Chapter 4 Four

• POV Isabella:
• I carefully adjust my tie in front of the mirror in my assigned room. Every detail must be perfect. I check that the bandages on my chest are firm and that there is not a single hair out of place.
• Dinner with the Castellanos will be my first real test. One mistake, one wrong gesture, and everything could fall apart. I take a deep breath and swallow my insecurities. Isidro Ricci never shows nervousness. Isabella may tremble inside, but Isidro never shows it.
• Someone knocks at the door. I make sure my posture is correct before I open it.
• She is a maid. "Dinner is served, Mr. Ricci."
• "Thank you. I'll be right down."
• I close the door and take one last look in the mirror. The black suit, the impeccable white shirt and the perfectly combed short hair. No one would see a woman here, no one except, perhaps, Matteo Castellano's other son: Marco. The moment I saw him was enough to notice that he has too observant eyes, so I must be very careful in front of him.
• Before I met him, I didn't even know Castellano has a son. He seems a couple of years older than me, and Castellano probably hides him because of his handicapped condition. Like women, the rest of the "flawed children" have no place in our world either. I don't know if I should feel more sorry for him or for myself. At least he doesn't have to constantly pretend or be in the spotlight like me.
• I walk down the stairs with measured steps. The dining room is huge, with a long dark wood table and hunting pictures on the walls.
• The family is already gathered when I arrive.
• "Ah, it's our guest," Matteo Castellano says from the head of the table. "You're punctual, I like that."
• I approach and nod respectfully. Sofia is sitting to her father's right, in a discreet dress, her eyes lowered. Marco is in front of her, in his wheelchair, watching me with barely concealed interest.
• "Sit next to Sofia," Castellano orders me. "You must know each other better."
• I obey and take a seat next to my supposed fiancée. She offers me a shy smile.
• "Have they shown you the house well, Ricci?" Castellano asks me as the servants begin to bring in the food.
• "Yes, sir. It's impressive."
• "It's been in our family for three generations," he says proudly. "Someday it will be Marco's. Or it would have been."
• I notice how Marco's jaw clenches slightly at the comment.
• "The soup is delicious," says Sofia, clearly trying to change the subject.
• "Tell us about your family, Ricci," Marco suddenly interjects. "Is your mother alive?"
• The question takes me by surprise. I know he asked it just to annoy me, who doesn't know what happened to my mother?
• "No. She died when I was little," I reply.
• "From an illness? Or was it an accident?"
• "Marco," warns Castellano.
• "I'm just trying to get to know our future family member better," Marco replies with false innocence.
• I clear my throat. "It was an accident."
• "How sad," says Sofia with genuine empathy. "It must have been hard growing up without a mother."
• "My father made sure I wasn't missing anything," I answer automatically.
• "Including maternal affection?" insists Marco.
• I look directly at him. His eyes sparkle with dangerous intelligence. "Affection is a luxury in our world, don't you think?"
• Castellano lets out a laugh. "I like this guy. Straight to the point."
• The servants remove the soup plates and bring the main course: roast beef with vegetables. I take the cutlery carefully, aware of every movement.
• "And what do you think of arranged marriage, Ricci?" asks Marco as he cuts into his meat. "Wouldn't you rather choose your own wife?"
• "Family alliances are important," I reply. "Duty comes before personal preferences."
• "How convenient," Marco mutters.
• "Enough, Marco," cuts Castellano. "Ricci, did your father tell you about our business deal?"
• "Just the basics, sir."
• "Good. We'll discuss the details tomorrow. I want you to be actively involved in our business while you're here."
• I nod, though internally I worry about what this implies. More time under scrutiny, more opportunities to make a mistake.
• "Did you play any sports in your youth?" asks Marco, apparently changing the subject.
• "Boxing and shooting," I reply, mentioning the activities my father forced me to master.
• "Interesting choice. Have you never been swimming? It's great for the body."
• I feel a shiver. Swimming would require showing off my body. "I'm not very fond of the water."
• "How curious. Most Sicilians love the sea."
• "We are not all the same," I reply in a dry manner.
• Marco smiles. "Evidently."
• Dinner continues with palpable tension. Sofia occasionally tries to lighten the mood with comments about the food or the weather, but her voice is so soft that it barely manages to divert attention.
• "Do you like to read, Mr. Ricci?" she finally asks me.
• "When I have time," I reply, grateful for the change of subject. "Mostly about history and strategy."
• "Sofia loves romance novels," Castellano comments with some disdain, "A feminine weakness."
• Sofia looks down at her plate, and I feel a pang of empathy for her.
• "Fiction also has its value," I say. "It shows us other perspectives."
• Marco arches an eyebrow. "Are you interested in seeing the world from other perspectives, Ricci? Perhaps putting yourself in someone else's shoes?"
• There is a hint in his tone that makes me uneasy, as if he knows something or suspects it.
• "Understanding the enemy is crucial to defeating him," I reply coolly.
• "And who is the enemy here?" asks Marco.
• Castellano bangs on the table. "Enough questioning for today, Marco. Ricci is our guest, not a suspect."
• "We're just having a conversation, Father," Marco says with an innocent smile. "After all, he'll be part of the family."
• Dessert arrives: flan with caramel, but I can barely eat. The knot in my stomach increases with each of Marco's questions.
• "Tomorrow I'll show you our operations," Castellano says. "I want you to know the whole business before the wedding."
• "I would be honored," I reply.
• "If you don't mind," Sophia interjects shyly, "I'd like to show you the gardens tomorrow. They're very beautiful this time of year."
• Castellano gives a nod of approval. "That's an excellent idea. In the afternoon it will be, after our meetings."
• Dinner finally ends. I get up when Castellano does.
• "Good night, Ricci," he says. "Rest well."
• "Likewise, sir."
• Sofia withdraws with a small bow. Marco, however, remains in his place, watching me.
• "Do you need help going upstairs, Mr. Marco?" asks one of the servants.
• "No, thank you. I'll stay a while longer."
• I nod in his direction and head for the stairs. I feel his gaze on my back the whole way.
• In the safety of my room, I lock the door and lean against it. I take several deep breaths. Marco Castellano is more dangerous than I thought. He's not just a bitter invalid: he's cunning and perceptive.
• I take off my jacket and loosen my tie. The bandages are tighter than ever, or maybe it's just my anxiety that makes my breathing difficult.
• I meticulously search the room, looking for cameras or microphones. I find nothing, but that doesn't mean I'm sure.
• I sit up in bed without undressing completely. I don't dare to do it. What if someone comes in during the night?
• Marco suspected something, I saw it in his eyes and in the way he asked his questions. They were little traps to trip me up.
• If he finds out who I really am, it's all over. For me, for my father, for our business.
• I can't sleep. Not tonight. Not in this house where the walls seem to have eyes and the questions are sharp knives searching for my truth.
• Tomorrow I must be more careful, more convincing. I must be more Isidro than ever.
• Because Isabella cannot afford to exist here. Not even for an instant.