"I can’t even choose my own dress," I muttered bitterly, watching Bella deftly brush my hair in the soft light filtering through the bedroom window.
She glanced at me through the mirror, her brow furrowed with sympathy. "I wish I could help, Em. What did your father say about it?"
My fists clenched tightly in my lap, frustration burning like acid. "He didn’t care at all. Said he did the same when he married Mom. It’s like I’m nothing more than a pawn."
Bella forced a small smile, trying to inject some hope. "Look on the bright side—you’ll be starting your first real relationship."
The idea sent a cold shiver down my spine. I wanted to scream, to run—anything but this.
All my life, I’d been kept in a bubble, isolated from the world beyond our estate’s walls. Homeschooled, shielded, and monitored, the closest I’d come to intimacy was a stolen kiss with one of the guards—a moment swiftly erased when my father found out and dismissed the man.
"You’re almost ready," Bella said softly, setting the brush down beside her. Her eyes searched mine with gentle concern.
I turned to face the mirror fully. I wore a crisp white shirt tucked neatly into faded jeans. Not too formal—no grand gown to announce my submission—but not careless either. I needed to look like I belonged to this world without pretending to embrace it.
"What do you think he looks like?" Bella asked, dabbing a touch of blush on my cheeks.
I scoffed, the bitterness rising again. "From what I know of Sicilian mafiosos? Probably old, bald, and scarred. Ugly in more ways than one." I stopped, the words tasting hollow. I didn’t even know him.
"Em, what’s wrong?" Bella’s voice was soft, but I sensed her worry.
I shook my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I can’t do this. I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want any of this."
She sighed and pulled me into a hug. "It’s going to be okay, I promise."
I pushed away gently, unable to accept the empty reassurance. "How do you know? Everyone keeps telling me that, but no one here understands."
Before she could answer, Mom entered, her smile warm as she took in my appearance. "You look beautiful, Emilia." Her voice was gentle, but I could feel the weight of expectation behind it.
I exhaled sharply and turned toward the door. "Let’s just get this over with."
Halfway down the staircase, I froze. There he was, standing in the center of the living room like a dark statue—tall, broad-shouldered, and impeccably dressed in a black suit that swallowed the light around him.
The white of his shirt was pristine, stretched taut over muscles I hadn’t expected. A polished stainless-steel watch gleamed on his wrist, his other hand tucked casually into his pocket.
My breath caught as my eyes traced the sharp angles of his face—jet-black hair swept back flawlessly, pale skin contrasting against the darkness of his hair, a jawline that could have been carved from marble.
His eyes met mine—dark, intense, and unreadable—and I instinctively held my breath.
"He’s not bald or ugly," Bella whispered beside me, making me jump.
Mom’s glare snapped me back. "Emilia, be respectful. Go greet him."
Clearing my throat, I made my way down the last few steps, nerves twisting inside me. A faint scent of expensive cologne filled the air, making my stomach flutter with a confusion I didn’t want to name.
As I stood about six feet away, the height difference was impossible to ignore. He couldn’t be shorter than six-foot-four.
"Hello," my voice came out shaky as I extended my hand in greeting.
He looked at my hand for a moment before nodding slightly, a subtle bow of his head acknowledging me.
I withdrew my hand quickly, cheeks burning with embarrassment. I glanced at Mom and Bella; both wore expressions of sympathy and silent encouragement.
The front door opened, and Dad appeared, his eyes widening in surprise. "Valentino, you're early." His tone was laced with unease.
Santo turned, revealing the glint of a gun tucked beneath his jacket. My heart thudded painfully in my chest.
Dad approached us swiftly. "Emilia, this is Santo. Santo, this is Emilia." His voice was steady, but tension crackled in the room.
When Santo met my gaze again, I caught a flicker of anger simmering beneath his controlled exterior.
A heavy silence fell, broken only by Dad’s sharp breath. "I’ll retrieve the papers," he said, stepping away.
Mom and Bella vanished as if swallowed by the shadows, leaving me alone with him.
Santo immediately returned to his phone, the cold glow illuminating his face.
Gathering what little courage I had left, I tried to break the silence. "Can I get you something to drink?" My voice sounded small and uncertain.
He ignored me, and frustration flared hot and fast. "Hey, what’s your problem?" I demanded, unable to contain my irritation.
He finally looked up, eyes darkening with contempt. Silencing my voice, he slipped his phone away and took two purposeful steps closer, shrinking the space between us.
My heart hammered painfully against my ribs, alarm rising at the cold intensity radiating from him.
"My problem," he said, voice low and rough, "is that I have to marry you."
The vibrations of his words hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath. I shook my head, matching his glare. "I’m not the one who wants this. I’m just as trapped as you are."
He scoffed, turning away in anger. "I can’t believe I’m doing this."
"Then don’t," I spat bitterly. "You can leave your guns here and walk away."
My gaze dropped to the gun poking from beneath his jacket. Without thinking, I reached toward it.
His hand snapped out, grabbing mine with a grip like iron. Panic flared through me.
"Don’t touch me," I hissed, wrenching my hand free.
"Try that again, and I swear I won’t hesitate to kill you," he growled, fury lacing every word. "I don’t care who your father is."
A clearing of throats made us both turn to see Dad stepping toward us, his expression grim.
"Valentino," Dad said sharply, "control yourself. She’s like a wild animal."
Santo snatched the papers from Dad’s hand and stalked out without another word.
My glare burned into Dad’s back. "You’re seriously going to make me marry that monster?"
"That ‘monster’ is an asset," Dad replied coldly. "I’m giving him leniency because of our friendship with his father. He’s angry now, but he’ll come around. He won’t hurt you. I promise."
I shook my head in disbelief. "That doesn’t excuse his behavior."
"You’ll see. Give him time," Dad urged.
"I hate this," I whispered before retreating to my room.
The door shut behind me, leaving only silence and the echo of my misery.
Mom and Bella appeared moments later, concern etched on their faces.
I ignored their gentle questions, grabbing my makeup remover wipes and scrubbing my face until it stung.
"Emilia, stop!" Mom cried, grabbing my hand. "You’re hurting yourself. Please, talk to me."
"Him!" I exploded, tears pricking my eyes. "I hate him. I hate this marriage. Why me? Why him?"
Mom’s eyes softened, but she said nothing, understanding that no words could fix this.
I pulled away, determined to be alone. "Just leave me be."
"Emilia," Mom pleaded, but I was already lost in my thoughts.
That day marked the start of a lifetime overshadowed by chains I never chose to wear.