Chapter 3 The Proposal

• *Marriage.*
• The word hung in the air between us like a gun waiting to go off.
• I must have misheard him. Must have misheard him. Because Luca Valenti—heir to the most powerful crime family in Sicily—did not propose to Romano girls in rose gardens when their fathers were barely cold in the ground.
• "I'm sorry, what?"
• "You heard me." He leaned against the garden gate, casual as if we were discussing the weather. "One wedding. Problem solved."
• My laughter was a strangled, hysterical sound. "You can't be serious."
• "I'm always serious about business, Miss Romano. And this is business."
• *Business.* Not love. Not even desire. Just a transaction, like buying groceries or paying bills.
• "You're crazy if you think—"
• "Your brother owes the Benedettos money. Fifty thousand." He spoke in a casual, affable tone. As though reciting a shopping list. "Your mother's hospital bills before she died are owed to three hospitals. The mortgage on your house is six months in arrears."
• Each amount was a stab in my side. How did he know? How could he possibly know?
• "Your father's gambling debts alone would take you decades to pay off," he continued. "And that's if you could even get work that pays more than waitressing. Which, with your family's reputation, might be... difficult."
• "Stop." The word was barely more than a whisper.
• "The Torrinos are expecting to be paid by Sunday. When they aren't, they'll start with your brother's kneecaps. The Benedettos are more creative—they prefer fingers. But the Russians." He shook his head almost apologetically. "The Russians don't give warnings."
• I leaned back against the garden gate, the wrought iron digging into my back. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.
• "So here's my offer," he said. "Marry me, and your family's debts are all forgiven. Your mother gets the care she needs. Your brother keeps his kneecaps. You live comfortably for the rest of your life."
• "And what do you get?"
• His smile was slow, predatory. "A wife."
• A wife. As if I were some sort of prize to be won. A trophy to sit on his shelf.
• "Why me?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
• "Why not you?"
• "Because you hate my family. Because we're poor. Because you could have anyone—"
• "Could I?" He stepped closer, and I caught his scent. Luxury cologne. Cigarettes. Something darker underneath, like gunpowder and secrets. "You think there's a line of suitable women waiting to marry into the Valenti family? Women who understand what that means?"
• "What it means?"
• "Blood. Violence. The kind of life where your husband is not home some nights. Where your children grow up with bodyguards and bulletproof cars." His eyes were dark in the fading light. "Most women run screaming from that life."
• "And you think I will not?"
• "I think you're living it already." He gestured to the house, where I could hear the murmur of voices through the thin walls. "Your father's choices got you into this world, Elena. I'm just offering you a chance to live through it."
• Elena. Not Miss Romano. The informality of it made my skin crawl.
• "I need time to think."
• "You have until Sunday."
• Three days. Seventy-two hours to decide between selling my soul to the devil.
• "And if I refuse?"
• His shrug was elegant, indifferent. "Then you refuse. But your debts don't disappear just because you're too proud to pay them."
• The garden gate creaked as someone pushed it open behind me. Alessandro's voice cut through the night air like a blade.
• "Elena, stay away from him."
• I turned to see my brother standing in the doorway, his face strained with fury. Behind him, several of our male relatives clustered like they were preparing to go to battle. Uncle Nico. Cousin Marco. Even ancient Uncle Giuseppe, who had to be eighty if he was a day.
• "We're just talking," I objected.
• "No, you're not." Alessandro stepped into the garden, his fists clenched. "You're leaving. Now."
• "Actually," Luca said in a conversational tone, "I was hoping to talk to you too, Alessandro."
• "I don't have anything to say to you."
• "Even about the future of your sister?"
• Something transpired between them. Some sort of understanding to which I was not privy. Alessandro's face turned white, then red, then white again.
• "You son of a bitch."
• "Careful." Luca's voice fell twenty degrees. "That's my mother you're insulting."
• The silence was as tense as a wire. I could practically sense the violence humming in the air, just waiting to be sparked.
• "Get inside the house, Elena," Alessandro ordered, his eyes never wavering from Luca's face.
• "No." The word startled them as much as it startled me. "I want to hear this."
• "Elena—"
• "I said no." I crossed my arms, planted my heels. "Whatever this is about, it has something to do with me. I have a right to know."
• Luca's smile sliced with approval. "Smart girl."
• "Don't." Alessandro's voice was quietly deadly. "Don't you dare address her in that manner."
• "In what manner? With deference? When's the last time anyone in your family achieved that?"
• The accusation was true. I could see it in the way Alessandro recoiled, in the way his shoulders fell just slightly.
• "You wish to know what your sister is worth?" Luca continued. "What value your father put upon her head?"
• "Shut up."
• "He attempted to give her to us three months ago. Did you know that? Came to my father's house, hat in hand, begging for more time to pay his debts. Offered Elena's hand in marriage as collateral."
• The words hit me like punches. Papa had... what? Attempted to trade me like a pawn?
• "You're lying," I whispered.
• "Am I?" Luca reached into his jacket again, this time extracting a folded paper. "His signature's right there. Elena Romano, aged twenty-four, unmarried, in exchange for extended payment terms on debts to the value of—"
• Alessandro pounced.
• He moved fast, but Luca was faster. The document disappeared into his jacket once more as he dodged Alessandro's strike with easy grace. My brother stumbled, off balance, and suddenly there were men in the garden. Luca's men, emerging from shadows I had not even noticed.
• "Alessandro, stop!" I threw myself between them, hands on my brother's chest. "Stop it!"
• He was shaking. Actually shaking with rage. "He's lying, Elena. Papa would never—"
• "Wouldn't he?" Luca tightened his tie with effortless neatness. "Your father was a desperate man. Desperate men do desperate things."
• "Get out." Alessandro's voice was hoarse. "Get out before I kill you."
• "You could try." Luca's smile was all teeth. "But I don't think Elena wants to bury two men in one week."
• The casual way he said it—how killing Alessandro would be some kind of bother rather than a tragedy—sent ice through my veins.
• "I'll give you until Sunday to think over my offer, Elena." He tucked his cuffs, smoothed his hair. "After that, your father's debts become. pressing."
• He turned to go, then hesitated. "Oh, and Alessandro? That little get-together you've been planning with the Torrinos tomorrow night? I'd cancel it if I were you. They're not as forgiving as I am."
• Alessandro's face paled.
• How did Luca know about that meeting? How did he know about any of this?
• "Sleep well," Luca said softly. "Both of you."
• Then he was gone, melting into the night along with his men as though they never were.
• Alessandro and I were alone in the ruins of Nonna's garden, breathing hard. The roses taunted us with their beauty, their thorns slashing sharp enough to wound.
• "Tell me he's lying," I finally said. "Tell me Papa didn't—"
• "I can't." Alessandro's voice was broken. "God help me, Elena, I can't."
• The truth fell over me like a shroud. Papa had sold me. Three months ago, when I was sitting with him during chemo and telling him it would all be okay, he'd been selling my future like I was livestock.
• "The meeting tomorrow," I said. "With the Torrinos."
• "I was going to take care of it. Work out some kind of payment plan."
• "They'll kill you."
• "Maybe." He lit a cigarette with shaking hands. "Probably."
• "Alessandro, no. There has to be another way."
• "What other way?" He laughed bitterly. "Sell the house? It's mortgaged to the foundation. Get a job? Who's going to hire a Romano in this city? Rob a bank?"
• The desperation in his voice mirrored my own. We were drowning, and the life ring Luca had thrown us had razor blades in the rope.
• "I will not die for Papa's transgressions," I breathed.
• "And I will not have you marry that monster for them."
• But even as he said it, it was a fact. There was no choice here. There never had been.
• Papa had ensured that when he signed my name to Luca Valenti's contract.
• "Elena." Alessandro grasped my hands, and I could sense desperation in the clench of his fingers. "Listen to me. Luca doesn't want a wife—he wants revenge. He'll tear you apart piece by piece until there's nothing left of you."
• "Maybe." I pulled my hands away, taken aback at how level my voice was. "But you at least will be alive to witness it."
• "Elena, no—"
• "I have until Sunday to decide." I smoothed my dress, tried to pretend my world hadn't just shattered. "Let's go in. Grandma will be wondering where we are."
• But as I walked back to the house, I could feel Alessandro's eyes on my back. Could hear the echo of Luca's words in the evening air.
• Your father offered her to us three months ago.
• Papa hadn't just died and left us in debt.
• He'd died and left me gift-wrapped for his enemies.
• And the worst part? Some tiny, treasonous part of me was almost grateful.
• At least now I knew exactly what I was worth.