my father's office. The aroma of aged leather and cigar smoke filled his office. A fire popped in the fireplace, its light creating dancing shadows on the walls.

My father was backed against me, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed at a large oil painting showing our family-a heritage of strength, aggression, and dominance. His presence filled the room, heavy and overwhelming.

I stepped forward and bowed my head slightly in respect. "Father."

His voice came slow, measured. "Did you take care of everything?"

"Almost."

The word made him turn.

His dark eyes locked onto mine, twin voids that seemed to pull me in, stripping away any pretense or hesitation. My father had a way of looking at people, of seeing through them as if they were nothing more than pieces on a chessboard.

"Almost?" he repeated, his tone carrying the weight of expectation.

I held his gaze. "The thief's dead. But his accomplice, Carlos Mendes is still alive. My men have found his whereabouts. I'll eliminate him tomorrow."

Silence stretched between us, tension winding tight. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Good," he murmured. His expression softened just a fraction, a rare sign of approval. "You continue to prove yourself, Wesley."

He stopped. Then, with deliberate slowness, he walked to the edge of his massive desk, resting his hand on its surface. "If you keep this up, if you keep showing me you have what it takes, you will lead the Redstar gang when I step down."

Not Michael.

The words were left unsaid, but we both understood what he meant.

My elder brother was reckless, selfish, and unworthy of the throne he thought he was entitled to. And our father, despite years of stubborn loyalty to tradition, was finally seeing that.

I gave a small nod. "I won't disappoint you."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, barely there, gone in an instant. "See that you don't."

He dismissed me with a motion of his hand.

I turned around and left, shutting the door behind me.

Once the door shut, I sighed with relief, releasing the tension in my chest and shoulders.

If my father was serious, if he truly intended to choose me over Michael...then the gang would be mine.

And I would rule it as it was meant to be ruled. With precision. With control. With fear.

A buzzing sound came from my pocket. I pulled out my phone and answered without checking the caller ID.

"Talk."

Lazaro's voice came through the speaker. "Boss, we got an update on Carlos Mendes."

I frowned. "What is it?"

Lazaro let out a low chuckle. "He's getting married tomorrow."

I processed that for a moment. Then, a dark smile tugged at my lips.

"Romantic," I mused.

Lazaro snorted. "You want us to hit him at the wedding?"

I leaned against the wall, pondering the thought. A wedding was meant to symbolize a fresh start, a day for joy and happiness. And yet for Carlos Mendes, it would be his last day.

My smirk widened. "Let the bastard have his vows," I said. "Then we'll make his bride a widow."

I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my pocket.

Tomorrow, Carlos Mendes would say, I do.

And then, he would die.

Maria's POV

The wedding hall was lively with laughter and music.

Golden chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, their gentle light providing warmth to the crowd of guests. Walls were adorned with white and gold drapery, while the aroma of fresh roses filled the atmosphere.

Today was Wanda's wedding day and even though the heaviness on my chest was strong, I forced myself to smile.

I hurried down the hallway, opening the door to a tiny room where Wanda was in front of a mirror, fixing the lace sleeves of her dress. She appeared lovely, glowing, in fact. Her deep curls surrounded her face, and the intricate beading on her dress sparkled with each movement.

She turned as I entered, her expression easing with relief. "Maria."

I walked toward her, reaching for a small compact of blush and a brush. "You look perfect," I said, dabbing a soft pink hue onto her cheeks.

She laughed, shaking her head. "I'm shaking."

I met her eyes through the mirror. "You love him?"

"Yes," she whispered, no hesitation in her voice.

"Then you have nothing to fear."

She exhaled slowly, nodding.

I heard a knock at the door. Our father stepped inside, dressed in a sharp navy suit. His face revealed nothing, but his eyes became gentle when he glanced at Wanda.

"It's time," he stated.

Wanda's grip on my hand tightened momentarily before she released it.

As we entered the main hall, silence descended on the audience when the ceremony commenced.

The priest expressed his thoughts in a composed, adept way, his voice echoing across the big hall. Wanda and her fiancé stood at the altar, hands intertwined, gazes locked on one another.

I watched, my hands folded before me, my heart hurting from a feeling I couldn't identify.

After Wanda and her fiance said their vows, they kissed. The crowd stood up clapping for the newly wedded couple, I turned to my dad who had a happy smile on his face.

Then–The doors burst open.

The crash echoed through the hall, making the crowd halt their clapping, gasps rippled through the guests as a group of men strode inside, their movements slow and confident.

They were dressed in dark suits, guns in their hands.

My breath stopped for a minute. The air turned thick, heavy with fear. One individual, a man with defined features and a wicked grin, advanced, his eyes scanning the hall before focusing on the groom.

A gradual, nearly entertained grin spread on his lips.

"Carlos Mendes," he called out. "Did you really think we wouldn't find you?"

The groom stiffened, his fingers going white around Wanda's hand.

"Who are you?" the priest stammered, his voice shaking.

The man ignored him, lifting his gun and aiming it at Carlos' chest.

A moment of silence, then...Bang.

The shot pierced the air.

Carlos dropped to his knees, a crimson stain expanding on his shirt. He coughed out blood, his breaths coming in damp, struggling gulps.

Wanda screamed.

She dropped beside him, hands pressing uselessly against the wound, her wedding dress pooling in blood.

The man tilted his head, watching Carlos with something like mild curiosity.

"Should've run farther," he mused.

Carlos' body gave one final shudder-then stilled.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The man turned his gaze toward Wanda, his smirk widening. "My condolences, Mrs. Mendes."

Tears flowed from her eyes, her body shaking with sorrow and anger.

I remained motionless, my nails penetrating my palms.

The man glanced at his watch. "We'll take our leave now. Enjoy the rest of your wedding."