Chapter 1 1

• Chapter One
• Three Years Ago
• “Something happened?” I asked, lowering my book, the words on the page already forgotten.
• Bianca’s head still rested in my lap as the heavy door creaked open. Mother stepped in, her silhouette sharp against the golden hallway light. Her blond hair was pulled into its usual tight bun like a crown of thorns. Her eyes were stormy. Off.
• She offered a brittle smile the kind she wore like armor when everything was falling apart. “Your father wants to speak with you. In his office.”
• Something in my chest tightened. I brushed Bianca’s curls gently, sliding out from under her head and easing her onto the cushion. She didn’t stir. Lucky her.
• “Am I in trouble?” I asked, aiming for casual, but my voice cracked on the last word.
• Mother didn’t meet my eyes. “Don’t make him wait,” she said too tightly. Her voice always gave her away.
• I made my way down the hall, each step heavier than the last. I paused outside the thick mahogany door, my heart a wild drumbeat.
• Knock, knock.
• “Come in,” Father’s voice boomed, smooth and unreadable.
• I entered with a straight spine, wearing my best neutral face. He sat behind his desk, surrounded by shelves of untouched books the kind that didn’t hold stories but secrets. Dangerous ones.
• “Sit.”
• I obeyed, folding trembling hands in my lap.
• He didn’t look up right away. Instead, he studied something on his desk. “The Giovanni and Enzo families are pushing into our territory. They’re getting bold. Reckless.”
• My brow furrowed. He never talked business with me. Not like this.
• “We’re still better off than the Vegas crew dealing with the Mexicans, but the Russians, the Twain... they’re not backing down.”
• I stayed silent, the tension coiling tighter in my chest.
• “We need to end the feud with the New York Familia. Combine our strength. It’s the only way forward.”
• My eyes widened. “Peace? With the Familia?”
• “There’s no stronger bond than blood,” he said, voice lowering. “That’s one thing they got right.”
• He leaned forward, his eyes like frost. “Born in blood. Leave in blood. Their motto.”
• I nodded slightly, though none of it made sense yet.
• “I met with Antonio Alessandro yesterday.”
• I stiffened. “You met with... the Capo di Venti?”
• He nodded once, as casually as if he’d met with tailor. “We came to an agreement. For peace to be possible, we must become family.”
• I blinked. “What does that mean?”our
• His gaze locked onto mine. Cold. Unflinching. “You’ll marry Lorrenzo Alessandro. His eldest son. The future Capo di Venti.”
• The world tilted beneath me.
• “What?” I breathed, the word catching like thorns in my throat.
• “Antonio wanted the most beautiful girl for his son. Naturally, we couldn’t offer a soldier’s daughter. Paolo doesn’t have daughters. He said you were the best choice.”
• “There are plenty of beautiful girls ”
• “But none with your hair,” he said, almost amused. “Paolo called it golden.”
• Revulsion crawled through me. I wanted to rip every strand out.
• “You are our key into the Familia.”
• “But I’m fifteen,” I whispered, as if saying it aloud would make it real. Would make it matter.
• “If I say you can, you can,” he replied.
• My hands gripped the armrests. I was shaking now.
• “But... the wedding will wait. Until you’re eighteen,” he added, like it was an afterthought. “Your mother insisted. She wanted you to finish school.”
• Of course. Not his mercy hers. Always her, fighting quiet wars behind closed doors.
• Lorrenzo Alessandro.
• My future husband.
• I knew two things about him: he was next in line to rule New York... and he’d crushed a man’s throat with his bare hands.
• They called him The Venti.
• I didn’t even know how old he was. Maybe thirty. Maybe Bibiana’s husband old. The kind with dead eyes and cruel hands.
• “Father,” I said, voice trembling. “Please... don’t make me marry that man.”
• His eyes met mine, steel and stone. “You will marry Lorrenzo Alessandro. I shook hands with his father, Antonio. The deal is sealed.”
• “But ”
• “You’ll be a good wife to Lorrenzo,” he continued, cutting me off. “And when you meet him at the engagement celebration, you’ll act like an obedient young lady.”
• “Engagement celebration?” I echoed, dazed.
• “Of course. A tradition. A way for the families to mingle, cement the alliance. It’ll give Lorrenzo a chance to see what he’s getting out of the deal. We don’t want to disappoint him.”
• My blood turned to ice. See what he’s getting out of the deal. Like I was some car he needed to test-drive.
• “When?”
• “August. No exact date yet.”
• Two months. Just enough time to watch my life unravel like thread.
• “I still get to attend school?”
• “Yes,” he said, almost bored. “I told Alessandro you attend a private all-girls seminary. He was pleased.”
• Of course he was. Heaven forbid I breathe near another boy. Couldn't risk dents in the merchandise.
• “Is that all?” I asked, heart thundering.
• “For now.”
• I stood, knees weak. I didn’t curtsy. Didn’t thank him. Just turned and walked out like I was leaving a grave.
• My own.
• That night, I couldn’t stop crying.
• Alessia cradled my head in her lap, her fingers combing gently through my hair. She didn’t speak. She knew I needed silence more than words.
• She was only thirteen. Just a year and a half younger. But now the gap felt like an ocean. She still had time.
• “You could talk to Father again,” she said softly. “Maybe he’ll change his mind.”
• “He won’t.”
• “Mama, maybe she ”
• “She won’t either.”
• I hadn’t seen her since she sent me into that room like a lamb to slaughter.
• “But... Isabella ”
• “She’s not going to stop him,” I said bitterly. Alessia looked at me with those same summer-blue eyes, wide with sympathy. Her fire-red hair was wild and thick so unlike mine.
• “He shook hands with Antonio Alessandro,” I muttered. “You know what that means.”
• “They met? In person?”
• I nodded. “Apparently.”
• He met the most dangerous man in New York… but didn’t find time to tell me he was giving me away like a peace offering.
• “There has to be a way out,” she whispered. “You haven’t even met the guy. What if he’s ugly? Or old! Or both.”
• I laughed, short and sharp. “I wish that were the worst of it.”
• She sat up. “Let’s Google him.”
• “What?”
• “There have to be pictures.
• I hesitated. Part of me didn’t want to see him. But another part the part drowning under all this needed to know.
• She grabbed her tablet. Searched.
• Lorrenzo Alessandro.
• My heart punched my ribs.
• And when I saw him, I forgot how to breathe.
• Sharp cheekbones. Black hair. A scar near his jawline. Cold grey eyes. He was young. Maybe mid-twenties. Broad shoulders. A predator in a tuxedo.
• Another photo showed him beside Antonio Alessandro. Another walking out of a courtroom with blood on his cuff and a smirk
• on his lips.
• Alessia whistled. “Okay. So not ugly.”
• I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
• Because now I had a face to go with the name.
• The Venti
• And I was supposed to be his.