"No," he snaps. "Everything is not alright. There are complications."
My stomach drops. "What kind of complications?"
His eyes fix on me, and I see something that makes my blood freeze: disappointment mixed with calculation. "It seems,caramia, that your future stepchildren are even more problematic than anticipated."
"What do you mean?"
"Young Valentina has been talking to reporters," he says, voice deadly quiet. "Feeding them information about the family."
Christ. That's why she was late to dinner. She wasn't just sneaking out to meet a boy.
"What did she tell them?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know.
"Enough to cause concern. Reporters were asking questions about the marriage, about why Cesare is marrying someone so young, about potential business connections." His eyes narrow. "Your name came up, Vittoria. They know about you."
My mouth goes dry. "What does that mean?"
"It means," my father says slowly, "that you're now a target. The press will be watching your every move, looking for any sign of impropriety or weakness in the alliance."
He stands again, pacing behind his chair. "Cesare is... displeased. He's concerned about security, about the potential for scandal."
"And?" I prompt, though I'm terrified of the answer.
"And he's moving the wedding date forward."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "Moving it forward? By how much?"
"One week," my father says, his tone final. "The ceremony will take place next Saturday."
One week. Seven fucking days to prepare myself for a lifetime of servitude.
"That's impossible," Mam protests. "The preparations?—”
"Will be handled," my father cuts her off. "Money talks, Siobhan. Everything will be ready."
I feel like I can't breathe. The room starts spinning, and I grip the edge of the table to steady myself.
"Vittoria," my father's voice seems to come from far away. "You look pale."
"I'm fine," I lie, though I definitely don't feel fine. "Just... processing."
"Good. Because there's more." He retakes his seat, leaning forward. "Given the security concerns, you'll be moving to the Mariano Estate tomorrow. For your own protection."
Tomorrow, I'll be under Cesare's roof, surrounded by his children—who already hate me—with no escape and no ally except maybe Valentina, who's apparently caused this whole mess.
"That seems... sudden," I manage.
"It's necessary," my father says firmly. "Cesare insists. And frankly, after today's revelations, I agree."
The key my mother gave me suddenly feels heavy in my pocket; a reminder of the strength I'm supposed to carry. But right now, I feel anything but strong. I feel trapped, manipulated, pushed around like the pawn my father keeps reminding me I am.
"I understand," I say quietly, because what else can I say?
My father nods, apparently satisfied with my compliance. "Good. Pack your things tonight. A car will pick you up at ten tomorrow morning."
As dinner resumes, I push food around my plate, my appetite completely gone. Across from me, Mam's eyes are filled with pain and helplessness. We both know that after tomorrow, moments like this will be rare.
When dinner finally ends, I excuse myself and head upstairs. In my room, I sit on my bed and pull out the key my mother gave me. Such a small thing to carry so much meaning.
